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The Return of the Tyrant
The Kaelthorne Estate loomed before Azrael like a beast lying in wait. The towering obsidian spires, wrapped in creeping mist, cast long shadows against the twilight sky. The crest of the Kaelthorne Serpent, its fanged maw wrapped around a burning sword, gleamed in the dim light.
Azrael rode through the massive iron gates without hesitation.
The guards, once indifferent to his presence, stood rigid, their hands tightening on their weapons. Fear. It had replaced their old contempt. The war had changed everything. Azrael Kaelthorne was no longer the forgotten bastard.
He had led armies. He had returned victorious.
And, most importantly—he had survived.
The war should have claimed him. It had been arranged that way. But Azrael had defied expectations, emerging stronger, sharper—a blade that refused to break.
And now, he was here for what was rightfully his.
But before that, he had to face the one man who still had power over him.
---
The Gathering of the Lords
Azrael was led through the estate's vast corridors, the familiar scent of aged parchment, polished stone, and cold steel filling the air. The grand hall, lined with ancient banners, opened before him—and within sat the High Lords of Kaelthorne.
A dozen figures in regal attire, seated in a semi-circle around the central throne.
At the head sat Vael Kaelthorne, the Patriarch.
His silver hair, untouched by age, framed his sharp, chiseled features. His mere presence suffocated the air in the room.
Aura Level 10. Mana Cycle 9.
The Empire's strongest noble.
Yet, his gaze was unreadable as he studied the son he had once discarded.
Azrael walked forward, his steps slow, deliberate. The nobles flanking his father watched him with keen eyes—measuring, weighing, calculating.
Some saw an asset. Others saw a danger.
Cedric Kaelthorne, the eldest son, leaned back in his chair, smirking. "Look at this. The war hero returns." His voice was a mockery wrapped in silk.
Azrael ignored him. His golden eyes remained locked on Vael.
The Patriarch finally spoke. His voice carried the weight of authority—the voice of a man who commanded armies and crushed rebellions.
"You have returned."
Azrael inclined his head slightly. "The war is over. I was relieved of command."
Vael's fingers tapped once against the armrest of his throne. "And yet, you stand here. Not at the capital, not with the Emperor, but here." His gaze sharpened. "What is it that you seek?"
A long silence followed.
The other nobles leaned in slightly. They knew. Azrael did not return out of duty. He came with purpose.
But he did not answer immediately.
Not yet.
Instead, his golden eyes swept the room. "Before we discuss that, let's speak of the real matter at hand."
A slight pause. Then, he continued.
"The Obsidian Covenant."
The chamber froze.
A ripple of tension passed through the gathered nobles. Some of them exchanged cautious glances, while others barely restrained their reactions.
The Covenant's name was never spoken openly.
Because only the highest-ranking nobles knew the truth.
Azrael's smirk deepened. "Ah. So we are acknowledging them."
Vael's expression did not change, but his fingers stopped tapping.
It was Cedric who broke the silence, his smirk faltering just slightly. "You should be careful throwing that name around, little brother."
Azrael met his gaze. "And why is that?"
Cedric's expression darkened. "Because it's not a name meant for us to speak. They exist in the shadows for a reason."
Azrael exhaled slowly, his voice casual. "Then they should have stayed there."
Silence.
Then, Vael spoke again. "What do you know?"
Azrael stepped closer, resting a hand on the table.
"The Covenant sent an assassin for me."
Some of the nobles stiffened. Others exchanged glances.
Azrael's smirk did not waver. "They failed."
A heavy silence.
Then, one of the older nobles, Lord Elron Kaelthorne, finally spoke, his voice like rusted steel. "That is… troubling."
Troubling? They all knew what it meant.
The Covenant never moved openly unless someone had stepped outside of fate's design.
Vael studied Azrael, his silver eyes cold and calculating. "And you survived."
Azrael met his gaze without hesitation. "Did you expect otherwise?"
His father's lips curled slightly—not in amusement, but in something deeper. Recognition.
"You were never meant to rise so quickly," Vael finally murmured. "Yet you have."
Azrael smirked. "Then perhaps fate is losing its grip."
Another tense silence. Then, finally, Vael leaned back in his throne.
"Very well." His voice carried finality.
"You have returned. You have proven your worth. Now, tell me."
His gaze sharpened.
"What is it that you want?"
The room grew still.
The gathered nobles leaned forward slightly, anticipation flickering in their eyes.
They all knew.
Azrael had not returned merely for political pleasantries. He had come with a demand.
Something powerful. Something dangerous.
Something that would change everything.
But Azrael did not answer immediately. Instead, his smirk deepened.
"All in due time."
---
Something Stirs in the Depths
Far beyond the estate, in a place untouched by light, something old awoke.
The ancient seal, long thought to be unbreakable, pulsed with eerie silver light.
A second fracture snaked across its surface.
A whisper, carried through the void.
"The Tyrant walks the path of kings…"
The seal cracked further, releasing a slow, pulsing hum.
"But does he see the chains tightening around him?"
A final pulse of power.
Then—silence.
For now.
---
To Be Continued…