Morning came quietly to the Ashen estate.
Mist drifted across the courtyards, curling around stone pillars and silent training platforms. The estate was awake long before the sun rose—servants moving in practiced silence, formations humming faintly beneath the ground, elders already deep in cultivation.
Arthur Ashen was awake before all of it.
He stood alone at the edge of the outer courtyard, wooden blade in hand, repeating the same simple movements he had practiced every day for years.
Step.
Turn.
Strike.
His form was correct.
His strength was not.
The blade cut the air with a dull sound, lacking sharpness, lacking intent. Arthur adjusted his stance and tried again, jaw set, eyes focused.
Still nothing.
No surge of energy.
No awakening warmth.
No response from his body.
He did not stop.
From a high balcony overlooking the courtyard, several elders watched in silence.
"He wakes before dawn every day," one of them said.
"And leaves after everyone else," another replied.
A third elder folded his sleeves. "Effort without talent is meaningless."
"Yet he does not complain," someone else murmured.
The elders fell silent again, eyes fixed on the lone figure below.
Arthur stumbled mid-form, catching himself before he fell. He straightened, took a breath, and continued as if nothing had happened.
"He knows he's weak," the first elder said quietly. "Most children would have broken by now."
"That does not make him suitable," another answered. "The Ashen Family does not rule on perseverance alone."
No one argued.
Later that day, Arthur sat alone in the outer library.
Dust floated lazily in beams of light that slipped through high windows. Shelves carved from dark wood lined the walls, filled with records older than empires. Arthur had been coming here often lately—not to read cultivation manuals, but history.
Stories of the family.
Stories of those who left.
He ran his fingers over a spine engraved with the Ashen sigil and pulled the book free.
Records of Departed Heirs.
Arthur hesitated, then opened it.
Names filled the pages.
Dates.
Ages.
Sparse notes written in careful, restrained script.
Leon Ashen — Age at departure: Ten.
That was all.
No praise.
No condemnation.
Just a name and a date.
Arthur stared at it for a long time.
Outside the library, footsteps approached.
Arthur closed the book quickly and slid it back into place.
An elder entered, robes trailing softly across the floor. He did not look at Arthur immediately.
"You favor quiet places," the elder said.
Arthur bowed. "Yes, Elder."
The elder finally turned, studying him with an unreadable gaze.
"Do you know why everyone leaves at ten?" he asked.
Arthur's heart skipped.
"No," he answered truthfully.
"Do you want to know?"
Arthur hesitated. Then he shook his head. "If I am meant to know, I will."
The elder watched him for a long moment longer, then nodded once.
"A sensible answer."
He turned and left without another word.
Arthur exhaled slowly.
That evening, Arthur trained again.
The sun dipped low, painting the estate in gold and shadow. He practiced until his arms burned and his legs trembled, until his breathing came in short, uneven gasps.
Still, no one corrected him.
No one encouraged him either.
He was used to that now.
As night fell, Arthur sat on the steps leading to the inner courtyard, staring at the gates in the distance. The same gates his siblings had passed through. The same ones his cousins had vanished beyond.
He imagined Leon walking through them.
Straight-backed.
Silent.
Unhesitating.
What did you feel? Arthur wondered. Were you afraid?
The wind answered with silence.
High above, in a sealed hall rarely used, several elders gathered once more.
"The youngest turns ten soon," one said.
"Yes," another replied. "Too soon."
"And he has shown nothing."
A pause.
"He is Ashen blood," someone reminded them.
"And Ashen blood does not excuse weakness."
No one spoke after that.
Arthur lay awake that night, staring at the ceiling of his room.
The estate felt different now.
Quieter.
As if it were watching him.
He did not know why his heart felt heavy, only that something unseen was drawing closer with each passing day.
Arthur closed his eyes.
Outside, the sky was clear.
Unmoving.
Waiting.
End of Chapter 3