The ride back to the Kaelward estate was silent, save for the rattling of the carriage wheels over the uneven cobblestones. Kael sat still, his hands resting lightly on his lap, though his fingers occasionally twitched. The Trial of Worth had ended hours ago, but the laughter of the nobles and the sneers of the council still echoed in his ears.
The scent of damp wood and musty upholstery filled the air, mingling with the faint, sharp tang of rain. Kael's silver hair caught glimmers of the dim light filtering through the carriage window, his storm-gray eyes distant.
"Infinite Nexus," Kael muttered, letting the words roll off his tongue as if testing their weight. A skill with limitless potential and no immediate utility. It was a cruel irony, perfectly fitting for a world designed to reward the powerful and crush the weak.
"Brooding won't solve anything, young master," Eron's voice cut through the stillness.
Kael's gaze shifted to the butler sitting opposite him, his posture as rigid and composed as ever. "I wasn't brooding. I was thinking."
"Were you?" Eron tilted his head, his dark eyes gleaming faintly. "The council's expectations are clear. They've all but labeled you a failure, yet your potential intrigues them enough to keep you alive—for now."
Kael smirked faintly, the expression laced with a sardonic edge. "Alive is enough. For now."
Eron studied him for a moment longer, then shifted his attention to the carriage door as the estate loomed into view.
The Kaelward estate was a sprawling remnant of faded glory. Its walls, built of gray stone quarried from the mountains of the northern borderlands, bore cracks that ran like veins. The gardens, once a testament to the family's wealth and prestige, were now overgrown, choked by ivy and wildflowers.
Kael stepped out of the carriage, his boots crunching against the gravel. He paused, taking in the sight of the estate that was now both his home and his burden.
The Kaelward territory was nestled at the edge of the Dominion, a vast empire spanning multiple kingdoms. The Dominion was a patchwork of loyalties, ruled by a High Council that acted as both judge and executioner. Each noble house controlled a domain, but their power was borrowed, held in trust by the council's whims.
And the Kaelward house? It teetered on the edge of irrelevance.
Kael walked through the main hall, its once-pristine marble floors now dulled with age. The portraits lining the walls depicted generations of Kaelwards—men and women with stern faces and eyes that seemed to follow him as he passed. He couldn't help but wonder how many of them had been failures in their own ways, their stories buried beneath the weight of history.
"Still playing the part of the doomed heir, are we?"
The voice was sharp, dripping with mockery. Kael turned to see Julius Kaelward leaning casually against the frame of the drawing room's entrance.
Julius's silver hair was neatly combed, his tailored jacket immaculate. He looked every inch the perfect heir, the kind of man who excelled in appearances and little else.
Kael forced a smile, his eyes narrowing slightly. "And you're still playing the part of the family's golden boy, I see. How exhausting it must be."
Julius's expression tightened, though his tone remained light. "You've made quite the spectacle of yourself, little brother. S-level potential with a skill so useless it might as well not exist. I'd almost feel sorry for you if it weren't so... entertaining."
Kael took a step closer, lowering his voice. "Enjoy the show while you can, Julius. It won't last."
The tension between them was palpable, a silent clash of wills that neither was willing to break. But before either could speak further, a commanding voice shattered the moment.
"Enough."
Magnus Kaelward, patriarch of the family, descended the grand staircase like a judge coming to deliver a verdict. His silver hair, streaked with gray, glinted under the flickering light of the chandelier. His presence was a force unto itself—unyielding, sharp, and heavy with expectation.
"Inside. Both of you," Magnus ordered, his voice brooking no argument.
Kael and Julius followed him into the study, a room lined with shelves filled with leather-bound tomes. The air smelled of old parchment and faintly of pipe smoke. Magnus stood behind the massive oak desk, his gaze sweeping over his sons like a hawk assessing prey.
"S-level potential," Magnus began, his tone even but cutting. "A gift few are born with. Yet here we are, with the Kaelward name being laughed at once again. Tell me, Kael, how do you intend to rectify this?"
Kael met his father's gaze without flinching. "The trial was a display, not the end. I'll prove them wrong."
"Prove them wrong? With a skill that does nothing on its own?" Magnus's voice rose slightly, the weight of his disappointment pressing down on the room. "Potential means nothing if it leads nowhere. You've made us the object of ridicule."
Kael stepped forward, his voice steady but sharp. "Ridicule didn't start with me, Father. The Kaelward name has been fading for years. I inherited this mess, but I promise you—I'll do what no one else has done."
Magnus studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he spoke. "You have until the council's next summons to prove your worth. If you fail, you'll no longer carry the protection of this family."
Kael's stomach twisted, but he nodded. "Understood."
Later that evening, Kael sat in the library, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across the pages of an old tome. The book was one of many chronicles detailing the Dominion and its neighboring kingdoms.
To the north lay the Frosted Wastes, an icy expanse where nomadic tribes survived amidst the howling winds and frost-giants that prowled the tundra. The east was home to the Verdant Reach, a lush region ruled by druids and beasts bound by ancient pacts. And far to the west, past the Dominion's borders, lay the Shattered Expanse—a fractured land where magic had once torn reality itself apart.
The Dominion itself was a realm of order and control, but its heart was rotten. The High Council, a body of twelve who ruled with iron precision, had long mastered the art of manipulation.
Kael closed the book, his thoughts heavy. The Dominion wasn't just a kingdom; it was a battlefield of politics, power, and blood.
"Survival means knowing the rules," Kael muttered. "And breaking them when necessary."
His fingers brushed the letter from the council, its wax seal broken. The Tower of Dawn awaited him in three days, a place shrouded in mystery and danger.
Kael smirked faintly, his resolve hardening. "Let's see how far I can push this game."