The double doors loomed like the jaws of some ancient beast ready to swallow him whole.
Arell stood frozen outside them, Mira hovering behind him like a trembling ghost and Blade tucked neatly inside his coat, pretending to be a decorative lump of fur. Even Blade seemed to sense the pressure—he hadn't made a single sound.
"I shouldn't be here," Arell whispered.
"You must be here," Mira whispered back, wringing her apron. "The Duke summoned all heirs. Not attending would be... fatal."
"...Cool. Excellent motivation. Love that for me."
The guards flanking the doors eyed him with predatory interest. One knocked the door twice, heavy and deliberate, as though announcing the doom of kingdoms.
A voice boomed from inside.
"Enter."
Arell swallowed, lifted his chin—then immediately dropped it again because eye contact with nobles might get him murdered—and stepped inside.
The room was massive.
Tall windows cast pale morning light across a long oaken table. Heavy banners hung on stone walls—each embroidered with the sigil of the Valenhart family: a raven clutching a sword in its talons.
Around the table sat nobles, high-ranking retainers, and—most terrifying of all—family members.
The first wife, Lady Seraphine, sat at the far right—dripping with pearls and disdain. Her lips curled the second she saw Arell.
Ah. So that's an enemy.
Next to her sat her two older sons, Edmund and Cedric—both already glaring at him with matching expressions reading pest infestation.
Across from them sat the second wife, Lady Helena, poised like a poised rose—beautiful but with thorns sharper than daggers. Her three daughters were arranged around her: Vivienne, calculating and composed; Selene, eyes lowered but alert; and Amanda—who gave Arell the deepest scowl imaginable.
He grimaced inwardly.
Oh hey loud girl from last night. Fancy seeing you here, courtroom prosecutor.
At the head of the table stood Duke Reinhardt Soros Valenhart himself.
Even sitting, he radiated authority so dense it practically weighed on the air. His presence reminded Arell of an old mafia don—one wrong move and bodies would disappear off the record.
Captain Rodric stood behind him like a granite statue carved to stab anything that breathed wrong.
The Duke motioned.
"Sit."
Arell slid into a chair near the foot of the table, trying not to squeak.
Blade wriggled inside his coat.
Please God don't bark, Arell begged mentally.
The final seat remained empty—until the door behind the Duke opened and a child walked in.
Or rather—glided.
The girl from the garden—the pale-haired Ava Valenhart—took her place at Helena's side. She didn't look at Arell, but her lashes fluttered once—recognition, annoyance, maybe curiosity.
Great. Witness number three for his camouflage failure.
The Duke cleared his throat, and silence snapped through the chamber like a whip.
"Children of House Valenhart," he began, voice as steady as thunder rumbling in the distance, "you stand at the brink of an age-old rite of this family."
Arell perked up.
Rite?
Seraphine sniffed loudly.
"Not all deserve to stand here."
Her eyes stabbed into Arell.
Arell raised a finger. "Hello, yes, I can see your eyeballs burning holes in my face. Maybe lower the heat? I'm only lightly grilled."
Mira—standing against the back wall—nearly fainted.
Chuckles sputtered around the room from the younger nobles, quickly swallowed when Seraphine's glare sliced like a guillotine.
The Duke ignored the chaos.
"For a century, Valenhart heirs have been tested. The strongest shall inherit my title, my lands, and the ancient duties bestowed upon our line."
Edmund puffed his chest.
Cedric smirked.
Vivienne tilted her chin in calculation.
Selene's fingers curled anxiously.
Amanda looked insulted anyone but her was sitting here.
Ava stared at her hands silently.
And Arell thought:
Oh good. A royal death game. Why does every life I get involve being killed by family?
The Duke stood.
"There will be three trials."
He lifted three fingers.
"First: Knowledge of magic, governance, and empire. Fail, and you forfeit the inheritance."
Cedric snorted. Arell ignored him.
"Second: Leadership. Each candidate will command a domain of the household—kitchens, guards, servants, stables—and prove their capability."
Murmurs rippled.
"In the final trial," the Duke continued, voice deepening, "you will venture into Lurkwind Forest. You will retrieve that which belongs to this house."
He gestured, and a servant stepped forward, presenting a velvet box. Inside shimmered an image of a pale blue crystal—glowing softly like captured moonlight.
"The Valenhart Orb," the Duke said. "Return with it in twenty days... or do not bother returning at all."
Arell raised his hand without thinking.
"Yes?" the Duke asked, eyebrow twitching dangerously.
"Uh," Arell cleared his throat, "quick logistical query. When you say do not return—you mean like lose the right to inheritance or... uh... lose my head?"
A beat of silence.
Edmund snickered. Seraphine's nostrils flared.
Reinhardt allowed himself the smallest curl of amusement.
"Survival is part of the test."
Translation: If you die, no one cares.
"Cool cool cool, love that for me."
Mira covered her mouth in horror.
Lady Seraphine slammed her palm on the table.
"This is absurd! You cannot allow him to compete! The wretch is sickly! Weak! Still learning to speak properly!"
Arell blinked. "I speak pretty good for a guy who woke up with a new face."
Several nobles choked on laughter. Seraphine nearly combusted.
Lady Helena leaned forward with a sympathetic smile too smooth to be sincere.
"My lord husband," she purred, "even the dimmest ember may flare under pressure. Should we not grant every candidate their rightful chance?"
Arell blinked.
Wait. Support? That's suspicious.
Vivienne's face tightened.
Selene glanced sharply at her mother.
Amanda muttered something about "dead weight".
Ava... just watched.
Reinhardt finally raised his hand for silence.
"The decision stands. All heirs present will join the trials."
His gaze pinned Arell like a nail hammered to a board.
"And let none forget—failure will be remembered by history just as clearly as victory."
Arell swallowed hard.
He got the message:
Succeed and rise.
Fail and be erased.
Blade squirmed again, and Arell pressed his coat shut subtly.
Please, don't bark during my life-threatening ceremony.
The Duke gestured.
"You are dismissed. Prepare."
As nobles stood, the room fractured into whispers—
plots forming,
alliances shifting.
Edmund shouldered past Arell so hard he nearly fell.
"Try not to wet yourself in the forest," he sneered.
"I will," Arell replied brightly. "Right after burying you in it."
Cedric hissed: "Trash."
Helena paused beside him, resting a delicate hand on her youngest daughter's shoulder.
"My, my," she murmured. "You've grown spunk. I shall enjoy watching your performance."
Selene flicked her gaze to him briefly—quick, sharp, assessing—before following her mother.
Amanda pointed two fingers at her own eyes, then at him.
A warning.
Ava trailed quietly last, glancing back at Arell once.
Uncertain. Troubled.
Finally, Mira rushed to Arell's side the moment the council emptied.
"Th-that was reckless!" she hissed. "You spoke back to the Duchess! The Duke could have—!"
"Killed me? Yeah, I felt that energy."
He forced a grin.
"But hey, I'm alive. Win."
Blade poked his head out of Arell's coat, yipped once—proudly.
Mira gasped. "Young master! You brought—that—that—!"
Arell held up a hand.
"My emotional support wolf puppy. Non-negotiable."
Mira deflated, rubbing her temples.
"Things were simpler when you hid in your room..."
Arell's grin softened, something quieter flickering in his chest.
"Sorry," he murmured. "Can't hide anymore."
He glanced back at the massive council doors.
He had chosen his path now.
Return alive with a jewel...
Or never return at all.
Either way—
This world wasn't going to break him like the last one.
Blade nuzzled his cheek.
Arell exhaled slowly.
"Alright," he whispered.
"Bring on the chaos."
TO BE CONTINUED...