The sky cracked open, thunder rumbling like the roar of ancient dragons. At the summit of the Draconis Ascension Grounds, the air shimmered with divine mana. A crimson vortex swirled above the platform of stone and flame — the final stage of the Sword Ascension.
At its center stood **Kael Drakarys**, the crimson-haired prodigy of the ancient Drakarys bloodline — descendants of the Dragon King, imbued with flame, steel, and sovereignty. His reddish-rose eyes burned brighter than the molten veins of mana that pulsed beneath the sacred platform.
This was the culmination of fifteen years of relentless cultivation, brutal training, and unending war. At just seventeen, Kael had surpassed all expectations. Sword prodigy. Mana genius. The youngest heir to ever attempt the Ascension to **Demi-God** through the forbidden sword art known only as...
**"Shadow."**
A technique passed down only once every millennium by the spirit of the Drakarys' founding ancestor — the Flame-Wreathed Dragon King, **Vaelzareth**.
Kael's breath came in slow, focused patterns. Before him, the phantom of the ancient dragon flickered in divine light, scales the color of obsidian and stars. It spoke without sound, its voice echoing directly into Kael's soul.
> *"You have surpassed all others, my heir. One more breath... one more step... and you shall be my blade incarnate."*
But just as Kael raised his sword — a black-red relic forged from a dragon's fang — to complete the final movement of Shadow, he felt it.
A whisper of intent.
Killing intent.
He turned—
—Too late.
**Steel plunged into his back.**
He staggered.
Then another blade. And another.
"Wha...?" Kael gasped, crimson light bursting from his wounds. Mana recoiled violently around him.
"Forgive us, little brother," a voice said coldly. "You were simply... too perfect."
Kael fell to one knee, coughing blood. His eyes widened as eight of his siblings emerged from the shadows of the platform — each cloaked in ceremonial Drakarys robes, each holding a bloodstained sword.
**Eira**, the eldest, stepped forward, her face pale, lips pressed in guiltless resolve.
"You would have inherited the throne. The Shadow. The Dragon King's Flame. Everything." Her voice trembled, but not with sorrow — with ambition. "We couldn't allow it."
Kael looked at them — the eight siblings he had grown up with, bled with, laughed with. His brothers. His sisters. Warriors of the Dragonblood Clan.
Each of them had plunged their blades into his body as he ascended.
All but two.
**Riven**, the second youngest, and **Saria**, the gentle third-born — they were not here.
Had they refused? Were they already dead?
> *"The power you sought… will now be divided among us,"* Eira said. *"Father agreed. The Council, too. Your rise would have unbalanced everything."*
Kael's vision blurred. Blood spilled like a river of molten rubies across the sacred platform.
His sword slipped from his grasp.
The Shadow Art… broken.
The Demi-God Flame… denied.
Betrayed by those closest to him.
The dragon spirit above him began to fade.
But just before it vanished, Vaelzareth's eyes locked with his.
> *"Blood of my blood… flame of my soul… You shall not fall here."*
As Kael's body collapsed, the world froze. Time itself fractured.
And then—
**Blackness.**
A searing pain — then a pull. A tug deep within his soul, dragging him backward.
Back through time.
Back through pain.
Back through death.
---
## **Next Chapter Tease:**
**Chapter 2: Rebirth in the Flame of Vengeance**
"Reborn with the memory of eight blades and the legacy of the Shadow, Kael Drakarys returns — not as the next heir, but as the executioner of a cursed bloodline."