The guests in the grand hall were left speechless—flabbergasted by the audacity of the boy who dared to ridicule an event hosted by House Caelthorn.
The patriarch, the matriarchs seated beside him, and even the high-ranking officials of the house were stunned by the actions of this small child—who appeared to be no older than six.
"Halen Velmor, you say? Why do you... a descendant of the Great Vailorith... refuse to bear the name Caelthorn?" Zarionth demanded, his voice laced with restrained fury.
"Only if my lord permits it… shall I answer this question," Velmor replied.
Despite the heavy tension in the hall, Velmor's face remained as still as stone, his body calm like a windless sea. He stood unfazed, not the least disturbed by the scornful gazes of the gathered elites.
The hall fell into complete silence. Then came a single voice—clear, heavy, commanding.
"I give you permission. Now speak," Zarionth said.
Velmor nodded slightly. But what followed wasn't what anyone—including Zarionth—expected. He parted his lips, and in a voice steady and cold, he uttered only six words:
"They won't allow it, my lord."
Confusion surged across the upper floor. Whispers returned.
How could a child of House Caelthorn be denied the Caelthorn name? Such a thing was unheard of.
Zarionth's expression darkened. His voice, thundering like a storm unleashed, echoed through the entire hall.
"Tell me who dares deny the children of Caelthorn their name! I shall deal with them right here and now!"
Velmor's eyes shimmered with emotion—hidden behind his calm mask. Hehe… now that you've taken the bait, dear father… it's time to crush you.
He had seen Zarionth's memories. That alone confirmed everything.
A fool, Velmor thought. A man who chose the throne over the woman he claimed to love.
Even if Zarionth had truly chosen the throne, Velmor could have respected that. But what he did instead was unforgivable.
He didn't just abandon her—he ruined her.
Velmor's heart pulsed with fury, not for himself, but for the one woman who had shown him what a mother's love truly meant. His voice trembled not with fear, but with the weight of justice.
After attaining godhood vailorith abondened his emotions , this was necessary for becoming a god but during his reincarnation he attains these emotions as part of being a human this is something that can't be changed . Which was also why he was this angered for Halen who raised him as velmor .
"They have their reasons, my lord," Velmor said calmly. "If you will allow me, I shall tell you a story—the story behind those reasons."
The pressure of Zarionth's rage hung heavy in the air, but Velmor remained unwavering.
"Do not ask again. Say it," Zarionth growled.
All eyes now locked on the boy. Some intrigued. Others dismissive. But all waiting.
"A long time ago, a small family of prophets resided within House Caelthorn. Though they had only one successor per generation, their influence ran deep. And yet, they never meddled in the affairs of Caelthorn politics.
"But one day, a young master from House Caelthorn fell in love with Sylvie—the prophet's heir.
"As they grew, so did their bond. But the young master, intoxicated by power, abandoned her to chase the throne. Sylvie, heartbroken, discovered her body was changing… and left House Caelthorn.
"Yet no one can leave house caelthorn after coming here. Years later, she was summoned back. But this time… she returned with a daughter.
"To protect the child, to shield her from Caelthorn's grip, Sylvie denied her own blood. She claimed the girl was adopted, a selfless lie to sever her from the cursed legacy."
Velmor's voice grew heavier.
"But fate was unkind. What happened to Sylvie… was about to befall her daughter, only worse.
"And so, Sylvie did what only a prophet could—she used her forbidden power to glimpse the future of a specific individual. The cost was immense. She fell into a coma… but not before leaving behind a letter. A final act of love."
Silence gripped the room. Though many did not understand the deeper meaning, no one dared interrupt.
But there was one whose reaction stood out—a man seated on the upper floor, fists clenched like granite, veins bulging through weathered hands that had wielded a sword for decades. His eyes betrayed realization. And pain.
Velmor continued, his voice calm, yet seething with conviction.
"She saw the future… and yet, she could not change it."
"Enough!" Zarionth's voice rang out. "This story is meaningless. Speak their names—those who deny you the name Caelthorn."
Velmor looked straight at Zarionth, and for the first time—his expression changed. His voice thundered through the hall, every syllable sharp as steel.
"They are the will of Sylvie, my grandmother—who refused the name of the man who abandoned her. And it is my duty as her grandson to walk the path she chose."
"My name is Halen Velmor—and it shall never be changed, not even in death."
"It is the name I have engraved in my soul."
His words shattered the silence.
The hall stood still.
Even if many could not grasp the full meaning of the tale… they saw it. They felt it.
The fire in his eyes.
The unbending will of a warrior.