Chapter 14 – Blade of Radiance, Eyes of War
The news spread like wildfire through the Luther stronghold:
Jean Luther drew the Radiant Fang.
For the first time in a century, Martin Luther's sacred sword had chosen a wielder—and not one of the elder siblings, nor a seasoned Grand Master. But the youngest daughter. The Emissary. The outlier.
Tension thickened across the mountain like storm clouds.
Some saw prophecy fulfilled.
Others saw a threat to the Succession.
Among them was Alric Luther, second son of the Clan, and one of its most ruthless.
He came to her that night.
Jean was alone in the training yard, Radiant Fang at her side, quietly practicing forms passed down from the Vault. Each swing hummed with power, her aura synchronizing more smoothly with each motion.
"You hold it like it's always been yours," said a voice behind her.
Jean turned.
Alric stood, tall and cloaked in steel-gray armor, his black hair tied back, his eyes like cold iron. He had once trained under their grandfather himself—and nearly reached Transcendent Master before falling short.
Now, jealousy sharpened him more than his blade.
Jean met his gaze. "Is that why you're here? To stare?"
He walked closer, slow, deliberate. "You've drawn the blade of our ancestor. That gives you claim—whether you want it or not. You realize what that means, don't you?"
"I don't care about the Patriarchy."
"You should. Because the others do."
His aura flared slightly—cold, sharp, precise. "Darien already summoned a council. They plan to challenge your right. And if you survive that… there will be others."
Jean didn't flinch. "Let them come."
Alric smiled bitterly. "You've grown dangerous, little sister. That sword… changed you."
She turned back to her form, blade slicing light through the air.
"It didn't change me," Jean said quietly. "It reminded me who I am."
Alric watched for a moment longer.
Then he spoke one last time. "Be careful. Power like that makes you a beacon. And a beacon draws all kinds of things out of the dark."
He vanished into the night.
Jean exhaled slowly.
Whitney stepped from the shadows beside her, silent as snow.
"He's right," the dire wolf said. "They'll come for you now—not just your siblings. The Magisters. The Empire. The Cult. All of them."
Jean lowered her blade.
"Then let them come," she whispered. "I'll shine brighter."
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