Valencrest Manor in The Medical Wing
Pain came first.
Dull. Heavy. Absolute.
It didn't just sit in his bones; it pulsed in his marrow.
Kael's eyes opened slowly.
The ceiling above him was unfamiliar for half a second—then memory crashed over him.
Overdrive.
The Void.
Klaus.
He inhaled carefully. His ribs protested, tight and bruised from the inside out. The scent of bitter herbs and sterile magic lingered in the air.
Voices.
Low. Familiar.
"…he pushed too far," Helena's voice said quietly.
"He always does," Alfred replied.
There was no anger in the exchange. Only concern, wrapped in centuries of calm.
Kael shifted slightly.
The movement was barely a fraction of an inch,
But Hassan noticed immediately.
"My lord," Hassan said gently, stepping closer to the bed. "He's awake."
Helena was at his side in an instant. She didn't hover. She didn't panic.
Her hand rested lightly over his bandaged arm.
"Kael."
Not formal.
Not distant.
Just his name.
He swallowed. His throat felt like sandpaper.
"I'm fine."
Alfred exhaled through his nose softly, stepping into the dim light.
"That statement has lost all credibility."
There it was.
The dry humor. Familiar. Safe.
Kael almost smiled. Almost.
"It's been three hours," Helena said, her thumb tracing the edge of his bandage.
Three.
In his mind, floating in that endless Void, it had felt like lifetimes.
"I spoke with Klaus," Kael said.
The room stilled.
Not in fear. In absolute, razor-sharp attention. The three powerhouses focused entirely on the boy in the bed.
"And?" Alfred asked, his posture stiffening.
"He scolded me."
Caelan's lips twitched slightly.
"That is reassuring," Helena murmured.
Kael blinked, his violet eyes finding hers. "Reassuring?"
"If the Dragon was silent," Alfred said quietly, stepping closer, "that would concern me. Anger means he cares about the vessel. Silence means he is looking for a new one."
That landed. Heavy and true.
Kael looked at them.
Not as the terrifying leaders of the underworld. Not as untouchable nobles.
But as family.
"He said I used power my body couldn't handle," Kael admitted, looking at his pale hands.
Helena brushed a stray, sweat-damp strand of hair away from his forehead.
"Then we strengthen the body."
Simple.
Matter-of-fact.
Protective.
Magnus cleared his throat from the corner of the room, his arms crossed.
"I propose we adjust his schedule. Three days of magic refinement. Three days of physical reinforcement under Hassan and Caelan. We forge the vessel until it stops cracking."
Hassan nodded once.
"I'll oversee his recovery personally."
It wasn't an obligation. It was a promise.
Alfred looked down at Kael, his eyes stern but warm.
"No more forcing synchronization alone."
It wasn't a rebuke. It was a boundary born from worry.
Kael hesitated.
For a moment, the ghost of his past life whispered to him. The instinct to hide, to work alone, to endure in silence.
Then, he nodded.
"…Alright."
Helena squeezed his arm gently before withdrawing her hand.
"You don't carry everything by yourself anymore," she said softly.
That line mattered more than all the rest.
Kael looked up at the stone ceiling.
In his previous life, as a faceless office worker, no one would have noticed if he collapsed. If he fell, the world simply stepped over him and kept walking.
Here—
Four of the strongest people in the Empire had dropped everything to wait by his bedside.
The realization was quiet.
But it settled deep into his chest, warmer than the Dragon's fire.
The Royal Imperial Academy - First Year Evaluation Grounds
The courtyard buzzed with restrained noise.
Steel clinked. Silk robes rustled. Mana crackled nervously in the crisp morning air.
Rows of first-year students stood before the Dungeon Gate, a towering structure of obsidian and gold, carved with heavy imperial sigils.
Professor Gerald Lionheart stepped forward onto the dais.
"Formation."
The noise died instantly.
At the very front stood Crown Prince Leonardo Valerius.
