The Crest of Ruin

The morning sun filtered through the tall stained-glass windows of the Velentis estate, casting long glimmers of gold across the polished marble floor. There was an unusual stillness—quiet, but tense. Servants moved briskly, whispering in the hallways. Even the walls seemed to hold their breath.

Lucien had just finished his quiet breakfast when Ellis, the head steward of House Velentis, appeared at the entrance of the dining hall. Her hair, streaked with grey, was tied back in a strict bun. Her posture was impeccable—as always.

"Master Lucien," she said with a courteous bow. "The Duke has requested your presence in the audience chamber."

Lucien set his teacup down without haste. "Now?"

Ellis's expression didn't waver. "He said it was important."

Lucien rose from his seat. "Very well. Let's not keep him waiting."

---

The audience chamber was bathed in muted blue light filtering through enchanted glass. The space echoed power—every stone infused with mana, every arch etched with the history of House Velentis. The air was still, but charged.

At the far end, seated on a raised throne carved from obsidian and runes, was Duke Kael Velentis. He looked as commanding as ever—broad-shouldered, sharp-eyed, wearing the dark robes of a high-ranking mage. Even seated, he radiated pressure like a mountain poised to move.

Lucien stepped forward, bowed deeply. "Father."

Kael opened his eyes slowly. "You're on time."

To the Duke's side stood a girl about Lucien's age. Black uniform, tightly fastened. Her dark blue hair was cropped short, and her steel-gray eyes scanned him like a hawk. She wore the crest of House Elvane—the household of silent shadows.

"This is Elias," Kael said. "Daughter of Ellis. She is going to be personal shadow and butler from this day forward."

Lucien's gaze lingered on her. That name,that face.

Memories flared.

He remembered it vividly—how the estate burned while screams echoed through the halls. The stench of smoke and blood had filled the air. Everyone he had once trusted had turned on him. Betrayals cut deeper than blades. And yet, through all of it, Elias had remained. Hidden in the shadows, loyal to the end. When the empire branded him a traitor, when his own knights deserted him, when his sister's body had grown cold in his arms—Elias was still there, never asking questions, never seeking thanks. She moved unseen, killed without hesitation, and protected him until her last breath. Even after all his mistakes… she never left.

She had died protecting him an unworthy bastard.

He never even thanked her.

Now, here she was—alive and same as before.

He straightened. "You've completed your training?"

Elias stepped forward and bowed. "Yes, young master. I am yours to command."

Ellis added from the side, "Elias is trained in spatial displacement, concealment, assassination, and shadowcraft. The Elvane bloodline does not fail. Well...you can say they are beings close to perfect and loyality too runs deep within them. Well ofcourse human greed no bounds but the Elvane family and the Velentis are contracted with blood bond."

"Blood Bond is a bond done through staking one's life...so it means if they ever betray us they die...Well it has been said that the first patriarch saved an assasin mage who was sold as a slave and helped him throughout his revenge of being his family killed and supported him and bestowed him title of Marquis. So after that he swore his loyality that every heir of Elvin will help the heir up until they become duke to throught their life)

Kael nodded. "She will protect you from now on and look after your necessities. You'll trust her as you would your own blade."

Lucien kept his gaze steady. "I will."

Elias tilted her head, expression unreadable. "I am your shadow. Your grace. For anything, at any time. I will be there."

Lucien hesitated—just for a heartbeat.

"You said that once before," he murmured.

She blinked, confused. "Pardon?"

Lucien shook his head, the ghost of a bitter smile on his lips. "Nothing. Let's move on."

---

Night fell, wrapping the Velentis estate in a hush.

Lucien couldn't sleep. He sat by his desk, staring at the pendant his mother had once given him. Outside, the breeze whispered through the trees.Then—

A shift in air. A muffled step.

Instinct took over. Lucien dove aside as a blade sliced clean through his pillow. Mana surged into his limbs. He spun on the floor, facing the intruder.

An assassin. Clad in black. Hooded. No insignia. The type that didn't fail or flee.

"You really want to try this tonight?" Lucien muttered.

He raised a hand to cast—but someone was faster.

From the shadows near the window, three knives flew with impossible precision.

Throat. Chest. Gut.

The assassin staggered, blood spraying across the room. A gurgling

sound. Then silence. The body hit the floor with a dull thud.

Lucien stood, blood dripping from his sleeve. He turned—already knowing.

Elias stood there, one knee on the windowsill, still holding her last blade. Her eyes shimmered—not with fear or tension, but something disturbingly close to joy.

She exhaled. "Three seconds too late. I'll improve."

