The grand hall was filled with whispers, murmurs rippling through the crowd as Kaelan stood motionless, absorbing the implications of the announcement. The nobles, dressed in their finest attire, exchanged glances that betrayed their thoughts: Blackthorn was a broken land, a place that had once been a beacon of prosperity but had now fallen into despair.
Blackthorn had once been a proud frontier under the Drakemont banner, a strategic hold that played a pivotal role in defending the kingdom from external threats. Its fertile soil had fed the Drakemont family's forces, and the Blackthorn Keep had been a symbol of power and influence. But now, the land was nothing but a hollow shell of its former self.
The earth had been ravaged by years of overuse, and what remained was barren. Crops grew only half-heartedly, stunted and weak, as the soil, once rich in nutrients, had become infertile due to over-farming and neglect. The forests had been stripped bare, leaving the land exposed to the harsh winds and monster incursions. There was no irrigation to speak of, and the wild animals from the neighboring wildlands had turned the once-thriving settlements into graveyards.
The roads, once well-maintained arteries of trade, were cracked and overrun with weeds, while the bridges had long since collapsed into the rivers that ran through the region. Blackthorn Keep, the supposed seat of Kaelan's future domain, was a crumbling fortress, its once-proud walls barely holding together. Its garrison was a meager force, too small to fend off anything but the most basic threats, let alone organized raiders or wandering bands of mercenaries.
The economy of Blackthorn had withered to almost nothing. There was no trade, as merchants refused to risk their lives on the dangerous roads, and the few villages left were populated only by the desperate, the broken, and the hopeless. Even the locals who had once sworn loyalty to the Drakemont banner now lived in fear, their lives at the mercy of the wild animals and the lawless few who still dared to claim the land as their own.
The once-mighty Drakemont family had fallen from grace, and Kaelan's father, Darius Drakemont, had disappeared mysteriously all those years ago, leaving his son to inherit the ruins. And now, as Kaelan stood before the council and the nobles, he was being handed Blackthorn as his inheritance.
The murmurs grew louder, some filled with pity, others with quiet laughter. It was no secret that the council had conspired against Kaelan, ensuring that he would receive the most undesirable land available. His stepmother, Elena, had worked tirelessly behind the scenes, manipulating the council to ensure that Kaelan was given the worst of the territories, forcing him into a position where failure seemed inevitable.
To the assembled nobility, it was clear—Blackthorn was nothing more than a death sentence.
A noble near the front of the crowd smirked, his voice dripping with condescension. "The Drakemont heir has been thrown into the wolves' den. That place will swallow him whole."
Another noble, a portly man with a thick beard, chuckled under his breath. "Serves him right for daring to reclaim his place. A broken land for a broken heir."
Kaelan's gaze swept across the crowd, taking in the scornful expressions and whispered insults. The contempt was palpable, but it didn't faze him. He had heard it all before—since his father's disappearance, he had been subjected to the mocking glances and jeers of those who saw him as nothing more than a weakling, a shadow of his former self. But that would change.
Among the crowd, a figure stood slightly apart from the rest, her silver hair shimmering in the dim light of the chamber. Elara, the beautiful daughter of a neighboring Count, had earned the title of Valedictorian in the coming-of-age ceremony. But unlike the others, Elara's thoughts were not focused on the land or the inheritance—it was Kaelan who consumed her attention.
She had been watching him intently since the ceremony began, trying to read the emotions that flickered behind his calm demeanor. She had expected him to lash out, to show some form of anger or despair. After all, the council's decision was nothing short of an insult to the Drakemont name. But Kaelan stood tall, his expression stoic, as though he had already accepted the fate thrust upon him.
Kaelan had been the one to outshine them all when they were younger—his swordsmanship unmatched, his aura mastery unparalleled. He had been the one everyone looked to for guidance, for leadership. And now? He was being thrust into the abyss, left to rot in a land that had been forgotten by time and abandoned by its people. And yet, there was something about the way he held himself—something that stirred her deeply.
She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms as she stepped forward, her voice clear and unwavering. "I… I apologize," she said, her words filling the hall. "This result was unjust."
The room fell silent. Every eye turned to Elara as she spoke out against the decision. She had no stake in the Drakemont family's fortunes, but she could not, in good conscience, stand by and let such a grave injustice go unchallenged. Blackthorn was not just a worthless barony—it was a punishment, a means to break Kaelan's spirit, and she could see that plainly.
Kaelan, however, did not react to her words the way she had expected. His eyes met hers, deep and unwavering, and for a moment, it seemed as if the weight of the entire room had shifted. He spoke calmly, his voice carrying a quiet power. "There is no need to apologize, Lady Elara. I will deal with what has been given to me."
His composure unnerved her. There was no anger, no bitterness, no desire for revenge—just a serene acceptance, a quiet strength that seemed to come from within. It was as if Kaelan had already moved past the injustice and was now focused on something greater, something far beyond the petty games of the nobles.
For a moment, Elara wondered if she had misjudged him. Perhaps he was not as broken as everyone thought. Perhaps this was the beginning of something far more dangerous than anyone had imagined.
Beside her, Selene, the daughter of a lesser lord, let out a soft, mocking chuckle. "Well, well… The fallen heir doesn't even flinch. How interesting. I wonder how long you'll last?"
Kaelan turned his gaze towards Selene, offering her a slight smirk that was as cold and calculated as any warrior's. He said nothing in response, but his silence spoke volumes. His composure in the face of their ridicule only seemed to fuel their curiosity, and they couldn't help but watch him closely, eager to see how long he could keep up the act.
As the ceremony wound down and the hall began to empty, Milo and Arlenna made their way towards Kaelan, both expressions clouded with concern. They had seen him at his lowest, and now, they were watching as he was handed a challenge unlike any other.
"What now, my lord?" Milo asked in a hushed tone, his brow furrowed with worry. "Blackthorn is…"
"A wasteland," Arlenna finished, her voice tinged with frustration. "They're setting you up for failure."
Kaelan exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. "Then I will turn failure into my strength."
Both Milo and Arlenna fell silent, unsure of how to respond. They had expected anger, perhaps even desperation, but there was none of that in Kaelan's voice. Instead, there was a quiet, burning determination that sent a chill down their spines. It was the kind of resolve that could move mountains, the kind that could take even the most hopeless situation and bend it to one's will.
"Blackthorn will not be my grave," Kaelan continued, his voice firm and unwavering. "It will be my foundation."
Arlenna's heart raced as she listened to his words. She had feared that Kaelan might crumble under the pressure, but now, she saw something else—something she had never seen before. There was no doubt in his voice, no hesitation in his eyes. Instead, there was a fire—a fire that burned brighter than it ever had before.
Milo nodded firmly, his face set in grim determination. "Then we prepare for Blackthorn."
Later, as night fell and Kaelan retreated to his personal chambers, he stood by the window, gazing out at the moonlit sky. The stars twinkled in the distance, and for the briefest of moments, the weight of the world seemed to lift from his shoulders.
"They think they've buried me," he murmured to himself, his voice barely a whisper. "But they've only given me soil to grow."
Kaelan turned away from the window, a glint of steel in his eyes. Blackthorn would rise again. He would make it so. And in doing so, he would prove them all wrong.
The world would never forget his name.