Drenco wiped the blood from his nose, breath rasping and shallow. He kept himself bent over, palms on his knees, trying to force air back into his lungs—

  “Stand up.”

  Alphonse’s voice cracked through the dirt arena like lightning. Drenco jerked upright on instinct.

  “I won’t tolerate the sight of a loser in my bloodline,” Alphonse said coldly as he tightened the wraps around his knuckles. His tone wasn’t anger. It was disappointment sharpened into a knife.

  “Y-Yes, Father…” Drenco lifted his trembling fists, feet shifting to prepare for a dodge.

  It didn’t matter.

  A single impact echoed through the arena—soft, final.

  Drenco’s body hit the ground with a dull thud.

  He didn’t move.

  Alphonse watched him for one detached second, as if assessing a faulty piece of equipment. Whether the boy was breathing or not didn’t change anything.

  “Maria,” he said, turning away. “See to the boy. And make it quick. We’re running late.”

  “Yes, Master,” Maria replied, already rushing to Drenco’s side.

  Alphonse didn’t look back. He simply dusted his hands, straightened his cuffs, and walked out of the arena with the air of a man who had corrected an inconvenience, not struck his own son.

  Maria dropped to her knees beside him, not caring as her ankle-length skirt dragged through the dirt. It never mattered—not compared to this.

  She slipped a trembling finger beneath Drenco’s nose.

  No breath.

  Her throat tightened. She pressed her palm against his chest.

  No heartbeat.

  “Gods…” she whispered.

  Her hand flew to her wand. With practiced precision she aimed at the spot just below Drenco’s left collarbone and fired a sharp green pulse straight into his chest.

  Drenco’s body jolted—

  And then he gasped violently, shooting upright as though pulled from a nightmare.

  “What—! What the—what just happened?!”

  “Drenco!” Maria’s voice cracked. Tears welled instantly, and she turned away, covering her mouth as she forced the panic back down.

  Drenco blinked, still disoriented. He reached toward her with a shaky hand.

  “Maria… are you alright?”

  As he spoke, he lifted his fingers to his face and felt the crusting line of dried blood beneath his nostrils. The metallic scent clung to him.

  “Oh… I see…”

  His tone carried no anger. No surprise.

  Just resignation—like this was normal.

  Because for him… it was.

  “I… I’m sorry I worried you, Maria…”

  “Oh, nonsense, boy!”

  Maria pulled him into her arms without hesitation.

  Drenco sank against her, chin resting lightly on her shoulder. Maria’s breath hitched—quiet, strained—as she held him. Her lips trembled with the effort to keep her sobs silent.

  Drenco hugged her back, steady and almost unnervingly calm.

  Maria kept rubbing his back, the gesture meant to soothe him…

  but the truth was obvious.

  After a moment, she drew him back by the shoulders, cupping his face with gentle hands. She smiled as she blinked rapidly, wiping the wetness from the corners of her eyes with one fingertip.

  “Come now. Your father needs you ready, and quickly,” she whispered. “We don’t want to be late.”

  “Yes, Maria. Thank you…”

  Drenco managed a small smile and rose to his feet.

  He extended a hand to her—one of the few genuinely kind gestures he ever made—and Maria took it without hesitation, letting him help her up.

  #

  “When we enter the room, you will keep silent,” Alphonse said as he adjusted the cuffs of his suit, never bothering to look back at his son. “If anyone addresses you, you will nod and smile. Nothing else. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, Father—”

  “What did I just fucking say?”

  Drenco flinched violently and slapped both hands over his mouth.

  “Good.”

  A faint smile curled at Alphonse’s lips. “Now… has that girl been giving you trouble still?”

  “R-Rin—”

  “What did I just—”

  Drenco clamped his mouth shut again, shaking.

  To his shock, Alphonse chuckled in amusement at Drenco’s fear. “Got you.”

  “Answer me, son.”

  Drenco forced a weak laugh.

  “Haha… y-yeah. She’s a huge thorn. Her and her friends.”

  “Friends?” Alphonse scoffed. “You can have as many friends as you like in this world. What’s stopping you from crushing her?”

  “S-She’s… well—she’s kind of grown… unhinged?”

