The storm rolled low across the mountain valley, its thunder muffled by the thick blanket of snow already clinging to the pines. Below, nestled between ridgelines untouched by road or map, the ancestral grounds of the Pierce family stood solemn and silent—monuments of stone and spirit, carved by generations long gone.
Within the Hall of Ancestral Oaths, the air shimmered with incense and intent. Elder runes glowed faintly on the walls, pulsing like ancient heartbeats. Gracey Pierce stood near the hearth, her fingers brushing against the swaddled form in her arms. The child—barely a year old—slept without stirring, unaware that his life was about to change forever.
"He won't understand why," she whispered.
Marvin Pierce stood at her side, silent but resolute. His posture was a soldier's—rigid, controlled—but his eyes betrayed the weight of the moment.
"One day he will," Marvin said. "He may curse us for a time, but he will come to see the purpose. The strength he builds away from us… it will protect him in ways we never could."
Gracey lowered her gaze to the baby, brushing a lock of electric-blue hair from his forehead. "Shadow is not just another heir. He's a convergence of lines… potential no one in the family has seen in centuries. He can't grow up pampered or watched too closely. The bloodline needs a cultivator—not a sheltered prince."
From the far side of the chamber, a figure detached itself from the gloom. Neto bowed his head low. "My lady."
Gracey's voice dropped to a whisper only he could hear. "Watch over him, Neto. The vows forbid you from stepping openly into his path, but from concealment you can still guard him. I trust you far more than Archibald; his ambition runs too deep. You alone will be my eyes when I cannot be."
Neto's jaw tightened, but he inclined his head. "I will not fail him. By my vow to you and to the Pierce bloodline, his safety is my life's duty." He slipped back into the dim recesses, unseen once more. In the silence of his retreat, one thought pressed heavy on his mind—Archibald's gaze had always carried a glint of hunger. Neto resolved that if treachery ever surfaced, his quiet vigil would remain unbroken.
Moments later, heavy footsteps echoed through the hall.
Archibald Pruitt entered, dressed in the ceremonial black and silver of a vassal house steward. His features were sharp, refined. Pride clung to him like frost, but there was something unreadable behind his bow.
Gracey pressed her lips against her son's head. "Your name… is Shadow." Her voice faltered, but resolve hardened in her eyes. "One day, you'll walk a path none can bind."
Marvin's hand lingered at her shoulder. "This is the way."
Archibald stepped closer, arms extended. Gracey hesitated before relinquishing the child. Shadow stirred, his tiny fingers clutching at the air before falling still in Archibald's grasp.
"You carry our trust, Archibald," Marvin said, his voice firm. "Do not fail him."
Archibald inclined his head. "I will raise him as though he were my own blood."
The words rang hollow, though none of them chose to hear it. Only the night bore witness to the truth—his eyes lingered on the child with a hunger that did not belong to a guardian.
At the edge of the courtyard, a presence shifted and was gone—Neto, ever vigilant, placed there under Gracey's secret command. Her order was clear: protect the boy from afar, even if bound by vows that kept him from interfering directly. His chest tightened as Shadow was carried away, powerless to intervene in this moment.
The burden of a legacy had been entrusted. And with it, the first seed of betrayal was sown.