Chapter 22: The Gathering Storm

Chapter 22: The Gathering Storm

The sky above the Grand Dukedom was clear, bathed in the soft glow of the morning sun. Yet, despite the serenity that stretched across the land, a storm was brewing—an unseen force, silent and relentless, moving beneath the surface.

Leonhardt Valerian Everhart stood at the edge of the training grounds, his ashen-black hair catching the light, revealing the deep red undertones that gleamed like smoldering embers. His fiery red eyes, flecked with gold, remained impassive as he watched the knights train.

Each swing of their swords, each clash of metal against metal, was nothing more than noise to him.

Weak.

Even the strongest of them, warriors who had devoted their lives to the sword, were mere shadows of what true strength looked like. He knew this because he had seen the pinnacle of power before. He had reached it.

And he would reach it again.

A sudden gust of wind swept across the training ground, carrying the scent of steel and sweat. It was a familiar scent, one that he had grown accustomed to over the past ten years. Training was nothing new to him. It was a necessity.

A duty.

"Young Master," a knight approached, his armor glinting in the sunlight. He bowed deeply before speaking. "The Grand Duke has requested your presence in the main hall."

Leonhardt turned his gaze toward the man. He was one of the elite knights serving under his father, a competent warrior by human standards. But to Leonhardt, he was nothing more than another piece on the board—a soldier, not a king.

"Very well," Leonhardt replied, his voice devoid of emotion. He turned away from the training grounds, making his way toward the castle.

As he walked through the halls, servants bowed their heads in deep reverence. Nobles and knights alike moved aside, their gazes filled with respect—and fear. They all knew of him. The genius heir of the Grand Dukedom. The one destined to surpass even his father, the strongest swordmaster of the empire.

But they did not know the truth.

They did not know that the boy they admired, feared, and respected was not just a mere noble.

He was something far greater.

The grand hall was vast, adorned with towering pillars and banners bearing the crest of House Everhart. At the center of the room stood Grand Duke Reinhardt Everhart, his imposing figure radiating authority. His deep crimson eyes, so much like Leonhardt's, regarded him with an unreadable expression.

Beside him stood Leonhardt's mother, Lady Seraphina Everhart, her beauty and grace unmatched. But behind that gentle appearance lay the mind of the strongest magician in the world.

Standing with them was a man Leonhardt had not expected to see so soon.

His maternal grandfather.

Archmage Aldric Valerian.

The only 8th-class magician who stood just below Leonhardt's mother.

Leonhardt met his gaze, but his expression remained indifferent.

The old man chuckled. "You're as unreadable as ever, Leonhardt."

"You called for me," Leonhardt stated, his tone firm but respectful.

"Yes," the Grand Duke said, his deep voice echoing through the hall. "We need to discuss your upcoming birthday."

Leonhardt remained silent.

"The empire's traditions dictate that the heir of a noble house must be officially introduced to society on their tenth birthday," Aldric Valerian continued. "Your name is already known across the continent, but this will be the first time the empire sees you in person."

A grand ball.

A gathering of nobles from across the empire.

Leonhardt had no interest in it.

He did not need to prove himself to anyone.

But he also understood the necessity of appearances.

"It will be held here, in the Grand Dukedom," the Grand Duke stated. "The Emperor has given his approval."

That caught Leonhardt's attention.

The Emperor.

The most powerful ruler in the world.

A man who wielded authority over an empire that stretched across continents.

It was not a coincidence.

Leonhardt knew that the Emperor was watching.

Waiting.

Measuring his worth.

This was not just a mere celebration.

It was a test.

Leonhardt's lips curled slightly—a ghost of a smile that vanished just as quickly as it appeared.

Very well.

If they wished to see him, he would let them.

And they would understand.

That the world had yet to witness true power.

And that their time of ignorance was coming to an end.

Meanwhile, far from the empire, beneath the silver glow of the moon, a lone figure stood atop the highest peak of a forgotten land.

Aetheria Nyx Lunaris Solis.

The Night's Queen.

The Ruler of the Moon and Stars.

The one the world feared, revered, and whispered about in hushed voices.

She had many names, many titles.

But she cared for none of them.

Only one name mattered.

Leonhardt.

She closed her violet eyes, the endless depths of the cosmos reflected within them. The cold night wind swept through her silvery-white hair, making it dance like flowing stardust beneath the heavens.

She could feel it.

The shift.

The moment was drawing near.

Her eyes snapped open.

Power surged through her veins, an ancient force that had been dormant for too long. She raised a hand, and the night itself seemed to bow before her, the stars dimming as if acknowledging her command.

The gods believed themselves to be the rulers of fate.

But they had forgotten.

She was not bound by their rules.

She was above them.

And soon, she would break the chains that dared to hold her back.

Aetheria took a step forward, her presence alone enough to make the very air tremble.

Her voice, soft yet absolute, cut through the silence of the night.

"Wait for me, my king."

She turned her gaze toward the distant horizon.

The world would soon remember why the night was feared.

And why the queen who ruled it was unstoppable.

The storm was coming.

And nothing would stand in her way.