The morning sun barely crept through the high glass windows of House Vaelthorn, its golden light filtered by layers of enchanted crystal. Inside Kael's chamber—larger than any room in the academy, and easily rivaling a noble's ballroom—the silence was still. Heavy curtains, woven with silver thread, swayed gently as the wind whispered through the slightly open balcony doors.
Kael stood before a grand mirror, adjusting the inner collar of his formal robe. Not a uniform—today, he was dressed in the traditional attire of a Vaelthorn heir. A black coat embossed with faint runic patterns, silver embroidery lining the cuffs and hem, and the family crest—an obsidian lion crowned in flame—woven into the chest.
He sighed, staring at his reflection. Crimson eyes, pale skin, and the same black hair he'd grown used to—but there was something else in the mirror this morning.
Fatigue. The kind that didn't show in the body but sat deep behind the eyes.
He leaned against the dresser and murmured to himself, "It's been a year already, huh?"
The words weren't meant for anyone else. It was a habit now—speaking aloud when alone, as if grounding himself to remember this life wasn't his by birth.
He wasn't Kael Vaelthorn. Not originally.
He was a guy from a different world—a world of phones, office jobs, noisy trains, and stale coffee. A world where his biggest worry was rent and whether he'd remembered to unplug his charger before leaving the house.
Now? He was a noble heir. A minor villain in a fantasy novel. One who was supposed to be dead.
The memories had long settled, but moments like this made them rise again. Like bubbles from a still pond, they floated up—visions of his old life, dull but peaceful, and this one, vivid and dangerous.
"I should've taken that accounting exam more seriously," he muttered with a wry grin.
There was a knock.
"Young Master Kael," came a voice from the door. "Lady Lyra is waiting in the east atrium. Your father has requested your presence at the inner council chamber within the hour."
Kael's jaw tightened slightly. "Understood."
He adjusted his cuffs once more and stepped out of the room.
---
The east atrium of House Vaelthorn was an architectural marvel. Arched glass ceilings bathed the area in natural light, while enchanted ivy—faintly glowing with life magic—crawled along marble columns. At the center stood a shallow reflecting pool, lilies drifting lazily over its surface.
Lyra stood beside the water, her gaze tracing the soft ripples. She wore a pale-blue tunic and slim-fit trousers—a practical choice amidst all the nobility. Her hair was tied back again, this time in a loose braid, and her expression was unreadable.
Kael approached without a word.
Lyra glanced sideways. "You look like someone just gave you a crown and asked you to choke on it."
Kael chuckled. "Close. My father's summoned the council."
"The inner council?"
He nodded. "All the power-players. Uncles, great-uncles, advisers… and the old hounds who haven't seen daylight in years."
"And they're all wondering why you brought me," she said plainly.
"They'll wonder more after today."
Lyra looked at him, quiet for a moment, then asked, "Are you planning something?"
Kael's eyes narrowed slightly. "Nothing I'll regret."
---
The council chamber was buried deep within the estate—beneath the central keep, guarded by runic doors and ancient oaths. The walls were carved from blackstone mined from the soul-cracked mountains far north, reinforced by enchantments that absorbed sound.
Twelve seats surrounded the crescent table, with Vaeron at its center. To his right and left sat nobles of varying age and ambition, all bearing the lion crest.
Kael entered alone. Lyra had not been invited.
"Kael Nocturne Vaelthorn," Vaeron began, "You stand before the council as heir and son. Report."
Kael bowed briefly. "I've returned from the Academy with first-rank honors. No demerits. No disciplinary action. Magical aptitude has grown significantly. Martial skill has… developed."
A noble to the far left scoffed. Lord Bramus Vaelthorn, a wiry man with hawk-like eyes. "Developed, he says. What does that mean for a boy who once fled from a sparring match with a page?"
Kael's gaze didn't flicker. "It means I no longer bleed when nobles swing words like blades."
Several members chuckled darkly. Bramus frowned.
Vaeron raised his hand, and silence followed.
"And the girl?"
Kael kept his voice even. "Lyra Aetherwind. Commoner background. Exceptional magical control. Scored highest in elemental weaving and practical duel matches. Trusted by the Academy's staff. I brought her as both personal guard and companion."
Another lord murmured, "A concubine, then?"
Kael's tone turned glacial. "She has more honor than most who sit here. If you insult her, you insult me."
Vaeron watched him for a long time.
Then, unexpectedly, he nodded.
"Let the matter lie. The boy has returned. And with him, change."
That sent another wave of murmurs.
---
Later, Kael returned to the garden paths where Lyra waited. She leaned against a white stone pillar, arms folded.
"You were gone an hour," she said.
"An hour too long."
He didn't speak of what was said—only that it went better than expected. But Lyra wasn't fooled. She saw the stiffness in his shoulders.
He turned to her suddenly. "Do you remember when we first met?"
Lyra blinked. "You mean when you tripped that senior and made it look like his shoe attacked you?"
Kael smirked. "That was calculated chaos."
"And what does this have to do with now?"
Kael's expression grew distant. "I've been thinking about fate a lot lately."
Lyra's eyes narrowed. "You're not making sense."
"I mean…" He paused. "What if none of this was supposed to happen? What if I'm walking a road someone else paved and I've just decided to walk the other way?"
Lyra stepped closer. "Kael, you've been different from the beginning. Smarter. Colder. But also... kinder, in weird ways. I don't care if you walk sideways or backwards. Just don't walk alone."
He stared at her, stunned for a moment.
Then he smiled faintly. "I won't."
---
That evening, as the estate settled into quiet, Kael stood in the family library. Thousands of tomes stretched across spiraling towers, with books that hadn't seen the sun in centuries.
He pulled one from the top shelf: "The Seven Flames of House Vaelthorn."
As he opened it, a letter fluttered to the floor.
Kael picked it up. It was sealed with black wax. No crest.
He opened it carefully, reading the contents slowly.
> "To the one wearing another soul—
The Tower calls to you.
The truth is not where you look, but beneath the ash.
Go to the cellars before midnight. Alone."
Kael's heartbeat quickened. Not from fear—but from a strange familiarity.
Whoever sent this... knew.
Someone in this house knew he wasn't the original Kael.
He looked up toward the high windows. The moon was rising.
---
End of Chapter 50