Vael's crimson gaze lingered a moment longer on Nyrelle, then drifted across the table once more — over goblets of wine, over silvered plates now bare, over the still-quiet children of his line.
Then the Emperor spoke again, his voice shifting from inquiry to command.
"Lyseria," he said, "begin refining the outer shell of your domain. I will send a warden from the Vault to test its integrity before the next full cycle."
The silver-haired girl inclined her head, expression composed. "As you will, Father."
"Kaelreth," he continued. "No more sparring with lower-tier officers. From now, you train with the Crimson Guard."
Kaelreth's eyes lit faintly, pride barely masked by protocol. "Yes, Father."
"Saryne — focus your next meditations on internal flame cycling. The monks at Emberhold will instruct you."
She nodded, a quiet flicker of anticipation beneath her golden gaze.
"Malrik," the Emperor said, his voice lowering subtly. "You will accompany the shadowbinders to the Deep Spires. Observe — but do not act. Not yet."
Malrik gave a slow blink. "Yes, Father."
Then Vael's gaze fell upon the smallest figure at the table — the youngest.
Ash.
"Ashteron."
The child met his father's stare without flinching, his small hands still folded neatly near the untouched goblet of duskfruit juice.
"You read," Vael said. "You write. You speak clearly and remember what matters."
A pause.
"Then you are ready for more than words."
Ash didn't move — but his wings, still small and velvet-dark, tensed just slightly at the edges.
"You will begin martial and arcane fundamentals at dawn," the Emperor declared. "Zareth will assign your tutors. The first shall test your endurance. The second, your mind."
A faint silence followed — not of doubt, but of weight. Of something beginning.
Ash bowed his head — not too deeply, but just enough.
"Yes, Father."
The Emperor turned back toward his wives, raising his goblet again.
"Order is clarity. Growth is duty. Let none forget."
The wine within shimmered — like molten prophecy.
And then he drank.
After Vael Drakthar's final words, the gathering slowly dispersed. The wives exchanged quiet glances, the children shifted in their seats, and servants began to clear the remaining goblets. The heavy silence of the throne room gave way to the soft rustle of robes and footsteps fading down the vast corridors.
Ash rose from his chair, his movements deliberate and calm. Without a word, he turned and walked through the grand doors, the echo of his footsteps swallowed by the shadows.
The palace halls stretched before him — familiar yet vast, each corner a secret waiting to be uncovered. He made his way back to his chamber, his mind a quiet whirl of thoughts.
Once inside, Ash closed the heavy door behind him, sealing the chamber's solitude.
He took a seat by the window, gazing out at the endless expanse of night beyond the palace walls. The stars blinked cold and distant, unchanging in their silent watch.
His thoughts turned to the trials ahead.
The first — endurance. Where would it be held? Would it be in the shadowed training grounds, or some hidden place known only to the Emperor's closest? The uncertainty gnawed at him.
And the second — the test of mind — where and how would it unfold?
He did not know.
He only knew he must be ready.
Minutes slipped by, marked only by the slow pulse of light through the window and the distant murmurs of the sleeping empire.
At last, a soft knock echoed on the door.
Ash straightened.
The moment had come.
Ash stepped into the chamber, his boots making no sound against the smooth black stone. The door closed behind him with a final thud, sealing the space in a heavy hush.
Two figures waited ahead.
Master Thalor stood tall and immovable, arms crossed over his broad chest. The firelight caught the faint etchings of ancient battle runes on his armor. Beside him, Lady Elara stood in contrast — calm, ethereal, her pale silver hair cascading like starlight across her shoulders. Her robes of deep midnight shimmered faintly, as though woven from the night sky itself.
It was Thalor who spoke first, his voice rough, forged from years of war.
"Prince Ashteron. I am Master Thalor. This chamber is the Lower Crucible — carved beneath the Abyssal Spine of the palace. Here, your flesh will be tested. Your will pressed until it cracks. Then we will see what remains."
He gestured toward a wide space marked with obsidian stones and training mechanisms. Chains, weights, low crawl tunnels, and jagged floor panels waited in silent challenge.
"You will begin with endurance. Pain, fatigue, failure — you will learn to face them without mercy or retreat. Your trial will last until I say it ends."
Ash's expression didn't falter.
Lady Elara stepped forward, her voice as soft as mist, yet edged with unmistakable clarity.
"I am Lady Elara, scholar of the Abyssal Codex and mistress of the mind arts. When the body weakens, the mind must remain unbroken. Your second trial — mental discipline — will be held in the Lucent Vault, a sealed meditation chamber where shadows speak, and silence is your only companion."
She met Ash's gaze, her silver eyes unreadable.
"You will face illusions, riddles, memories — truths you may not wish to see. You must learn to navigate chaos with clarity. That is the second test."
Ash nodded once, wings shifting slightly at his back. "I understand."
Thalor let out a short grunt, half approval, half warning. "We begin now. The Crucible does not wait."
Lady Elara stepped aside, letting Ash pass. Her final words lingered behind him like distant bells.
"Endure the body, control the mind… only then will your true self emerge."