Second sermon: Years Later

Barging into the throne room, Kaedryn's fury burned uncontrollably, a tempest embodied in a pillar of flame. He stood before the Emperor—his brother—seething with anger. The officials lining the room could do nothing but cower and sweat beneath the oppressive aura of the Flame Saint.

"Kay..."

The Emperor's heavy voice reverberated through the chamber, sending shivers through everyone present. Equally tall and imposing as his younger brother, Emperor Asher exuded an air of calm authority. His piercing eyes held centuries of wisdom, and his gentle demeanor stood in stark contrast to Kaedryn's fiery temperament.

Once again, from those lips that commanded kingdoms, Asher spoke with calm authority:

"Kay... why cause such commotion in my palace? Calm yourself, and do not let the Trinket curse control you. All this rage, Kay. Over a mountain girl? Look at yourself—this isn't who you are."

Asher's words echoed like those of a graceful god descending in his radiance, yet they struck Kaedryn like a catalyst, igniting the embers of his anger. The tranquility in the throne room shattered as steam escaped Kaedryn's clenched lips in labored breaths.

"Asher..."

The utterance of the Emperor's raw name, stripped of any honorifics, made the royal knights grip their weapons in alarm. The tension thickened, but Kaedryn only chuckled darkly in response.

"What? Do you plan to force me to bow?"

His tone dripped with defiance.

"Then do it."

Golden light burst from Kaedryn's body, scorching the ground where he stood. His hair rose like a cascade of flames, flickering and coiling around his frame.

The knights trembled, feeling the punishing heat emanating from Kaedryn—a heat that could bring entire empires to their knees. One official stumbled back, his hands trembling as he clutched a scroll to his chest. Another's gaze darted to the exit, calculating whether he could escape before the flames reached him.

Through the chaos, Emperor Asher remained seated, unfazed by the rising tension. His calm voice cut through the oppressive heat like a blade.

"Kaedryn, control your Trinket curse."

He sighed, his tone carrying both reprimand and understanding.

"As a Von Drakon, you know the flaw of our family's Trinket—quick temper. That is why letting emotions control you is dangerous, especially for you, Kay."

The weight of Asher's words sank into Kaedryn's heart. The flames flickering around Kaedryn's body began to waver, dimming as his breathing slowed. The oppressive heat that had made the officials tremble now felt like the dying embers of a once-raging fire. He clenched and unclenched his fists, his shoulders heaving as if carrying the weight of his fury.

With a heavy sigh, he slapped his own face, as if trying to shake himself free from his earlier outburst.

'I nearly lost myself to the Trinket curse again'

He thought, his mind swirling with reflection.

'The Fury of Akrithon... I'm such a disappointment as a Saint Lord. Trinkets—special, cultivated memories that give Rankers a pathway to power—always come with a flaw, a trinket curse. And to this day, I still can't control mine.'

Unlike Asher, whose calm demeanor masked the mastery of his Trinket curse, Kaedryn felt his emotions slipping through his fingers like sand. He envied his brother's control, the way he ruled his emotions rather than being ruled by them.

Kaedryn lifted his gaze, meeting Asher's calm and steady eyes. In that moment, an unspoken understanding passed between the brothers—a silent communication no one else in the room could comprehend.

The tension between the brothers had barely eased when the cry rang out from outside the throne room:

"'Lancelot, Patriarch of the Pendragon House! Has arrived"

Kaedryn's eyes narrowed.

'Of course, it would be him.'

All eyes turned to him. Battle-worn and weary, Lancelot's hardened expression remained unreadable as he stepped forward, following Kaedryn's lead. Entering the throne room, he advanced a few paces toward the Emperor before stopping to bow in deep reverence.

"Greetings, my lord."

Emperor Asher acknowledged him with a mere hand gesture, yet the throne room remained utterly silent. From the officials to the royal knights, not a single soul dared to move—everything had come to a standstill.

'It seems my worries were for nothing. Kay hasn't acted out of anger… at least not yet. Thank the Divine Gods for their protection.'

Asher and Kaedryn exchanged an unspoken understanding, but the quiet was abruptly broken when the Emperor stood from his golden dragon throne.

Immediately, the room reacted. Every individual bowed without hesitation, none daring to meet his gaze—except for the Flame Saint. With smooth, mesmerizing steps, Asher descended from the raised dais.