Lucien narrowed his eyes. "You say that like you're disappointed it ended so fast."

Elias stepped inside, the faintest smile pulling at her lips. "Should I have let him try harder?"

Lucien sighed. "No. Just… maybe stab with a little less enthusiasm...you could have finished it at once ."

She tilted her head. "That's… not how we're trained."

He looked at her, muttering, "These Elvane… everything's fine until they get that fanatical glint in their eyes after a kill and splattering blood everyone and looking so crazy."

Elias cleaned the blood from her blade, still calm. "It was clean."

Lucien raised a brow. "You don't need to look so pleased."

"I'm not pleased."

"You're smiling."

"I'm… satisfied."

Lucien shook his head and sat on the edge of his bed. "I forgot how weird your family is."

Elias stepped closer, now expressionless again. "I'll remain outside your room tonight. Call me for anything."

He looked up at her, quieter now...feeling nostalgic. "Even when I lost everything... you stayed. Even when I didn't deserve it . It feels good to see the same enthusiasm again. This time I'm gonna make both best use and care of it"

Lucien exhaled, lying back against the sheets. "Still. I'm glad you're here."

Elias bowed slightly. "I always will be."

Outside, the bell tower chimed once.

Dawn was only hours away.

The morning sun filtered through the tall windows of Lucien's room, casting warm streaks across the polished floor. A gentle knock came at the door.

"Young Master, it's time," a soft voice called.

Lucien stirred. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. His maid, Lyra, stepped in with practiced grace. She was quiet but efficient — someone who never needed to be told twice.

She placed fresh clothes at the end of the bed and opened the side windows just enough to let in a breeze. "The water is ready, and breakfast will be served in your study if you prefer."

Lucien gave a slight nod. "In the study."

She bowed and stepped back, giving him space.

After a quick wash, Lyra returned to help him dress. His training robe was dark silver, embroidered with the Velentis crest. She fastened the clasp at his collar and brushed a few strands of hair from his face. 

Lucien left the room, his footsteps silent down the stone halls. The estate was already stirring—staff moving quickly, polishing railings that were already clean, checking curtains for specks of dust.

He ignored them all and turned toward the eastern wing. The Velentis private training grounds lay there—restricted from most of the household and watched over by magical seals.

The doors recognized his mana signature and opened with a faint pulse.

Inside was a broad, open chamber of polished obsidian tile. Arrays of elemental focus glyphs were carved into the floor—air, fire, shadow, and neutral. A set of enchanted sparring constructs stood dormant along one wall—mannequins that could replicate intermediate to advanced combat patterns using embedded spell cores.

Lucien took a slow breath and moved to the center.

"Combat simulation. Initiate Pattern Four."

The sparring constructs shimmered to life. A moment later, twin fire discs launched toward him from opposite angles.

Lucien sidestepped smoothly and conjured a mana barrier, deflecting both with minimal exertion. Before they even shattered, a stone spike erupted beneath his feet. He blink-stepped two paces to the left, gathering flame in his palm and releasing it in a compressed firebolt straight into the construct's chest.

It buckled backward but adapted immediately, launching a blast of icy mist toward him.

Lucien narrowed his eyes.

He gathered pure mana into his hand, forming a mana spear, and hurled it clean through the construct's defense matrix. Sparks exploded on impact.

Another construct leapt in, this one simulating a close-range attack. He caught the first punch with an arcane shield, twisted its arm with raw force, and sent a wave of mana crashing into its chest, flattening it into the wall.

He rotated his stance and exhaled slowly.

The remaining two constructs circled like predators. Lucien channeled his mana deeper now—layering internal control threads along his limbs. His movements became sharper, his spells cleaner. He launched into them with a mix of elemental magic and base combat footwork—flame for distraction, wind for momentum, and pure force to break armor.

In less than a minute, both were down. The simulation ended with a low hum.

He wiped a thin layer of sweat from his brow and checked the output terminal.

"Mana Stability: 89.5%. Circle Output: Intermediate, Second Tier."

Still not good enough.

"I need at least 93% if I want to reach Final Stage before winter," he muttered to himself.

Lucien rolled his shoulder, loosening residual tension. "At this pace… four or five months."

He paced the edge of the room, gathering his thoughts. He wasn't just training for the Talent Assembly—he was preparing for a war of perception, of influence. They all expected a boy blessed by his bloodline.

But he remembered what happened when that boy faltered.

The shadows that followed. The betrayal. The chaos.

This time, he wouldn't misstep.

Just then, a soft knock echoed at the training hall entrance. A low-ranking mage—recognizable by the blue sash tied at his waist—stood just outside the threshold, careful not to step in.

