"I am good, Uncle. I've been educating myself a lot," Kasimir replied, his tone composed as the maid gently lowered him into his seat. She smiled, bowed, and took her leave.
"I may excuse myself, My Lord."
Barsan gave a nod and waited for the doors to close before he turned back to Kasimir. His eyes, sharp as ever, studied the boy like a commander reading a battlefield map.
"You've been reading about magic, haven't you?"
Kasimir flinched. 'How would he know?' He was always alone in his room—he hadn't told a soul.
"…Yes, Uncle," he admitted. "I've read so much about the world. About Essence, about magic. I can't take being locked in this mansion anymore. Please—let me learn."
Barsan leaned back, smirking. "Good."
Kasimir blinked. "Good?"
"Do you remember the book I gave you?" Barsan continued, "The one about our traditions?"
Kasimir nodded.
"Then you've read this line—'An Asheensteel walks the path not because it is easy, but because no other has the strength to do so.'"
Barsan stood. His aura stirred the air.
"I knew you'd ask me, Kasimir. My brother knew it too. That's why—starting tomorrow—your uncle from the Empire will arrive. Lax Asheensteel."
Kasimir's eyes widened. "He's real?"
Barsan chuckled. "Real enough to make generals kneel. Lax will teach you everything you need to know—and more."
The boy tried to stand but faltered. Before he could hit the ground, a soft gust caught him—holding him upright.
"I… I'm standing." Kasimir gasped.
"Sort of," Barsan muttered with a smile.
Then, he raised his hand, and a flash of red light shimmered into the room—a black necklace with a crimson gem floated in his palm.
"This was your mother's," he said softly. "You are her only heir. Your father asked me to pass it to you when you were ready… and you are."
Kasimir reached out, hands trembling. As he touched the pendant, it pulsed—like a heartbeat that had been waiting for his grasp.
"Your journey starts now," Barsan said. "I won't be seeing you like this again. I'll return to the Empire to manage the House's affairs. But remember, Kasimir…"
Barsan crouched, looking him in the eye. "Carry the name with pride. Become worthy of it. Be a true Asheensteel."
Kasimir nodded. He called for a maid, who helped him put the necklace around his neck. The red gem gleamed against his chest like a dormant ember.
"It looks amazing," Kasimir whispered, examining himself in the mirror. The maid chuckled.
"Young master, it's time for your nap. Asheensteel or not, you need rest to grow."
She lifted him and carried him off, but Kasimir's eyes were already distant—his heart racing at the thought of tomorrow.
⸻
Meanwhile…
Inside a carriage trailing down a forested road, Barsan Asheensteel sat in silence. One of his knights, clad in silver armor, glanced toward him.
"My lord… is it truly wise to entrust Kasimir to Master Lax?"
Barsan didn't respond immediately. His eyes watched the shifting trees, unreadable.
"He's Barius' son. That's all that matters. He'll get the same forging fire we did. No more. No less."
The knight bowed his head. "Yes, my lord."
But just then—
CRACK—
A snapped branch echoed like a warning shot. The carriage halted. Through the trees came a voice:
"Well, well. What do we have here? Rich nobles, and no city guard."
Ten figures stepped into view, clad in ragged black cloaks. The leader wore crimson—a man with one scarred eye and a jagged glaive resting on his shoulder.
"Easy prey," one bandit sneered. "You nobles always make it too easy."
Inside, one knight began to rise—but Barsan simply raised his hand.
"Sit."
The knight sat immediately.
Outside, the bandits grinned wider as Barsan opened the carriage door and stepped out alone.
He stood tall, composed and cloaked in nobility and silence.
"Look at his coat… those markings," one bandit whispered. "He's a Bonded."
"Don't matter. Ten of us, one of him—"
BOOM.
Thunder cracked above them. A still sky darkened unnaturally. Wind curled around Barsan's feet.
The bandit pointing his sword at him froze in place—his limbs refusing to obey.
Then, with a single finger, Barsan touched the blade.
It shattered into glittering shards of metal.
The bandits went pale.
"R-run…!" one of them whimpered. "That's not a noble… that's a storm!"
The leader didn't move. "Kyle. Josh. With me. The rest—run."
The others bolted into the trees like terrified animals.
"Boss, we can still run—"
"No," the leader said, steadying his stance. "If someone has to die here, let it be us. Better that than all of us."
Just then, a gust of wind slammed into them, knocking all three to their knees. The trees behind them groaned. Leaves spiraled upward. The very earth shook.
Inside the carriage, Barsan spoke without turning.
"Johan. Go."
A knight stepped out, his silver armor, marked with Asheensteel sigils, and a face beneath his helmet like a calm storm.
He knelt.
"As you command, my lord."
With a flash, Johan was gone. Lightning roared across the ground like a dragon. The air howled.
The last thing the bandits saw was a flash of silver, and the sky itself breaking apart.
Barsan turned back to the forest as the wind died, clouds still crackling with thunder.
His voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"…Verrakar."
The storm obeyed.
…
To be continued…