  “What?” Alphonse finally glanced back, sharp as a knife point, though he maintained his measured pace down the gilded hallway.

  “She drew her wand on me before the Lake Shore Run,” Drenco said, voice tight. “And then during our practice engagement—”

  “She used ice magic,” Alphonse finished. “I remember. Cheeky little brat.”

  “But I found out something else…” Drenco admitted, gaze drifting to the side, still unsure what to make of it himself. “Her last name. At first she didn’t have one… but now the professors refer to her as… Nepton.”

  Alphonse stopped dead.

  “Nepton?” he hissed, turning sharply. “What the hell do you mean, boy?

  Commander Vix Nepton? He has no siblings nor wife.”

  “Th-that’s what confuses me, Father…”

  For the first time, genuine irritation flickered across Alphonse’s face. He raked a gloved hand through his hair—a rare sign of distress. Drenco stared, almost unable to believe he was seeing it.

  “…If she’s truly related to him,” Alphonse murmured, “then no wonder you’re struggling. But you said she didn’t have a familiar before, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, Father. It was the main reason she disgusted me so.”

  “Hm. Dreadful…” Alphonse muttered. “I can craft some theories, but nothing certain. It seems I need to see this girl for myself.”

  “Wh-what?!” Drenco’s voice cracked.

  “After me, boy. We’ll revisit this matter another time.”

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  And just like that, Alphonse turned and resumed his walk—leaving Drenco scrambling to follow.

  Before long, they reached a ceiling-height steel door—solid, gray, and laced with defensive enchantments humming faintly beneath its surface.

  Alphonse straightened his bowtie for the final time, then hovered his hand just above the metal. A translucent purple shimmer rippled across the door in response to his spell.

  “Drenco. Remember what I said.”

  Drenco nodded silently behind him.

  “Good.”

  Alphonse didn’t bother to look back.

  He pushed the door open—

  —and froze.

  “Your Majesty, I assure you—once we receive the proper authorization, I can have my best Enforcers in Egypt within minutes!” Kai Evergreen’s usually calm voice cracked with panic.

  “That…”

  A deep voice rolled through the chamber, resonant enough to vibrate in Drenco’s ribs.

  “…won’t be necessary.”

  The King stepped forward, hands still clasped behind his back. He didn’t shout.

  He didn’t need to.

  “By the time you’re ready,” the King continued, his tone almost bored, “Egypt will already be gone. Personally? I say so be it. They made their choice—they pay the price.”

  “But—Your Majesty—the lives we could save—”

  “What lives?” the King snapped, cutting him down with a single glance. “Egypt’s population no longer qualifies as citizens. You will refer to them properly. As refugees.”

  “But sir—”

  “Ah! Enough.”

  The King released his hands and approached, each step heavy, controlled. He towered over Kai by nearly a foot—and was twice as broad, his stomach pressing against the golden buttons of his military coat. When he leaned in, his voice dropped to a dangerous, quiet rumble.

  “Your Majestry… what exactly do you expect the King’s Army—

  army—to do against an Ace-class threat?”

  Kai opened his mouth.

  Closed it.

  The King didn’t wait.

  “And what would your fancy little Enforcers do, hm? By my count, there are only two living sorcerers with even a chance of handling her safely.

  Evergreen. I’m not wasting high-value lives on suicidal heroics.”

  Kai tried again to speak—but only managed a strangled, nervous smile.

  The King straightened, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves.

  “Once Egypt officially falls… or if they move against your allies… then I will consider authorizing your request.” His gaze sharpened. “Until then, I must regretfully inform you that neither my army—nor the Grand Army—will intervene. Am I clear?”

  Kai bowed his head.

  “Yes… Sir…” Kai murmured.

  Then his gaze shifted—and he straightened immediately.

  “Lord Vandergrift?” Kai’s voice was quiet, but edged.

  “Ah. Vandergrift,” the King echoed.

  Alphonse offered a warm, casual smile, then folded himself into a perfect ninety-degree bow.

  “Your Highness. Your Majestry. Good day.”

  Kai gave a curt nod, arms crossed tightly.

  “Would you like a seat?” King Regulus Kaldor asked, gesturing to one of the empty chairs at the long table.

