Chapter 10: Veins of Fate

Chapter 10: Veins of Fate

The early morning light streamed through the high windows of the Agares estate, casting a golden hue across the marble courtyard.

Dew clung to the petals of the garden's midnight roses, and the scent of blooming netherlilies perfumed the air. Volundr stood barefoot at the center of a training circle etched with ancient runes, each symbol resonating faintly beneath his feet, like the pulse of the Underworld itself.

He had spent the previous week pushing himself to the brink—blending foundational martial styles of the Underworld with remnants of lost arts gleaned from forgotten texts.

His mastery was no longer imitation. It was transformation. Today, he sought clarity in motion, a stillness through which he could better hear the voice of his own evolving path.

His breathing slowed, syncing with the subtle hum of the runes. Inhale. Exhale. Each breath anchored him, not only to the physical space but to the vast network of presence Limitless Aura had begun to form.

The sensation was strange—threadlike connections in the fabric of reality. Living threads.

He felt Seekvaira's presence across the courtyard, her aura calm but curious as she observed him from a shaded balcony. Claudius and Lirien, his butler and maid—and now loyal mentors—stood nearby, their gazes sharp and proud.

And beyond the confines of the estate, he sensed the faint flicker of Sairaorg, still marked in secret, pushing himself as Volundr did. Sona's aura lingered like the brush of parchment—disciplined, clean, and curious. Limitless Aura, unbounded by distance, was weaving a living tapestry.

His palms moved in slow, deliberate circles. Each gesture conjured memory—Senjutsu grounding him in nature's rhythms, devil magic lending shape to his intentions, martial tradition granting structure, and the wisdom of Jia Xu urging caution, subtlety, and clarity of purpose.

Then he moved.

The sequence began fluidly—spins, parries, transitions between stances that echoed the precision of spear techniques and the flow of ancient tai chi.

His body danced the line between aggression and serenity. Sparks of golden light burst where his aura brushed the rune-carved floor, a living rhythm manifesting in raw energy and poetic motion.

"It's evolving," Lirien whispered.

Claudius nodded, eyes narrowed with awe. "He's no longer mimicking styles. He's creating his own."

Later that day, the grand chamber of House Agares hummed with subtle tension. A political gathering of minor noble houses had been called—a forum to determine the future distribution of enchanted resources among the emerging heirs.

Velvet drapes bore the house crests of at least a dozen families. Silver goblets held vintage bloodwine. A quiet war of words was about to unfold.

At just ten years old, Volundr was the youngest present. But he carried himself with the quiet authority of a veteran. The child of another age stood amidst politics older than empires, and he understood the stakes.

"House Glavia seeks increased control over the enchanted ore trade," announced a tall noble with hard eyes.

"And proposes a ten percent levy on peerage-sponsored research," added another, fanning themselves idly as if the statement were an afterthought.

Discontent rippled through the chamber. Most of the older heirs whispered among themselves. Volundr remained silent, his gaze unblinking until the attention finally turned to him.

"Lord Volundr," prompted a silver-haired matron whose ring glinted with an opal of judgment. "Do you have thoughts, young heir?"

He rose smoothly.

"Trade," he said, his voice level, "should not be dictated by the ambitions of a select few, especially when their contributions to collective development are inconsistent at best. If a levy is necessary, let it be performance-based—tied to yield, not position."

There were frowns. Murmurs. But then, a few subtle nods.

He continued, "As for research—burdening the next generation of devils with unnecessary tolls stifles progress. If the goal is to remain strong in a changing world, short-sighted taxation is not strategy. It is sabotage."

He sat. The matron blinked, lips parted slightly.

The wisdom of Jia Xu echoed through him still, a constant guide, whispering calculations, strategies, and cautions. These nobles were not enemies. But they were obstacles—uncertain pieces on a board still being drawn.

In the following weeks, Volundr's days split into the steady rhythm of discipline. Mornings began before dawn, training both body and magic.

Afternoons were consumed with political lessons, private study, and increasingly sophisticated tactical simulations. Evenings brought meditation, internal refinement, and sometimes, dialogue with Seekvaira.

She had blossomed in recent months. Her confidence had grown—her spells more precise, her voice steadier in court. She had begun reading aloud in strategy meetings, proposing alternatives with increasing clarity.

"You push all of us," she said one evening as they sparred in a garden ring. "But are you pushing yourself too far?"

Volundr's blade halted an inch from her neck. He withdrew gently.

"I don't believe there's such a thing," he said softly. "Not anymore. Not with what's coming."

Her gaze lingered. "You still see something on the horizon, don't you?"

He nodded. "It's subtle. Like a vibration in the stone. But it's there."

One night, beneath the great ancestral flame of Agares, he meditated longer than usual. The room was silent save for the crackle of blue-black fire.

Then the vision came.

A sky torn in half. Flaming cities. Wings of angels, dragons, devils, and beasts clashing in the void. Ruin upon ruin. A throne of ash. And at the center—Volundr himself, older, shrouded in light and shadow, standing alone before a sea of judgment.

He awoke with a start, sweat dampening his brow.

The next day, he summoned Claudius and Lirien.

"I want every record of the Great War," he said. "Devils. Angels. Fallen. Neutral observers. Cross-reference it all."

Claudius blinked.

"That's... a vast undertaking, young master."

Volundr's voice remained steady. "Then we begin with the forgotten. Those left out of history."

Lirien frowned. "You're searching for something?"

He nodded. "Patterns. Warnings. Anything."

Weeks passed. Limitless Aura grew more refined. It no longer merely enhanced those within range—it began aligning them. Patterns of growth, instinctual coordination. The longer someone was marked, the more naturally they synchronized with Volundr's methods.

One evening, as he read in his study, a letter arrived—sealed with the Sitri crest. Sona's delicate but firm handwriting greeted him. Her letter offered correspondence, shared thoughts on magic system regulation, and a strategic breakdown of noble influence maps.

Volundr smiled.

"A worthy mind," he murmured.

He replied with precision—engaging but not overbearing, honest but careful. He offered insights into mana conservation models, disguising his true knowledge just enough to invite further exchange.

Another thread woven.

That night, Volundr stood again in the meditation circle. The runes lit before he moved, pulsing in sync with his heartbeat. He knelt, placing both hands on the ground.

"I will not walk blindly," he whispered. "I will shape the path—through strength, through wisdom, through bonds. For those I mark... and for the world they will inherit."

From the depths of his soul, Limitless Aura surged—no longer merely a tool, but an extension of his purpose. His vision extended not just to battles, but to policy, history, and future unity.

The child born of another world was becoming something more.

End of Chapter 10