Chapter 1 : The Heir of Everhart

**Chapter One: The Heir of Everhart**

The wind howled through the towering walls of Everhart's grand estate, whispering secrets of the past and carrying the weight of countless generations. The castle, a monolith of power and prestige, stood defiantly against the endless night, its many spires piercing the heavens like swords raised in silent defiance. Torches flickered along the pathways, their golden flames casting long, wavering shadows against the stone walls. Beyond the towering iron gates, the vast lands of the Everhart territory stretched endlessly, veiled in the silver light of the moon.

Within the grand hall, nobles in regal attire wove through the corridors like shadows, their voices hushed but heavy with significance. Tonight was a night of expectations, of speculation, of hushed rumors and silent calculations. A single name was on their lips—**Leonhardt Valerian Everhart.**

He was the heir of the Grand Dukedom, the only son of a man deemed the strongest swordsman of the empire, and the only child of a woman whose mastery of magic stood unparalleled. A boy of ten, and yet, an enigma even to those closest to him.

Seated at the long banquet table, **Leonhardt's fiery red eyes, flecked with gold, remained unreadable** as he observed the grandeur before him. The hall shimmered under the glow of hundreds of chandeliers, their crystal prisms refracting light in dazzling displays of opulence. The scent of fine wine and exotic spices from the grand feast filled the air, mingling with the quiet hum of conversation and the gentle melody of an orchestra playing in the background.

To his right, his father, **Duke Damian Aurelius Everhart**, sat with an air of quiet dominance. His broad shoulders and imposing figure radiated sheer authority, and his sharp gaze, dark as tempered steel, held the weight of command. A warrior whose name struck fear into the empire's enemies and admiration in the hearts of his allies. Of the five great swordmasters in the world, none were held in as high regard as Damian Everhart. It was said that if any human were to surpass the limits of swordsmanship and reach the realm of the **Grandswordmaster**, it would be him.

To his left, his mother, **Seraphina Caelum Everhart**, was the picture of composed elegance, her golden hair cascading over her finely embroidered gown. Her beauty was beyond compare, but it was her intellect and magical prowess that made her feared and respected. The **only human in existence to reach the elusive ninth class of magic,** she stood at the pinnacle of all magicians, a beacon of wisdom and power.

It was a perfect family portrait—one that the gathered nobles admired and envied.

And yet, **Leonhardt felt nothing.**

"Leonhardt."

His mother's voice was soft yet firm, drawing his attention away from the sea of unfamiliar faces watching him with thinly veiled curiosity. "Your grandfather has something to announce."

The grand hall quieted as an elderly man stepped forward. His presence alone commanded silence. **Marquis Cassius Alistair Caelum**, the maternal grandfather of the heir, and a man whose influence stretched far beyond what most could comprehend. His eyes, sharp as a hawk's, swept across the hall before he spoke.

"The Empire has long held its traditions," the marquis began, his voice calm but carrying enough weight to still the breath of every noble in attendance. "One of them being the grand celebration of an heir's tenth year. It is not just a festivity but an announcement to the world—the heir of Everhart has reached the age of responsibility."

A murmur spread through the crowd, one of agreement and anticipation. **Leonhardt, however, remained expressionless.**

"It has been decided that a grand ball shall be held in a month's time," the marquis continued. "An event where all noble houses shall gather to witness and acknowledge the future Grand Duke."

Applause rippled through the hall, but **the heir himself merely inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the decision with the barest reaction.** It did not matter to him. He would attend because it was required, nothing more.

His father regarded him with a calculating gaze, searching for something beneath his son's indifference. His mother, though composed, wore a look of quiet concern. But neither questioned him.

The nobles continued their whispered discussions, but **Leonhardt's mind was elsewhere.** Not in the grand hall, nor on the upcoming ball. His thoughts were occupied by something far beyond the trivial concerns of noble society.

As the night stretched on and the celebrations carried into the late hours, **Leonhardt quietly rose from his seat and excused himself.** None questioned his departure. A boy of ten could not possibly hold any deeper thoughts, after all.

But **Leonhardt Valerian Everhart was no ordinary boy.**

Slipping through the corridors, past the grand staircases and guarded halls, he moved with precision, his steps silent as a shadow's breath. The moment he reached the secluded western wing of the castle, he placed a hand against the cold stone wall. A whisper of ancient power crackled through his fingers.

The stones **shifted.**

A hidden passageway yawned open before him, revealing a staircase that spiraled into the depths of the earth.

Without hesitation, **he descended.**

The air grew colder with each step, the scent of damp stone and old magic thick in the darkness. He did not need light to see. His senses were sharper than any human's, his instincts far beyond what they had been in his past life. Every breath he took reminded him of **who he was—what he had once been.**

A **god. A king. The ruler of all.**

He reached the bottom of the staircase, entering a cavernous chamber lined with runes long forgotten by time. Ancient inscriptions glowed faintly on the walls, reacting to his presence. In the center lay an altar, upon which rested an **ancient tome,** its pages brimming with knowledge that had been lost to the world. The very air hummed with power, a silent promise of untold strength.

Leonhardt approached, his fingers trailing over the cover, feeling the raw magic pulsating beneath his touch.

**This was his true path.** Not the title of Grand Duke. Not the expectations of his family or the nobles of the empire.

**Power. Strength. The key to breaking the seal.**

His ashen black hair, tinged with deep red when kissed by the light, framed his pale face as he gazed upon the tome. His fiery red eyes, flecked with gold, burned with an intensity that could **set the world aflame.**

The world may not know it yet, but **the sealed king had already begun his ascent.**