After everyone had left, silence settled like a shroud over the room. Asher sat still, his breathing calm but heavy, his gaze locked on the back of his hand.
The mark—a dragon, etched in faint, shifting lines—seemed alive, its glow soft yet unyielding. The longer he stared, the more he felt as though it was staring back at him.
He turned his hand under the lamplight, studying the strange design. No matter how he twisted it, the mark refused to reveal its secrets. I've read every book in the family library… and yet, I've never seen a mark like this.
The door suddenly burst open, shattering the silence.
"Hey, Ash, are you alright?" Lilith rushed in, her voice trembling with urgency. Her golden hair was slightly disheveled, as though she had sprinted the entire way. She hurried to his bedside without hesitation, her eyes filled with fear that softened the instant she saw him awake.
Behind her, his other siblings filed in—Michael with his arms crossed, his sharp eyes already scanning Asher from head to toe; William with his usual quiet intensity, watching silently yet protectively.
"Yes, I'm fine, sis," Asher answered softly, his lips curving into the faintest smile.
"I was so worried about you, you know," Lilith whispered, taking his hand into hers with a trembling grip. Her fingers were cold, her touch desperate—as though she feared that letting go would make him disappear again. Her eyes glistened, shimmering on the edge of tears.
The others stood just behind her. Concern was etched into their faces—not the mask of nobles fulfilling duty, but the raw, unfiltered worry of siblings who feared losing one of their own.
"Don't worry, everyone. I'm alright. Truly," Asher reassured them. His voice was soft, steady, but inside he was shaken. He had never seen them like this before.
Michael's sharp voice broke the moment. "We could go to war with the Drakers." His tone carried a weight that was both commanding and unflinching, as if he had already imagined the battlefield and where his sword would fall.
"I agree," Lilith snapped quickly, anger sparking in her eyes. Her voice, usually gentle, dripped with fury. William gave a solemn nod, his silence speaking louder than words—ready to follow his siblings into bloodshed without hesitation.
Asher raised his hand slightly, his smile faint but firm. "It's alright. There's no need to start a war over this."
His voice carried more weight than usual, quiet yet commanding. For a moment, they all stilled, absorbing his words.
It was then he realized—this was the first time he had ever felt it. Genuine concern. Their care for him wasn't a mask for appearances, nor was it bound by politics or ambition. They weren't here as heirs of Valcren—they were simply here as his siblings. And for the first time in his life, Asher felt… valued.
Michael frowned, but relented. "Fine. But… was breaking the engagement really the right move?" His question was blunt, almost accusatory, but beneath it was a thread of protectiveness—he needed to know Asher hadn't acted recklessly.
Asher's gaze dropped, his voice quiet yet steady. "No. It wasn't. But it was unbearable for me."
Lilith's grip on his hand tightened. "It's alright. I never liked her anyway," she muttered, anger lacing every word. Her loyalty burned brighter than her fury.
Michael and William exchanged a glance, silent understanding flashing between them. They could have pressed further, demanded answers—but they didn't. They chose to trust him.
"You should find someone you truly like next time," Lilith said softly, her voice gentler now, tinged with a sister's warmth.
"Let's go. Asher needs his rest," Michael said at last, his tone softened but decisive as he guided the others toward the door. One by one, they left, the warmth of their concern lingering like a flame in the quiet room.
When the silence returned, Asher leaned back against the pillows, exhaling deeply. The faint light of the dragon mark pulsed against his skin as though in rhythm with his heartbeat. Closing his eyes, he began to circulate his mana.
It surged through him like a river of fire and starlight, weaving through every vein, every corner of his body. His skin shimmered faintly as the flow grew stronger, the mana forming visible currents for the first time.
Hmm… my mana has nearly doubled. And my core… it's reached the fifth tier already. Fascinating.
He clenched his fist, feeling raw power hum through his bones. But with the power came an unshakable weight—an ominous undertone. The dragon mark burned faintly against his skin, a reminder carved into his flesh. It was no mere blessing. It was a claim.
His thoughts drifted to the future.
Only three months remained until his Age of Coming ceremony—the day every heir of noble blood would stand before the world. For most, it was tradition, a formality to mark their place in the family.
But for Asher, it would not be a simple rite of passage.
No. His debut would be something else entirely.
The House of Valcren would unveil their heirs. The world would see a boy who should have been ordinary—yet bore the mark of something ancient and incomprehensible.
A vessel marked not by chance, but by fate.
A vessel chosen by something far greater… and far more dangerous.