Chapter 2: The Return of Kael Renforth
The sun hung low over Port Avallon, casting long shadows on the magnificent estate of the Denvair family. Kael Renforth stood at the entrance, a medal clenched in his hand. Behind the imposing gates, the once-thriving manor now lay silent, overgrown, and eerily desolate. Five years had passed since Kael left this place—a young man with little more than his name—and now he returned, bearing the weight of unspeakable truths.
Inside, things were no better. Lady Seraphine Denvair and her youngest daughter, Celine, greeted him with cold disdain.
"Kael Renforth?" Celine narrowed her eyes, her voice dripping with disbelief. "You're back? Looking like some polished officer now? Last I checked, you were just a useless brother-in-law embarrassing this family."
Kael tried to smile through her words, but they stung more than he cared to admit. He glanced at Lady Seraphine, who met him with equal hostility.
"Where is Alaric?" Lady Seraphine demanded sharply. "Five years without a word, and now you show up alone?"
Kael hesitated. How could he tell them the truth? That Alaric Denvair, the pillar of their family and Kael's mentor, had sacrificed himself to save Kael in battle? For now, he had to lie.
"Alaric is fine," Kael said, his voice steady but tight. "He's been promoted—busy with his new responsibilities. He'll return soon."
Lady Seraphine's eyes softened briefly, pride overtaking her scorn. "Promoted, you say? About time. Perhaps now that we have some power back, that Malavant bastard will learn his place."
At the mention of the Malavant name, Kael's demeanor darkened. He filed the information away, a mental note against the man whose schemes likely contributed to Alaric's death.
The reunion turned sour when an unwelcome guest arrived.
"Celine, you little vixen!" a mocking voice boomed from the manor's entrance. "Flirting with men while your father's away—shameless!"
Kael turned to see a well-dressed but smug young man swaggering through the gates, flanked by three black-suited bodyguards. His arrogant smirk and air of entitlement spoke volumes.
"Valen Malavant," Celine spat, her voice trembling with rage. "You're not welcome here! Leave!"
But her tone betrayed more than anger; it carried fear—a deep, unsettled dread that Kael couldn't ignore.
"Shut your mouth!" Valen barked, pointing a finger at her. "You think you can talk to me like that, you spoiled brat? You're lucky my father tolerates your pathetic family."
Kael stepped forward, placing himself between Celine and Valen. His gaze was steady, unflinching, and icy.
"Valen Malavant," Kael said, his voice calm but laced with menace. "You must be the dog of the Malavant house."
The smirk on Valen's face faltered, replaced by a flicker of anger. The tension in the air was palpable, like the moments before a storm.
"Watch your tongue, whoever-you-are," Valen hissed. "You don't know who you're messing with."
Kael's lips curled into a smile—a predator's smile. "Oh, I know exactly who I'm dealing with. And trust me, you're going to regret ever stepping into this house."