"Kay, Lancelot… follow me."

Without another word, the three men exited the royal throne room, noble knights trailing behind them as they moved through the grand, opulent halls of the castle. Their destination was the Cleric's chamber, where Elyssia and Zal remained under the care of the Apostles.

The moment Kaedryn laid eyes on their fractured forms, the lingering curse of the Trinket pulsed violently within him. His body trembled, rage threatening to consume him. But with Asher's silent presence and Lancelot's steady words, he forced himself to stay in control.

Shaking to his core, Kaedryn took slow, deliberate steps toward his wife and child.

'Elyssia… Zal…'

The healers stepped aside without a word, parting in silent deference. The room was thick with tension, each person holding their breath as they awaited Kaedryn's reaction. None dared to blink, uncertain of what the Flame Saint might do.

His voice was low, yet it carried the weight of a storm brewing beneath the surface.

"What happened? Tell me everything."

A suffocating silence followed, broken only by the heavy rasp of Kaedryn's voice and the labored, painful breathing of Elyssia and Zal—both barely clinging to life.

A voice finally spoke, hesitant yet firm.

"I know your fury burns beyond reason, but remember this—no harm can come to Cecilia, no matter what she has done."

Kaedryn's glowing eyes snapped toward the speaker.

"As the daughter of the Sky King of the Middle Realm, harming her would spell disaster for Avalon. Even if the Holy Church intervened, they would not be able to fully contain the Sky King's wrath. And though you are a Saint Lord, his true rank remains unknown. He commands six Imperium Rank Masters. You must think carefully before you act."

A grim stillness settled over the room. From the clerics to Lancelot—and even Kaedryn himself—everyone understood the sheer magnitude of the power they were dealing with.

Kaedryn's silence spoke volumes, his mind warring between duty, vengeance, and helplessness.

'Damn it! Why?! My wife and child lie on the brink of death, and yet… even as a Saint Lord, I am powerless to save them.'

"Elyssia will never forgive me for this."

'But the Sky King… he is beyond my reach. Even with my divine abilities, he is still too powerful. If I defy him, I risk throwing the entire Lower Realm into chaos.'

Lost in thought, Kaedryn barely registered the firm grip on his shoulder.

"Asher…"

The Emperor sighed before shifting his focus to the clerics.

"What is their current condition? Any improvement?"

The elderly healer bowed deeply before answering, her voice measured and cautious.

"My lord, Lady Elyssia's condition has stabilized, though her injuries were severe. Over time, she may experience recurring illness unless…"

She hesitated, then continued, her expression grave.

"Unless we obtain the Memory Essence of a fully matured Titan Scavenger or the Elemental Ring of Nature from a God-level dungeon. These are the only two known artifacts capable of restoring her completely."

The very mention of a Titan-Level Scavenger and a God-Level Dungeon sent an invisible weight pressing upon the room.

A drop of sweat trickled down Lancelot's temple.

"A Titan-Level Scavenger… even an Ancient Rank Master would struggle against one. And a God-Level Dungeon? The success rate is nonexistent."

Yet, Emperor Asher's expression remained unreadable. His voice was calm when he asked his next question.

"And my nephew?"

The old woman hesitated, then exhaled heavily—a clear sign that Zal's condition was even worse.

"My lord… despite all the potions and elixirs we administered, we were only able to mend his wounds. But… the young prince has been crippled."

Kaedryn stiffened.

"His essence and soul-seeds were forcibly extracted through a forbidden ritual, leaving his spirit irreparably shattered. His lifespan is now estimated to be no more than twenty years. He will be prone to every disease imaginable."

Her voice softened.

"Forgive us, my lord… for our inability to save him."

A sharp crack rang through the air—Kaedryn's fists clenched so tightly that his bones strained beneath his skin.

The clerics shrank back, fear flashing in their eyes as Kaedryn's golden irises burned with fury.

"Is there any way to heal them with divine mantra energy?"

Kaedryn demanded.

Emperor Asher's gaze snapped toward his younger brother, sharp and unwavering. The calm authority he had maintained up until now shifted into a strict, silent warning. Even Lancelot tensed at Kaedryn's reckless suggestion.

Then, Asher's voice cut through the room, cold and absolute.

"It is strictly forbidden to even consider that. Using the divine power of a Saint Lord for personal gain is a violation of the Holy Church's laws. A taboo."