"Young Master Lucien," the mage said, bowing deeply. "His Grace requests your presence in the solar. A guest has arrived."

Lucien raised a brow. "A guest?"

"I was not informed of their name, sir. The Duke requested your immediate presence."

Lucien dusted his sleeve and nodded.

"Understood."

The solar chamber's golden light streamed across the stone floor, pooling around the deep violet carpets and gold-accented furniture. Duke Kael Velentis stood facing the high windows, hands clasped behind his back. Regal, unshakable.

But Lucien's eyes were drawn immediately to the man standing casually beside him.

He wore a travel-worn cloak slung over one shoulder, his black hair shot through with silver at the temples and tied loosely at the nape. His arms were folded, posture loose—but Lucien saw it clearly. The callused hands, the reinforced boots, the faint mana scars near his collarbone.

And most of all, the eyes.

Violet. Like his father's. Like his own.

There was no denying the blood they shared.

The man grinned as Lucien approached. "You've grown," he said easily. "Last time I saw you, you were barely taller than my boots."

Lucien hesitated. "…Uncle?"

"Darius Velentis," the man said with a slight bow of his head. "Your father's only brother. And unfortunately for you, your new instructor."

Lucien bowed deeply. "It's an honor to meet you again."

Darius laughed. "Polite. Let's see if that lasts once training starts."

Kael turned slightly. "I asked Darius to return. Your progress has surpassed what the house instructors can offer."

Lucien looked at Kael, then back at his uncle.

Darius shrugged, the grin never leaving his face. "He sent me a letter that said: 'If you're still alive, come home and put some spine into my son.' Hard to say no when your big brother starts begging."

Kael gave him a dry glance. "I didn't beg."

"You wrote please. That counts."

Lucien looked between them—an odd warmth blooming in his chest. He had never seen his father like this before. Not even once.

But Darius's next words cut through the air with crisp weight.

"Listen, Lucien. I'm not your friend. Not your nursemaid. I've trained soldiers, mercenaries, even a few royal guards. And I walked away from most of them when they got lazy."

He stepped forward. His violet gaze locked onto Lucien's with full force.

"I don't care if you're the heir. If you waste my time, I'll be gone by sunset. I don't babysit boys who think a fancy name makes them strong."

Lucien didn't flinch.

"I don't expect special treatment," he said.

Darius gave a satisfied nod. "Good. I don't give any."

He glanced back at Kael. "But your father said you've changed. He told me you stopped coasting on your bloodline. That you're putting in the work."

"I am," Lucien said.

"We'll see. You're eleven, right? That gives us less than two years before the Academy eats you alive. So I'm starting you from the basics and dragging you forward whether you like it or not."

He cracked his knuckles. "And if you hide your power from me, I'll find it. Rip it out myself if I have to."

Lucien's lips tugged upward. Just a little. "You sound disappointed already."

Darius let out a laugh. "There is some bite under all that ice."

He stepped forward again, this time clapping a hand on Lucien's shoulder. The grip was strong—but not crushing. A warrior's touch, not a noble's.

"You've got your father's stillness," Darius said. "But I see your mother in how you stand. She never backed down, even when she was wrong."

Lucien didn't reply. He swallowed quietly.

Kael spoke again. "Your schedule changes tomorrow. Darius will structure it personally."

"I understand."

Darius leaned down, just slightly, voice lower.

"Let me be clear, Lucien. I'm not here to make you a perfect mage. I'm here to make you dangerous. The kind of heir even empires hesitate to cross."

Lucien nodded. "I want that."

Darius studied him, then smiled. "Then we're going to get along just fine."

He turned toward the exit.

"Training begins at dawn. Don't make me wake you myself."

And with that, he left the room.

🔹 [Lucien's POV]

Lucien stood in place long after the door shut behind Darius.

In my last life… he never returned.

He never got this chance—because I didn't give him one. I was already too far gone, lost in grief and obsession. No one wanted to waste time on me.

But now… he's here. Because I changed. Because I chose to rise this time.

This future will not repeat the past.

Lucien clenched his fist behind his back. His mother's pendant felt warm against his chest.

Uncle Darius is strong. Final-stage Sixth Circle. If I train under him properly, I'll climb faster than before.

And this time, I'll save him too. I know when the disease hits. I know where the cure is. I remember who made it, and where the smuggled vials were traced.

He inhaled slowly.

Whatever it takes—he's not dying this time.

He took a final glance at the sunlight filtering through the window.

This life is different.

And I will make sure everyone knows the name Lucien Velentis isn't a shadow of his father—but a storm of his own