Midnight came swiftly.
The moon, veiled by a drifting bank of clouds, cast only a pale glow upon the ancient towers of House Vaelthorn. Shadows stretched long across the stone courtyard as Kael slipped through the side passage near the eastern wing—a path only the true heirs of the estate were supposed to know.
He wore a light cloak over his formal attire now, the embroidered crest concealed. His steps were measured, each footfall echoing faintly against the cold stone. Every torch he passed flickered slightly, as though dimming in recognition.
The cellar entrance was guarded by two statues—lion-headed sentinels wrought from obsidian, their eyes faintly glowing red.
He pressed his palm against the runic seal between them. The door responded with a low groan, stone grinding against stone as the ancient lock disengaged.
Beyond it was a spiral staircase, descending into darkness.
Kael didn't hesitate.
He descended in silence, each step colder than the last. As the light above faded, he whispered a small incantation, conjuring a faint glow at his fingertips—just enough to see.
When he reached the base, he found himself in a long hallway. Not damp or dusty, but clean. Preserved. The scent of old parchment and iron lingered in the air.
A single lantern flickered at the far end.
And standing beside it… was a figure.
Hooded. Cloaked in a dull grey mantle. No weapon, no movement. Just silent, watching.
Kael stopped five paces away. His hand didn't move toward a spell or blade—but every nerve in his body was ready.
"You sent the letter," he said quietly.
The figure nodded.
Kael narrowed his eyes. "You're from the Secret Society of Shadows."
"No." The voice was rough. Old. Masculine. "I left them."
Kael blinked. "...You were part of it."
The man pulled down his hood. A weathered face emerged—lined with age, eyes sunken but sharp. His hair was long and grey, streaked with the faintest hint of silver fire.
"I was once a Four-Star Envoy," the man said. "I watched the birth of the former Kael. I watched his descent into despair. And I watched you take his place."
Kael didn't react.
"You know who I am," he said instead of asking.
"I know what you are," the man corrected. "You carry a soul not born of this realm. And yet… you walk the path differently. I wrote the warning because I have seen what happens when reincarnated souls fall under the eye of the Seven Pillars."
Kael's gaze sharpened. "They're watching me?"
"Not yet," the man said grimly. "But they will. You made too many ripples. The moment you stood first at the Academy, the clock began ticking."
Kael's voice was cold now. "Then why warn me?"
"Because the original Kael deserved better." The man looked away, briefly. "And because… I once failed another like you."
The silence thickened.
"Down this hall," the man said, turning toward a sealed stone door with no handle, "lies the truth your family has buried for generations. Your name is Vaelthorn. But your blood…"
Kael stepped closer.
"...your blood is not loyal to the throne."
Kael froze.
The old man's lips twisted bitterly. "Three generations ago, House Vaelthorn betrayed the Empire. Your grandfather helped orchestrate the Burned Rebellion, then turned coat before the purge. All records were destroyed. The name was cleared. But the ashes remember."
The cold in the air suddenly felt heavier. Sharp.
"Why tell me this now?" Kael asked, voice even.
"Because someone else has found the remnants," the man replied. "And because the Seven Pillars are not the only ones watching you. There is another faction—buried deeper than shadows. They call themselves Ashbound."
Kael inhaled slowly. "And they know about me?"
"Not yet. But the moment you take your rightful place here, they will. I saw the way you faced the council. You don't fear them. That alone… will invite enemies you've never imagined."
The man stepped back.
"I've told you enough. The rest... you must uncover yourself."
He tossed a small iron seal toward Kael. Kael caught it—a coin-like medallion, engraved with the image of a broken crown.
"What is this?"
"A key," the man said. "And a warning. If you're still alive by the end of this season, find me again. The Hollow Spire, north of the Soulridge. I'll be watching."
Without another word, the man turned and vanished into the dark, as silently as he had come.
Kael stood alone beneath the estate, holding the medallion.
---
Back above, dawn had not yet broken.
Kael returned to his chambers before anyone stirred. The mirror greeted him once again—his pale reflection half-lit by moonlight.
But now… there was something in his expression.
Not fatigue.
Resolve.
---
That morning, Lyra found him already dressed.
"You're up early."
"I didn't sleep."
She frowned. "Kael—"
He turned to her. "I'm forming a unit. My own knight squad."
Lyra blinked. "What?"
"The estate is full of idle talent. Sons of minor nobles, ambitious officers. Some loyal. Some bored. I need eyes I can trust, and blades that don't belong to my father."
"...And the reason?"
Kael smiled faintly. "Because shadows are starting to move. And I don't plan on staying still."
---
End of Chapter 51