Chapter 1: The Unworthy Heir
The halls of Veyrin Keep were grand, lined with towering pillars carved with ancient runes. Chandeliers of enchanted crystal bathed the stone walls in a warm, golden glow. Servants bustled through the corridors, knights patrolled the grounds, and noble guests spoke in hushed whispers. Yet, despite the castle's magnificence, one name passed between lips with pity or scorn.
Kael Veyrin.
The youngest son of Grand Duke Alistair Veyrin, the so-called Unworthy Heir.
Kael sat in the training courtyard, breathing heavily, his black hair damp with sweat. A dull ache throbbed through his body as he lay sprawled on the stone floor. His wooden training sword lay just beyond his reach, knocked from his grip moments ago.
Across from him, his elder brother, Rheon Veyrin, stood tall, arms crossed. Unlike Kael, Rheon was everything a Veyrin was meant to be—strong, composed, and brilliant in both magic and swordsmanship. His deep red eyes, identical to their father's, gleamed with restrained disappointment.
"Kael, you're hesitating too much," Rheon said, offering a hand to help him up. "You're thinking of your next move, but by the time you decide, it's already over."
Kael groaned, reluctantly taking the hand. He knew Rheon was right. He wasn't weak—at least, not completely—but he was slow. Clumsy. His movements lacked the natural instinct of a warrior.
"I don't want to fight like you," Kael muttered, brushing dust from his tunic.
Rheon sighed. "You have to, Kael. You're a Veyrin. We're warriors, not scholars."
We're warriors.
Kael had heard that his entire life. The Veyrins were a family of peerless mages and swordsmen, wielders of the Crimson Sigil, an ancient bloodline magic. Even their weakest could stand against dozens of knights.
But Kael? He had no talent for their magic. His sigils faded too quickly. His mana reserves, while decent, were nothing compared to his siblings'. In the eyes of the world, he was a noble by blood but a failure in every other way.
The engagement he once had with Lady Evelyne Grimthorne had been annulled for that very reason.
His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice.
"That's enough for today," said Elira Veyrin, his elder sister. She stood near the courtyard's entrance, watching with a calm but firm expression. Her long black hair cascaded over her shoulders, her red eyes filled with something far gentler than Rheon's—concern.
Kael straightened. "I can still—"
"You can rest," she said, giving him a knowing look. "Father has summoned us."
Kael stiffened. His father, Grand Duke Alistair Veyrin, rarely called for him. If he did, it usually wasn't good news.
As Kael followed his siblings into the keep, a single thought gnawed at him.
What now?