The following days passed in a blur of uncertainty. After the tense conversation in the grand hall, Lucien, Ravian, and Aurelian had retreated to their respective chambers, each lost in their own thoughts. The rift between the brothers had widened, but something about Ravian's response lingered with Lucien. Despite Aurelian's fiery rejection, Ravian had given him a sliver of hope—a faint but unmistakable willingness to confront the past. But that hope came with its own set of dangers.
Lucien found himself standing at the edge of the Verelion Estate, gazing out at the crumbling walls and overgrown gardens. The estate, once a symbol of power and wealth, now stood as a monument to what had been lost. The cracks in the stone seemed to mirror the cracks within the family, and Lucien couldn't help but wonder if they were all too far gone to repair.
But the past wasn't done with them. And the creature, the ancient power that lingered in the shadows, was waiting.
"Lucien."
He turned at the sound of his name, his heart leaping in his chest as he saw Ravian walking toward him. His older brother's expression was unreadable, but Lucien could see the weight of his thoughts in his eyes.
"We need to talk," Ravian said, his voice low. "It's about what comes next."
Lucien nodded, stepping aside to allow Ravian to join him at the edge of the estate. The silence between them was not uncomfortable, but laden with the gravity of their shared understanding.
"I've been thinking," Ravian continued, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "Aurelian won't budge—not yet. He's too tied to the idea of the Verelion legacy, the power, the name. But there's more to it, isn't there? You're right. It's about survival. And I'll be damned if I let our family go down without a fight."
Lucien exhaled sharply, the tension in his chest loosening slightly. "I don't know how much longer we have, Ravian. The creature, the prophecy—it's all tied to the bloodline, to everything we've inherited. I need you to understand—this isn't just about us. This is about Aranthia. The world is at stake."
Ravian's eyes flicked to him, narrowing slightly. "I understand more than you think. The history we've ignored is coming back to bite us. We need to know everything, and that means digging into the past, even if it threatens to unravel everything we've built. We can't afford to wait for Aurelian to come around."
Lucien's stomach tightened at the thought. His brother's skepticism was one thing—his stubbornness was another. Aurelian would fight tooth and nail to preserve the illusion of control, even if it meant turning a blind eye to the truth. But without him, they'd be far weaker.
"We need allies," Lucien said quietly. "The enemy we face isn't just some creature. It's a force, something far older, far more powerful than anything we've dealt with. We'll need all the help we can get—whoever is willing to stand with us."
Ravian's gaze grew sharper, more focused. "I agree. There's no way we can take this on alone, even if we had all the power in the world. We need to find those who know more, those who have seen the signs. There's always been talk of those who walk the fringes of magic—the Mystics, the remnants of the old orders. They might know something we don't."
The Mystics. Lucien had heard rumors about them—whispers of a magocratic theocracy on the Silver Coast, where ancient knowledge and forbidden magics were studied and protected. He didn't know much about them, but they were rumored to hold knowledge of the old ways, the ways that predated the Verelions and their rise to power.
"Do you think they'll help us?" Lucien asked, his voice tinged with doubt. "They're not known for their alliances."
Ravian gave a short, mirthless laugh. "They're not, but they're also not blind. If what you've seen is true, if the creature we're dealing with is as dangerous as you say, then even the Mystics will have to take notice. We just need to make sure we approach them carefully. We can't afford to show weakness."
Lucien nodded, feeling the weight of the task ahead settle in his chest. The Mystics were a distant, enigmatic force, and the idea of aligning with them was both terrifying and necessary. But there was no other choice. If the past had taught him anything, it was that the world would not wait for them to make up their minds.
"There's also another thing," Lucien said, his voice quieter now. "The Chronicles of Ascension—it's not just a record of the past. There's more to it. I believe it holds the key to understanding what's coming, and how we can stop it. But I need to find the rest of it. The fragment I have—it's only the beginning."
Ravian's gaze darkened. "The Chronicles... I've heard stories. Some say it's just a legend, a myth meant to frighten children. Others say it's a weapon—a map to untold power. You truly believe it can help us?"
"I don't just believe it," Lucien said, his voice firm. "I know it."
Ravian was silent for a moment, as though weighing the truth of Lucien's words. Then he nodded. "Then we'll find it. Together."
The brothers stood side by side, the weight of their decision settling around them. The storm they were about to face wasn't just one of political strife or familial betrayal. It was a storm of ancient forces, of forgotten powers long sealed away, and of a future that seemed to be unraveling before their eyes.
But as the winds picked up, rustling through the crumbling gardens, Lucien felt a flicker of something. Hope. It was faint, like a candle in the dark. But it was there.
And for the first time in a long while, Lucien dared to believe that, perhaps, the Verelions—fractured as they were—could rise again.