Han unlatched the cage and stepped inside.
Without a word, he kicked the woman in the stomach. She slammed into the black bars, rattling the whole cage. She screamed and coughed blood, then raised her face and glared at Han. Clutching her abdomen with her left arm, she looked half-mad with rage. Now that he radiated real pressure and strength, she saw his mother's shadow in him.
"That's for calling my mother a bitch," Han said.
He turned and walked toward the maids. None had lifted their heads; they remained kneeling inside, listening to the commotion outside. Han's voice had never been this commanding. Even his draconic presence rolled over them, making them shiver.
"Stand," he said, and the elder maids obeyed. "I want those wyverns for dinner."
"Are you certain, Young Master Han?" one of the maids asked.
"Yes. Why?"
"Wyverns are precious beasts in the dragon lands. Not everyone can afford to keep them, and killing them violates local laws. If we send the bodies back to the Red Dragon Mistress, it might calm the situation and prevent trouble," the maid said, feeling strangely out of place.
Never in her life had she imagined explaining the law to Han, much less offering him the benefit of her years. It felt surreal, as if she were dreaming. Yet the fear in her old bones was very real, all of it stemming from Han's awakened bloodline.
"My mother is a strong woman. If anyone asks about the wyverns, tell them I killed them. Not only will she be pleased, she'll fix the problem herself," Han said.
Born without any trace of dragon power or the Tenaxis Dark Mana, he should have died. His mother had averted that fate, settling him far from the main household. She couldn't take him back to her homeland without dragon traits, but she had done everything she could.
"As you wish," the maid replied.
"What about the present?" another asked.
"Bring her in and confine her securely. And don't let word spread that my dragon bloodline has awakened. If it does, I'll deal with you the way I dealt with the wyverns," Han said.
"None of us will speak of your awakening, Young Master Han," the maid said, and the others echoed her, voicing an oath.
While the ten maids hurried to carry out his orders, Han returned to his room. The stink of booze was worse now that he was back inside. His senses seemed sharper; the smell pressed on him. He threw open the windows and let the air in.
He caught his reflection in the glass. His hair had turned entirely black, and his pupils were slitted, unmistakably draconic. If doubt touched him, a glance at the wing jutting from his back dispelled it. It was broad and tipped with a razorlike claw, menacing even at rest.
How did you fail to awaken, Han? Did you really give up? Idiot.
As Adam, he missed his family, his studies, his career. He transferred those feelings to Han and swore to make his mother proud. She hadn't given up on him; she had done all she could. His father could not, or would not, give the same care. Han would prove himself with strength. Whether his father cared after that hardly mattered.
I'll fill your shoes, Han. In this life, no status will put me down.
At his desk, Han opened a drawer, pried off a hidden panel, and drew out a black-bound book: The Dark Cauldron Art. He doubted it held the complete art; at most, a handful of techniques. His father's family issued a copy to each child, in case one awakened. There was no harm in giving it to Han as well.
Father pursued the Red Dragon bloodline for this art. Flames suit it. If my Red Dragon bloodline has awakened—
He looked back at the mirror.
It isn't Red Dragon. Did my blood mix with the Tenaxis Dark Mana and turn? Black Dragon bloodline? Maybe.
He opened the book.
The Tenaxis household was one of many Dark Families (Dark Warlocks, to be precise). To explain Dark Warlocks, start with warlocks: in some lands, simply called "male witches." They concoct potions and cast versatile spells. Their stock‑in‑trade is binding contracts: typically fair, mutually beneficial, and struck with anyone or anything willing.
Dark Warlocks cross out the word fair and seize most of the benefit for themselves. Sometimes they take everything.
What set the Tenaxis apart was the Dark Cauldron Art. Han hadn't known much about it, but as he read, its shape emerged.
Turning people into cauldrons and drawing out their essence is the core of the art. The Obsidian Cauldron is its darkest path: it burns a captive's mana and extracts essence. When regeneration can't keep pace, it drinks blood, then flesh, then bone, until nothing remains. All essence flows to the user.
Han stared at the page bearing the sigil of the Obsidian Cauldron.
Mother's present couldn't have come at a better time.