The meeting ended in Asher's favor, and with the Valcren Family now set on overthrowing the throne and seizing control, the dragon that had long been sleeping was finally awake—ready to shift the balance of the world.
Word spread like wildfire.
Within days of the Valcrens' council, rumors leaked into the noble courts: The House of Valcren has declared its support for the second prince.
At first, the empire scoffed.
In gilded halls and candlelit salons, nobles laughed into their goblets of wine.
"The second prince? That drunkard?"
"Useless as he is, he couldn't even keep his sword steady in a duel."
"A foolish gamble. The Valcrens must be slipping."
But beneath the surface laughter lingered unease. For the same nobles who mocked the decision found themselves whispering in private, their smiles fading when no ears but their own listened.
"The Valcrens do not move without reason."
"If they have chosen him… perhaps he is not as powerless as we thought."
"No. He is powerless. That's the danger. Which means… the Valcrens intend to rule through him."
Fear rippled like cracks through marble. The empire remembered all too well the tales of the Valcren bloodline. The dynasty of monsters, warriors, and generals who bled entire nations dry in war. The family who had humbled emperors before—yet, for a century, bowed in loyalty to the throne.
If the Valcrens had chosen to stir, then what else lay waiting beneath their silence?
In the Imperial Palace, the atmosphere thickened.
The Emperor sat upon his throne, his face stern yet unreadable. His court officials squabbled around him, their voices clashing in the marble chamber.
"The Valcrens insult us, Your Majesty!" one duke barked. "Backing the second prince is nothing short of mockery to the imperial bloodline!"
"Mockery?" another sneered. "No, it is a message. A declaration. They mean to use him as a puppet. To place a crown on a weakling's head while their claws wrap around the empire itself."
The Empress sat silently, her face pale but her eyes calculating. She said nothing, but those who dared glance at her quickly looked away. Everyone in the court remembered the truth: she was once the greatest wizard in the world. And the weak second prince? He was her son.
Her lips twitched into the faintest of smiles—one so cold that the chamber itself seemed to chill.
"Let them play their game," she murmured, finally breaking her silence. Her voice was soft, yet it carried to every corner of the hall. "The Valcrens are proud hunters… but even hunters can be caught in their own traps."
The Emperor's hand tightened around the armrest of his throne, veins bulging. For the first time in decades, unease crept into his gaze.
"The empire will not bow to dragons," he declared, though even he wondered whether his words were a command… or a prayer.
Far from the capital, in war camps, merchant guilds, and shadowy taverns, whispers grew.
"The Valcrens are moving."
"The dragon has stirred."
"The balance will break."
And in the heart of it all sat Asher—only ten years old, yet already shaping the tides of history with words sharper than any blade.
He had made his first move.
The board was set.
The pieces shifted.
And the game for the empire had begun.
Three months later…
At last, Asher's method was complete. The spell he had dreamed of mastering now answered to his will.
"Finally… the first step is complete," he muttered, standing in the center of his training hall, fist clenched, a boyish smile breaking through his cold exterior.
From outside, Hans watched with pride, a towel in his hands. To him, Asher was more than a young master—he was family. Ever since the death of Asher's mother, Hans had been his shadow, his guardian.
"Young maaaaster!" Emily's shrill voice cut through the moment as she came running down the hall like a child chased by wolves.
Asher turned with an annoyed frown. "What now? Why are you screaming like a fool?"
"The patriarch is looking for you!" she blurted, her face pale.
"Again?" Asher sighed, wiping his face with the towel Hans handed him.
"I think it's because… Lady Rose is here," Emily said nervously.
"Rose?" Asher asked, his brows furrowing. "Who is that? A relative?"
"She's your fiancée, young master," Emily replied.
Asher stopped in his tracks. "…Fiancée?"
Hans stepped forward, hesitant. "It's true. The arrangement was made years ago."
Emily, clearly enjoying herself, added with a grin, "She used to bully you, remember? Called you her dog. And you—" she snorted—"followed her around like one."
The look Asher gave her could have frozen fire.
"Did Father know?" he asked flatly.
"No, young master," Hans admitted quickly. "You begged us not to tell anyone."
Asher's aura flared, dark and oppressive. The word "dog" burned in his ears like poison. Prideful by nature, the new Asher would never accept such humiliation.
His steps grew heavier as they approached his chambers. Emily and Hans exchanged worried glances.
When Asher opened the door, the sight before him only stoked the flames.
A girl sat casually on his bed, legs crossed, one of his books in her hands. Her maid stood beside her, head tilted in disdain.
Rose looked up at him, her lips curling into a mocking smile.
"Well, well. How are you doing, doggy?"