Golden hair tied neatly at the back. Imperial training armor, polished to a mirror sheen. Back perfectly straight.
Composed. Radiant. The undisputed center of gravity in the room.
Beside him stood the other high-ranking noble heirs.
And behind them,
The rest.
"Pairs and teams have been reassigned for today's evaluation," Gerald announced, his voice magically amplified.
The students who had already been informed prior became nervous
"Leonardo Valerius."
A pause.
"You will lead Team Fourth."
Leonardo stepped forward calmly, his expression unreadable.
"Team Fourth consists of:"
"Rayan Holt." A broad-shouldered boy with rough, calloused hands and nervous eyes. A commoner.
"Mira Elowen." Thin. Sharp gaze. Clutching a wooden staff. A scholarship student.
"Cedric Vale." Freckled. A battered iron spear strapped to his back. A provincial.
They stepped forward, moving stiffly under the crushing weight of a thousand aristocratic stares.
The nobles in the nearby rows immediately began to whisper.
"He's with scholarship students?"
"Is this a test?"
"Or a punishment?"
Leonardo didn't react to the whispers.
He turned and looked at his new team.
Rayan immediately avoided eye contact. Cedric swallowed hard.
But Mira met the Prince's gaze directly, her chin tilted up.
Interesting.
Leonardo gave a small, perfectly controlled smile.
"You've all cleared the preliminary trials," Leonardo said, his voice even and calm. "So I assume you're competent, so I hope you won't drag me down"
Rayan blinked, startled by Leonardo's remark"Y-Yes, Your Highness."
"Good. Then don't slow me down."
It wasn't cruel.
It wasn't warm, either.
It was pure, unfiltered expectation.
Mira crossed her arms slightly, her knuckles white around her staff. "We weren't planning to."
A few nobles standing nearby gasped, stiffening at her insolent tone.
Leonardo's blue eyes shifted to her.
Then,
He smiled slightly wider.
"Confident. I like that."
The instructor continued announcing teams down the line. The noble students were visibly irritated.
"Why separate him from the elite unit?" "This makes no sense. He should be with Max and Elena."
But Leonardo knew exactly why.
This wasn't random. This was political.
The Emperor's son was being evaluated without his noble cushioning. It was a test of true leadership. Could the Crown Prince forge a weapon out of dull iron, or did he rely only on gold?
The Dungeon Gate began to groan.
Runes ignited along the obsidian archway in a slow, rhythmic sequence.
The mana pressure in the courtyard increased. The air grew heavier, tasting of old dust and danger.
Cedric shifted his weight nervously.
"Your Highness… what's the strategy?"
Leonardo adjusted his leather gauntlets calmly.
"I take the vanguard. Rayan, you are on shield support; stay close to my flank. Mira, control the mid-range, focus on crowd control, not lethal strikes. Cedric, watch our rear and guard Mira."
He didn't hesitate.
He didn't ask for opinions.
He commanded.
And they listened, their nervous energy instantly channeling into focus.
But then-
For a split second-
Leonardo felt something.
A faint disturbance.
Like the air around him had suddenly resisted his breathing. Like a physical thread, tied somewhere deep inside his chest, had suddenly pulled tight across a vast distance.
His breath hitched.
His brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. He looked up at the sky, searching for a threat he couldn't see.
The cosmic shiver of the timeline altering. The "Shift" in fate.
Then, as quickly as it came, it vanished.
Leaving only a cold phantom ache behind.
Irrelevant, Leonardo thought, shaking his head. He had a mission.
Gerald raised his hand.
"Team Fourth."
The heavy obsidian gate groaned open. The darkness inside churned with raw, untamed mana.
"Enter."
Leonardo stepped forward without hesitation. The Shield of the Empire, walking into the dark.
His team followed closely behind.
As they crossed the threshold,
The gate slammed shut.
Outside, the nobles watched and whispered.
Inside-
The evaluation had begun.