Despair began to seep in. Had he miscalculated? Was this just a pathetic, frozen end?
I can't die like this. I need to save this body!
He fought against the bonds, a frantic, weakening struggle against the cold and the dark. It was futile. His consciousness frayed at the edges, unspooling into the void.
'Aah… I failed Again.'
The darkness was almost total, a silent, welcoming pull. Then—a spark.
Not a memory, not even a thought. A raw, physical ignition at the very center of his being. A point of impossible heat flared in his chest, a supernova contained within a child's ribcage. It shocked through him like lightning grounding itself.
THUMP.
His heart slammed against his sternum, a single, deafening beat in the silent, watery tomb.
THUMP-THUMP.
Then it was a drum, a war chant. A surge of primordial energy erupted from that core, scalding his veins, burning away the ice. The water around him hissed and boiled, bubbles rising in a furious torrent.
Vincent's back arched.
"AAAAAHHH!"
A raw, guttural scream tore from his throat, muffled by the gag. The fabric strips binding him didn't just snap—they vaporized into charred threads. A concussion of pure, golden light blasted outward from his small form, shattering the marble tub with a sound like a thunderclap.
The light vanished as suddenly as it came.
Vincent collapsed forward, retching freezing and boiling water onto the flooded floor. He gasped, lungs searing, hands clenched over the furnace blazing in his chest.
A wild, disbelieving laugh choked out between coughs. "I did it… I finally… awakened." It was impossible a five-year-old body shouldn't house this storm,Was it the dragon's cursed heritage that forced the gate open? A bitter advantage and he wasn't sure what he was anymore, but he was no longer helpless.
The victory was short-lived.
The chamber door slammed open, the sound of hurried footsteps sloshing through the spilled water.
"Young Master!" Dona, the head maid, rushed in, with Sara and several others at her heels. They froze, a tableau of horror at the scene: the flooded floor, the shattered remnants of the tub, and the scorched, tattered remains of the bindings scattered like blackened petals.
Sara's hands flew to her mouth, her blindfolded face turning toward the source of the destruction. "What in the world… what happened?!"
In the center of the wreckage, Vincent slowly pushed himself upright. Water dripped from his hair, but his strange, slit-pupiled eyes were clear, burning with a fierce, un-childlike light. A calm, unsettling smile touched his lips.
"Dona," he said, his voice steady, though still small. "Would you please call Zero for me? I believe I have something to discuss with him."
"W-what? But at least tell us wh—"
A voice cut through Dona's plea, calm and precise. "I'm afraid you don't have to call for me, Head Maid. I was already nearby."
Zero walked into the wrecked bathroom as if materializing from the steam, having entered without a sound. He moved past the stunned maids and knelt, bowing his head, his left hand placed over his chest. A faint, unnerving smile touched his lips—a rare display for a man who so seldom showed emotion.
"Congratulations, Young Master." His voice was a low murmur, yet it filled the shattered room.
He felt it. Of course he did, Vincent thought. It would have been stranger if he hadn't.
"How does it feel," Zero asked, rising smoothly, "to perceive the world through aura for the first time?"
Vincent looked around. The world had been rewritten in invisible ink. A shimmering, translucent energy—aura—flowed from every living thing. He saw it emanating from the maids themselves, not as faint wisps, but as disciplined, coiled signatures. Warriors. Skilled sword-wielders. A cold understanding settled in his gut. He had been surrounded by protectors and potential threats this entire time, and he'd been blind to it. The head maid, Dona, possessed a particularly dense and steady aura. She noticed his assessing gaze and bowed again, the other maids mirroring her.
"Congratulations, indeed, Young Master," Dona said, her voice laced with concern that overrode protocol. "But how did this happen? You must explain this… this destruction. Your behavior has been unusual lately. It is… as if you've been possessed."
Vincent had known the question would come. The child they had raised had changed overnight and now achieved the impossible. If I claim it was a coincidence, they'll never believe it. He sighed, his mind racing for a plausible lie.
"Young Master?" Dona pressed gently.
"It… it was a dream," Vincent said, the words sounding hollow even to him.
A heavy silence fell. Vincent knew they weren't convinced. What now? Run? Plead? Should I just shout the truth—that I am Silva, a dead king? They'd think me truly mad.
Zero's quiet chuckle broke the tension. "Hah… I see. A dream, then." His smile didn't reach his eyes as he turned his gaze slowly across the other maids. "What else could it be?"
"What?" Sara whispered, confused, echoing the sentiment of the others.
"I mean to say," Zero continued, his tone leaving no room for debate, "we should trust our Young Master. He is still our Vincent, is he not? Still the same boy with the same heart, who treats everyone with kindness. Wouldn't you agree, Miss Sara?"
Sara hesitated, her blindfolded face turning toward Zero's voice. The implication was clear—this was a warning, a reminder of her candid words about the other Volcravak heirs. "He… he is right," she said finally, her voice tight. "Our Young Master is the same."
Dona looked between them, confusion warring with duty. If Sir Zero was endorsing this… fiction, there was a reason she was not meant to question. "Very well," she conceded with a tired sigh. "We shall attend to this room. Young Master, you may wash and dress in the guest chamber across the hall."
"Thank you, Dona," Vincent said, his tone carefully neutral.
He knew no one believed the lie. But it didn't matter. For now, the curtain had been drawn. His priority was protection—of this family born from his son's exile, and the pursuit of a new goal: unraveling Kotah's betrayal. He would need information, access to temples, to histories…
Zero waited for Vincent to walk first. They moved down the corridor in silence, the sounds of the cleaning maids fading behind them. Once they were well out of sight and earshot, Zero spoke again, his playful tone gone.
"Young Master," he said, his voice low and direct. "That was the Forbidden Awakening—the Brink Method. It has a ninety percent mortality rate. Why would you use it?"
"I want to grow stronger," Vincent answered without hesitation. It was the honest core of it. Claiming he wanted to 'protect the family' would ring false for a five-year-old who had never shown such ambition.
Zero chuckled, a dry, appreciative sound. "I see. 'Stronger.' I do not know what prompted this change in you, but I must admit… things have just become far more interesting." He paused, his next question carrying the weight of the future. "Tell me this, then. Will you fight? Will you contend for the Archduke's seat against your elder brothers?"
Vincent didn't falter. The path was clear. "Of course I will. So, from now on," he said, meeting Zero's gaze, "you will help me train."
Zero's smile returned, genuine and sharp. "As you wish, Young Master."