A day later, Emperor Dimitri stood in the infirmary, his hands clasped behind his back as he paced quietly beside Gabriel's bed. The room was quiet, but heavy with the scent of herbs and burning candles. Gabriel lay unconscious, his chest wrapped in thick white bandages. His breathing was slow, but steady. He hadn't woken once since being brought back.
Dimitri stopped walking and stared down at him.
"This man… he survived," he whispered. "He is really a Flamehouse, and almost the last of his line." He turned to the window, watching as rain trickled down the glass. "I've finally done something that history won't ignore. This… this is no longer my father's empire. I've finally stepped out of his shadow. Now I wish the old man was back so I can see the look on his face."
For the first time in a long while, there was pride in his heart. Even if no one else saw it yet, Dimitri felt it clearly… he believed he had taken the first real step in carving his legacy.
Just then, a servant entered the room quietly, bowing her head in respect. "Your Majesty," she said, holding out a sealed message. "A report from the Northhelm."
Dimitri glanced at the note lazily before he took the letter and unfolded it. His eyes scanned the neat writing, and his jaw tightened.
"They're… investigating?" he muttered. "Of course they are. The moment they realize I acted without waiting for them, they throw a tantrum."
The servant didn't answer, she kept her head down. As it would be a great treason to look at royals in the eyes.
"They think I strained our alliance by marching into their lands," Dimitri said, more to himself. "But they forget… they never had the strength to act."
He crumpled the letter in one hand and let out a slow breath. "If I manage to seal the Vorrak, none of this will matter. I'll be the one remembered throughout the realm. The great hero of this age."
He looked back at Gabriel. "Wake up soon," he muttered. "You're the only one who saw what really happened."
He left the room, the servants following behind in silence.
...….
Far from the capital, in the Al'Morthal mountains, the atmosphere was dark, heavy, almost suffocating.
Within the walls of the mountain, Inside a cold stone chamber, the red glow of a hexagonal rune circled the floor where a baby boy sat, his small body trembling . His skin was damp with sweat, and his eyes were unfocused.
Phoebe stood nearby, arms folded, watching without emotion. Rock stood behind her, forcing another wave of dark mana into the boy's core.
Daemien gasped. His back arched as the corrupted energy filled him, crawling under his skin like fire. His hands clenched, and a cry tore from his throat.
"Again," Rock snapped.
"That's enough," Phoebe said sharply, stepping forward. "He's reached his limit. He is just a baby."
"He doesn't get limits," Rock growled. " If he can't control it, he'll die before he's even useful."
Phoebe glanced at Daemien, whose breathing was shallow and broken. Her lips thinned. "You're right. We bought ourselves time with that substitute child. But we never expected this to open. The Vorrak's gate has reopened, which means the seal has weakened or worse, someone broke it."
Rock nodded. "I've heard that the Vorrak had a feud with the demon. Which means they must be coming after him. And if they find him before we're ready…"
"Then we die," Phoebe finished for him.
"Do you think the Vorrak appeared in the Northhelm border because they thought the child was really the demon child?" Rock asked with a furrowed brow.
"I guess we can never find out about that."
They both turned to Daemien. He curled on the floor, his little body shaking. Phoebe crouched beside him and brushed his hair from his face.
"You're not just a child," she whispered. "You were never meant to live a normal life. You're a weapon, one that will help us rise again, a weapon that can level the whole realm. And that's all you'll ever be. Al'Morthal's golden blade."
Daemien's lips trembled, but no words came out.
She lowered her voice further. "The world doesn't care about your pain. So endure it. Because if you don't, you'll be the first they crush. If only you knew how much effort and how many lives they had taken just because of you. A toddler."
Behind her, Rock looked to the doorway. Outside, the sky had turned unnaturally dark. It was like the sky was trying to mock them.
"If they catch wind that the real child survived, we're all dead," Rock muttered. "We're buying time, not winning."
"I believe we still have some time. It was just one Vorrak that had made its way out. Which means the others are still trapped inside the seal. If we are lucky it might take ten to fifteen years before the seal would fully weaken. And I believe the high mages will look for ways to reinforce the seal." Phoebe rose, returning to Rock's side.
"Which means we have enough time to train him. And we can always hide behind the shadows of the so-called righteous sect." she added.
"You are right Phoebe, as long as we can train him to his full potential, we can definitely rule this world. And nothing, no one will be able to stop us." A smile of relief formed on Rock's lips.
The light from the rune shimmered faintly around Daemien. The dark energy swirling around him before entering his body. Daemien's eyes watered. His chest burned, and his throat hurt from crying. He didn't know what was happening, only that everything hurt. He fell to the ground, unconscious.
......….
Kaelith sat in the midst of the scattered book as usual. His eyes gleamed as he had found the book he had been looking for. "Mana Conclave." he read out as his eyes fixated on the black worn out book.
Now that he had found a book that would help nurture his mind and create a fake Mana stream. Learning magic again would be more realistic for him. Now he has his magic book and a medium which is the ring the Patriarch gifted him. All he needed was just time to grow up and nurture his powers back.
If he comes of age, he would take Gabriel Flamehouse as his teacher. Only him and no one else. With these plans in mind, his lips stretched into a faint smirk.