The room fell silent. Asher's words lingered in the air like poison—or like prophecy.
Michael's hand, which had been drumming lightly against the armrest of his chair, froze. His confident smirk faltered, and his brows knitted into a scowl. "Do you even hear yourself, Asher?" His voice cracked slightly, betraying his unease. "What you're suggesting is treason. A boy of ten speaking like… like a usurper." His words lacked their usual iron. For the first time, Michael was rattled.
William leaned forward, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his knee. His stern, disciplined face was clouded with both anger and something else—an unwilling respect. "You speak madness… but calculated madness." His voice was low, controlled, like a blade being drawn. He looked at Asher with an intensity that bordered on fear. "You've changed, little brother. I don't know if I should be worried… or impressed."
Lilith, who still had her arm around Asher, slowly pulled away, her eyes narrowing. The warmth she carried only moments ago gave way to cautious study. Her lips curved into a sly smile, though her voice trembled with disbelief. "You're not the Asher I know," she whispered, as if to herself. "Our gentle little brother wouldn't dare speak such words." Then, louder: "But… you're not wrong. A weak king can be controlled. Puppets are easy to dress, easy to replace when they break." Her tone danced between awe and unease, as though she couldn't decide if she wanted to follow him—or expose him.
The patriarch said nothing at first. His piercing gaze swept over each of his children, weighing their reactions before resting on Asher. His eyes, ancient and sharp, bore into his youngest son's soul.
"Asher," he finally said, his voice calm yet heavy, "these words you speak… they do not belong to a child. They belong to a schemer, a conqueror. You have spoken not of loyalty, but of ambition. Do you understand the weight of what you've just declared?"
Asher leaned back slightly, his smirk unwavering, eyes locked onto his father's like a predator facing another predator. "I understand it well, Patriarch. The empire is a game. And games are meant to be played by those bold enough to win."
Michael slammed his hand against the table, rattling the teacups. "Enough! This is dangerous talk. You'll bring ruin on this family!"
William remained silent, his jaw clenched, staring at Asher as if trying to read every secret behind his brother's eyes. For the first time in his disciplined life, William looked… uncertain.
Lilith chuckled under her breath, the sound brittle and sharp. "Our little brother has grown fangs," she murmured, almost amused. "How fascinating. Perhaps we've underestimated him all these years."
The patriarch took a long sip of tea, his expression unreadable. He set the cup down with deliberate care, the sound echoing in the tense chamber.
"I called you here to test your judgment," he said at last, his tone carrying the weight of centuries of authority. "Michael seeks strength, William seeks allies, Lilith seeks politics…" His gaze fell on Asher. "And you, Asher… seek power itself."
The room tightened around his words. The siblings shifted in their seats, each absorbing the verdict.
The patriarch's lips curved—just slightly—into a smile that was neither approval nor dismissal, but something far more dangerous. "Very well. Let us see… if your vision proves sharper than your siblings' pride."
For the first time since his rebirth, Asher felt it—the faintest thrill of challenge. The pieces on the board were shifting.
And he had just made his first move.
"What do you mean by that?" the patriarch asked, his voice calm yet laced with caution.
Asher looked up from his teacup, his young face unnervingly composed. "Father," he began, gently placing the cup down with a soft clink, "we are the strongest family in the kingdom—the only one to survive every major shift in history. We have conquered war, navigated political storms, and built our name in blood and loyalty. So I ask you—why should we bend the knee to an imperial family that hides behind our name, our swords, and our sacrifices?"
A heavy silence fell across the grand chamber. The flickering candlelight cast jagged shadows across the long table, painting the Valcren heirs in hues of fire and darkness. The soft rustle of silk, the muted groan of steel, the shallow breaths of servants just beyond the door—these were the only sounds that dared exist.
He was ten. Barely a child. And yet he sat there with the composure of a war-hardened strategist. Calm. Certain. Dangerous.
No one spoke, but all thought the same: How can a boy speak like that? How can he look so calm, as if he has already claimed the throne himself?
Then, Michael leaned forward, his voice steady but touched with curiosity. "But isn't Sister's proposal the same?" His eyes flicked toward Lilith, then back to Asher. "Why go through all this trouble to raise a powerless prince when we could simply marry the princess and rule through her?"
A murmur of agreement swept across the chamber. The idea made sense on the surface, and heads nodded in quiet approval. Lilith arched an eyebrow, lips curving into a faint smile of vindication.
But Asher only shook his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.
"No," he said, his gaze never leaving the patriarch. "The princess will never owe us anything. She can seize the throne with or without our hand. If we help her, we'll be seen as nothing more than loyal hounds—useful until she no longer needs us."
He leaned back in his chair, his voice sharpening with conviction.
"But if we crown a man who could never be king on his own… then we control the throne itself. He will owe us everything. The nobles will see that we are not a dead dragon, but a sleeping one. And once they understand that truth—no one will ever dare challenge us again."
The silence this time was different. Not shock. Not outrage. But awe.
Michael's jaw tightened. His pride bristled, yet in the corners of his eyes flickered a reluctant respect. "…You're playing a dangerous game, little brother," he muttered, though his tone lacked its earlier certainty.
William crossed his arms, his soldier's composure faltering for the first time. His voice was low, measured, but tinged with unease. "You've thought this through. More than any of us. Perhaps too much for a boy your age." His gaze lingered on Asher, as if he were looking at a stranger wearing his brother's face.
Lilith, usually the sharpest in the room, found herself strangely at a loss. Her lips trembled with something between admiration and fear before curving into a sly grin. "You've grown fangs, Asher," she whispered. "Sharp ones. I almost want to see how deep they'll cut."
Then—laughter.
Not mocking, but thunderous. Deep. Genuine. A full-bellied roar that echoed through the stone chamber and rattled the very table before them.
The patriarch, Samael Valcren, laughed.
For the first time in years, the dragon himself let his voice carry warmth instead of steel. His sons and daughter turned toward him in shock. When was the last time Father laughed like that? None of them could remember.
Samael's laughter faded, but the fierce gleam in his eyes only sharpened. He no longer looked at Asher as a child. He looked at him as the future.
"We will go with Asher's proposal," Samael declared, his voice final and absolute. "Does anyone disagree that it is time… to take the rule into our own hands?"
The chamber trembled with the weight of his decree. For a heartbeat, no one moved. Then, one by one, hands rose. Michael. William. Lilith. Each face carried different emotions—hesitation, unease, excitement—but their wills aligned.
The pact was made.
The dragon would rise.
The Valcren family—the most powerful lineage in the kingdom. A name that struck fear even in the highest courts. Over centuries, they had earned countless titles:
Protectors of the Kingdom.
Sword of the Apocalypse.
Bringers of Death.
But beneath the veil of loyalty, they had always been monsters of war, powerhouses in human form. Each member, regardless of appearance or age, possessed terrifying brilliance and strength. Where they walked, nations crumbled. Where they stood, kings knelt.
For a hundred years, they had chained themselves in honor and obedience, serving a kingdom that grew weak and complacent behind their shadow.
But now…
Now the dragon stirred.
After a century of slumber, the beast would awaken. And the world would burn in its wrath. They would soon remember why the Valcrens were feared… why the chains had been forged…
And why no one dared test the patience of a sleeping dragon.