  “Not at all,” Alphonse replied smoothly. “I believe my business will be quick.”

  Drenco hovered behind him, trying—and failing—to slow his heartbeat as his eyes darted around the vast chamber. Officially, this was the King’s Command Table. Yet it looked more like a banquet hall dressed in military austerity: a long polished table fit for feasts, surrounded by high-backed chairs carved from silver-laced iron.

  Now that he dared step half a pace out of his father’s shadow, Drenco could finally see the others seated around it—seven in total.

  The man with folded arms, posture razor-straight: Kai Evergreen, Grand Sorcerer Supreme.

  The tallest and broadest figure in the room: King Regulus Kaldor, stomach round beneath a gold-trimmed military coat, presence heavy as a mountain.

  The sovereign of all nations.

  The ruler of the entire human world.

  And his father spoke to him like they were old drinking partners.

  “I’ve come to request Your Majesty’s support for my candidacy for the director’s seat at Kormadyne,” Alphonse declared.

  “Ah. Yes. You wish for instant approval?” the King asked, brows lifting.

  “We Vandergrifts do not accept boons,” Alphonse replied. “We craft them ourselves.”

  “Ha!” King Kaldor barked, a deep, jolly thunder. “Good! A hearty spirit—how refreshing!”

  Alphonse laughed with him. Drenco forced a smile, praying it looked natural.

  “Well then!” the King said. “You shall have my backing. After all, it is only fair compensation for every measure of aid you provided me during my own ascent.” He gestured broadly to the room itself.

  “Of course, Your Majesty,” Alphonse said with a polite bow. “It was an honor to serve your vision—and we humbly wish to continue serving you, for the betterment of all humankind.”

  Kai flinched visibly, arms tightening across his chest, jaw clenching hard as he looked away.

  “Your Majestry,” Alphonse continued, keeping his voice airy and pleasant, “your presence here is an unexpected blessing.”

  “So is yours,” Kai replied sharply. “It seems I’m no longer informed of relevant matters.”

  Drenco flinched at the tone.

  The Grand Majestry himself—annoyed with his father.

  Somehow, that irritation aimed at Alphonse made Drenco’s chest feel strangely lighter.

  Like a thin, impossible thread of hope tugged upward for the first time.

  Alphonse only chuckled warmly and straightened his posture.

  “I wished to ask,” he said, “if Your Majestry would grant me a blessing in my race?”

  “Me?” Kai blinked. “Well, I would—but Staffire is your opponent.”

  “Ah, so Staffire is his opponent,” King Kaldor interjected with a lazy grin, “and naturally you must side with him?”

  “What? No.” Kai shot back, genuinely confused.

  “Then give the man your support,” King Kaldor said, lifting a thick brow toward Alphonse as though it were the simplest thing in the world.

  “W-What? I—I can’t!” Kai sputtered. “It would be improper. The Sorcerer Supreme—”

  “Grand Sorcerer Supreme,” Alphonse corrected pleasantly, smiling like he was offering a compliment.

  Kai’s eye twitched.

  “Grand. Sorcerer. Supreme.” he repeated through clenched teeth. “Cannot interfere in matters involving the education system. Kormadyne is the leader in magical studies across the entire globe! That is why it rotates nations every year.”

  “Except for Egypt, it seems,” King Kaldor added with a grin that sliced through Kai like a hot knife.

  “…Right,” Kai muttered, jaw tightening.

  Drenco wondered silently, feeling his stomach twist.

  “Well,” King Kaldor said, stretching his massive arms behind him, “seems you won’t be receiving the Grand Majestry’s support, Alphonse.”

  “It is disappointing,” Alphonse said with a gracious bow of his head, “but ever so understandable. I take no offense.”

  “I,” came an elderly woman’s voice from down the table.

  All heads turned.

  She sat draped in excessive finery—neck weighed down in pearls, fingers cluttered with gemstones, face coated in a thick layer of pale powder clearly meant to hide her wrinkles… yet somehow making every crease more pronounced.

  Her lipstick was a harsh, piercing red that drew Drenco’s eyes like a spell. He couldn’t look away.

  “I,” she repeated, her tone dripping venom, “ I have allowed this man”—she gestured sharply at Alphonse—“to spoil us with his presence long enough.”

