Chapter 10 – The Son and the Flame
Two days before the sky burned red, the capital knew its own kind of fire.
Not of magic — but of legacy, duty, and pressure wrapped in velvet and gold.
Luceris moved like a weapon unsheathed.
Ten palace guards surrounded him, blades drawn, formation tight — but they hesitated.
He did not.
With a blur of motion, he stepped through their ranks like wind made steel. The first went down with a grunt and a flash of red velvet. The second and third followed — parried, twisted, dropped in perfect rhythm.
"Come on," Luceris laughed. "Ten against one, and you still can't touch me? At least make me breathe harder."
One of the guards muttered to the others, sweat beading at his temple.
"All at once. Now."
They charged. Luceris smiled.
He flipped over one strike, dodged the second with a pivot so sharp it cut the wind, and countered the third mid-spin. His wooden sword clacked with a rhythm that felt less like training and more like choreography.
Another guard fell. Then another.
"Almost had me," he smirked, disarming two more before they hit the ground. "Almost."
Before the final blow could land, a shrill voice cut through the courtyard.
"Luceris! Your father demands you — now. You should've already left for the border village!"
Luceris froze. The smile faded.
His eyes shifted — not with fear, but with something colder. Worn. Heavy.
He turned slowly to face the panting advisor at the gate — eyes sharp, golden, and tired of interruption.
"Mind your tone when you speak to me," he said, voice low and edged. "I'll go."
He glanced back at the guards, sprawled across the stone like discarded shields.
"We'll resume later," he muttered. Then, with a half-smile, "Train harder."
None showed disappointment. Only quiet relief, as if the break had been a blessing they hadn't dared ask for.
The walk back from the training yard led through the opulence of the capital — tall towers, gleaming rooftops, marble courtyards. Servants bowed as he passed. Outside, the world burned and broke.
In here, it glittered.
At its center stood the main citadel.
His home.
Luceris entered without announcement.
The throne room reeked of wine and perfumed oil. On the throne slouched the Duke — bloated, wrapped in gold-trimmed arrogance. A man who once led armies, now barely lifted his goblet.
Luceris bowed — barely.
"Father. You summoned me."
The Duke stared down with the look of a man who hated failure — and his own reflection even more.
"You were supposed to be gone. Do you disobey now?"
Luceris didn't flinch.
"The village is meaningless. Why send me — The only heir of the house Vaelmont — to handle it? Send Lady Morveth. She fits the filth."
The Duke's eyes narrowed.
"Morveth is occupied. Caelondor stirs. Aurelia breathes too freely. That village is mine, and it borders what I no longer trust."
Luceris remained silent. But inside:
So we burn a village… because your pride can't stand being ignored?
The thought was acid behind his teeth.
A bitterness he had tasted before — at dinners, in duels, in dreams.
The Duke rose, groaning beneath his own weight.
"You were born to conquer, boy. So go — take it. Burn it. I don't care. As long as it kneels."
Luceris clenched his jaw. Bowed lower.
"Understood."
As he walked away, cloak flaring behind him, he whispered:
"I'll burn it. Not for your pride. Not for politics.
For what I lost. For what I still see when I close my eyes."
His pace quickened through the halls. The marble beneath his boots blurred.
For the time I lost in rooms filled with silence and duty.
For the words I never said — and the ones I'll never hear again.
I'll burn it all if the smoke can carry her name back to me.
Back at the barracks, the command came swift.
"Form ranks. Two hundred only. My personal guard."
His men didn't question it.
Luceris giving orders meant one thing: someone — or something — was about to be broken.
The barracks fell behind. Marble columns, iron gates, courtyards of power and whisper.
And then — the outer wall.
The gate loomed, etched with the crest of House Vaelmont: a blade wreathed in flame, framed by wings of gold.
Two guards pulled it open.
The groan of iron was long and low — like the breath of a city watching its flame depart.
Luceris crossed first — not just through the gate, but into the story fate had dared him to enter.
Behind him: legacy. Ahead: fire.
A rider pulled up beside him — sharp eyes, quiet armor, a gaze like steel.
Luceris didn't look.
"Vaerion," he said, voice dry. "Speak."
"My lord… two hundred men for a village? You know they have no army."
Luceris didn't respond at first. Then:
"Three figures. One walks in shadow. One in flame. The last — no history, no name. Yet the world bends when he moves."
Vaerion kept pace.
"Then this isn't conquest."
Luceris tilted his head.
"No. It's measurement."
A pause.
"If they fall, good. If not — I'll see what I must become."
Vaerion studied him a moment longer.
"You want them to kneel quickly, my lord," he said. "Is it because they defied your father?"
Luceris turned his gaze to the horizon.
"No. I want it finished," he said.
"Because she still waits for me."
Vaerion's expression changed — not confusion, but memory. He had heard whispers before. A girl. A promise. A loss. But Luceris never spoke of it.
"Do you believe she lives still?" he asked softly.
Luceris didn't answer. His jaw tightened. His hands closed slightly on the reins.
"I don't believe anything. I act."
A silence passed.
"Then may they be worthy, my lord."
They rode for two days — steel biting soil, hooves like drums. The capital faded like a rotting memory.
At dusk, when the sun was a dying ember behind the hills, he let the reins slacken.
The rhythm of the march softened behind him. He should have called a halt, but he didn't.
Instead, he stared at the horizon, as if somewhere beyond it, a voice waited.
A laugh. A hand. A reason.
But the only thing that answered was wind.
And he hated how much that silence sounded like her absence.
He paused beneath a crooked pine and dismounted. Let his fingers touch the bark. Closed his eyes.
"You said you'd wait…"
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to.
Behind him, no orders were given. No commands barked.
Only silence — and the sound of men who had marched with legends, but never followed a flame wrapped in flesh. Luceris said little. He didn't need to. Every soldier behind him knew:
Not a noble. Not a diplomat.He was a weapon — and weapons speak only in force.
And so we return — to the edge of fire, to the mouth of fate.
Luceris Vaelmont stands not behind an army… but ahead of it.
And in his path waits something he was never prepared for.
Not a man. Not a god. But a silence that speaks back. A name that burns without being spoken.
And for the first time in years,
Luceris doesn't know if he wants to win… or just be seen.