Kaedryn's grip tightened further, his teeth grinding in frustration.

"I know, Asher, but—wait."

His mind raced, grasping at alternatives.

"What about the Trinket of Draconic Might? I've unlocked the Pyro-Healing skill—if I use the Flames of Akrithon, I can cleanse them."

Emperor Asher exhaled slowly, closing his eyes in disappointment before shaking his head.

"A Spirit Trinket like the Von Drakon lineage's cannot be used on others, even with its reptilian healing and regeneration. There is… one exception"

He admitted.

"If a Von Drakon possesses a Memory of a Healer, they can bypass that rule and heal others with the Flames of Purity. But, as you well know, no Drakon has ever been of the Cleric Class."

Kaedryn's jaw tensed as another wave of frustration washed over him. Lancelot stepped in, offering his own insight, but before the conversation could continue, a weak, labored cough broke the suffocating silence.

Every head in the room snapped toward the sound.

A cleric's voice rang out, loud with urgency.

"My lord! There are signs of life—movement!"

Kaedryn didn't hesitate. His body trembled as he rushed forward, tearing down the veils of the chamber.

On the bed, Elyssia's eyes fluttered open—blurred and unfocused, yet searching. Even in her weakened state, she recognized the figure before her.

"Kay…"

Her voice was weak, barely above a whisper, filled with pain.

Nearby, Zal stirred. His dull golden draconic eyes flickered open, hazy but alive.

A sharp breath escaped Kaedryn as he rushed forward, gathering them both into his arms. A rare, unguarded moment of pure relief and love—so unlike the cold, ruthless Flame Saint of War.

At the entrance, Emperor Asher turned back briefly before stepping toward the chamber's exit, his royal knights following.

"I am relieved that my nephew has survived," he stated. His voice was steady, yet his words carried a weight of finality. "But what happened here must never leave these walls."

Then, he declared his judgment.

"As for Cecilia… I have no power over her. She will be returned to the Cloud Empire as punishment—an exile of twenty years."

Those present bowed in acknowledgment as the decree was made official. The truth behind the exile of the first Queen of the Von Drakon family would remain a secret, buried for the sake of peace.

Fifteen Years Later ... Medieval Age 685 M.A.

Time moved forward. The rain fell, winter faded, autumn came and went. Empires clashed, and the unending war between Heretics and Apostles continued.

The young masters and mistresses of the Von Drakon family had grown—both in stature and strength.

Deep within the Drakon keep, in a grand library chamber, a lone figure sat upon an ornately carved dragon throne. His skin was a striking shade of burnt brown, his golden eyes dull yet piercing like a dragon's. Long, dark hair cascaded down his back, framing his noble posture. He wore a regal blend of white and silver, adorned with golden accessories that bore the insignia of the Von Drakon family.

Before him rested an ancient tome, its worn pages captivating his full attention. He turned the next page with quiet anticipation, immersing himself deeper into the text.

Then—his solitude was broken.

The heavy doors swung open abruptly as a servant barged in, offering a shallow bow that barely concealed her disdain.

With a mocking tone, she announced.

"Prince Zal, it is time for your fifteenth birthday."

She paused, then smiled—too pleased with what she was about to say.

"However, the House Patriarch has decreed… your celebration has been canceled. Instead, Lady Saraphina, your dear sister, will be honored with a grand banquet in your place."

The words were meant to wound, to remind him of his status as the forgotten prince—the useless heir. Even the servants no longer bothered to hide their lack of respect.

Yet, Zal remained unfazed.

Tilting his head slightly, a knowing smirk played at the corners of his lips, as if he had expected nothing less.

The servant's expression twitched at his lack of reaction, but she pressed on.

"Additionally, all heirs of the Von Drakon family are to gather in the Hall of Flames this afternoon. I have delivered the message."

She turn her back on Zal, offered no further acknowledgment. Without bowing she turned on her heel to leave,

Zal remained still, offering no outward response, simply flipping to the next page of his book.

But behind his calm façade, his mind was in motion.

'They cast me aside, yet they still summon me. Curious. Another spectacle… or an opportunity? To pin me down...'

With a flick of his fingers, the ancient tome shut with a soft thud. Zal rose from his chair, his golden eyes darkening as he whispered to himself—

"Let the games begin."