  Kai, King Kaldor, and Alphonse exchanged confused looks.

  “How dare you both humor this man?!”

  Mrs. Everglades shot to her feet. The sudden movement made all three men—flinch.

  “Mrs. Everglades,” Alphonse said carefully, “what could you possibly mean?”

  “You know what I mean!” she snapped. “Your younger brother—the one destined to be our savior—died in a pitiful display that brought shame to your entire familiar!”

  Drenco saw it.

  The tiny twitch.

  The way Alphonse’s jaw clenched, subtle yet lethal.

  His hands began to tremble.

  This was bad.

  When Alphonse was insulted like this, someone always paid the price later.

  A servant.

  A guard.

  Sometimes… Drenco.

  Alphonse inhaled smoothly, masking the crack in his composure.

  “Mrs. Everglades,” he said with strained politeness, “I’m afraid I still don’t understand what you mean.”

  “Oh, you understand perfectly well.”

  She jabbed a sharp, shaking finger at him.

  “Your family—the entire Vandergrift bloodline—the —have not produced a valid, capable Starweaver in five decades!”

  King Kaldor’s smile fell.

  “…She is right, Alphonse.”

  The words hit harder than a spell.

  Alphonse stepped back involuntarily, as if struck.

  “It isn’t like that! We simply—”

  “How dare you speak,” Mrs. Everglades hissed. “When you’re not even a Starweaver yourself! The closet thing we had to one was your younger brother! And look what happened there?”

  Drenco’s stomach twisted. He looked up—

  and wished he hadn’t.

  Alphonse’s jaw tightened under his cheeks…

  but he forced a serene smile across his face.

  “I admit…” Alphonse said softly, “I was never strong like my younger brother. He was unique—special—talented in ways no Vandergrift has ever been. I could never match him. It was a tragedy we lost him so early, and—”

  “And what?” Mrs. Everglades sneered. “You think can fill his place?”

  “Technically…” Kai interjected, raising a hopeful hand, “we don’t truly

  a Starweaver anymore.”

  Drenco blinked.

  His father’s jaw eased just slightly.

  He breathed—a long, controlled exhale.

  The smile returned.

  Kai tried again: “Staffire can fill the gap—”

  “Don’t you refer to that lousy Staffire fluke as the next Starweaver!” Mrs. Everglades spat.

  “He doesn’t need to be!” Kai insisted.

  “The Vandergrifts,” she said over him, “have birthed Starweavers since the day Merlin died! That is the only reason we even allow them to keep their so-called ”

  “We are growing impatient,” a man farther down the table added. His voice was old and cold. “Very.”

  A quiet ripple of agreement passed through the council.

  Then, as if reciting scripture, he defined the title:

  “

  “Staffire is inconsistent with his abilities,” he continued. “And when his time passes, what then? He cannot pass the torch the way the Vandergrifts once did.”

  Kai opened his mouth, but Mrs. Everglades cut him off again.

  “Nepton is also a fluke. We demand consistency! Reassurance! A bloodline that can protect mankind as it once did!”

  Drenco looked up at his father—

  And instantly regretted it.

  Alphonse’s jaw was relaxed.

  But his eyes—

  His eyes were empty voids.

  Black storms gathering without light.

  More furious than Drenco had ever seen.

  A chill stabbed through Drenco’s bones.

  His father wasn’t just angry.

  He was homicidal.

  Someone was going to die tonight.

  Drenco instinctively stepped back—

  just one small, terrified retreat—

  —and Alphonse’s voice shattered the room.

  More commanding than the King himself.

  “My son is the next Starweaver.”

  Silence collapsed into chaos.

  Murmurs rippled across the council.

  Confused whispers.

  Questions.

  Awe.

  Doubt.

  Fear.

  Drenco’s heart stopped.

  The air left his lungs.

  The polished floor suddenly felt miles below his feet.

  Alphonse didn’t blink.

  “He,” Alphonse continued, his voice steady as iron,

  “will save humanity and lead them into the future.”

  The room fell silent again.

  Every gaze turned to Drenco.

  And the weight of a title not seen in fifty years crashed onto his shoulders—

  heavy enough to crush him.