Meanwhile, on the same night, within the Veylmont Estate…
A grand, circular dining table stood at the heart of the lavish hall, adorned with an opulent feast. From succulent meats to the most delicate sweets, from fine bread to dishes that exuded both luxury and excess, no indulgence was spared. Yet, despite the abundance, an uneasy tension clung to the air like a silent storm on the horizon.
At the head of the table sat two pillars of the Veylmont family.
Alistair Veylmont, Dorian's father, possessed a presence as sharp as a finely honed blade. His angular features, high cheekbones, sunken yet piercing ember eyes, and thin, colorless lips, gave him an air of ruthless precision. When those sharp eyes landed on someone, it felt as if he were peeling away every deception, every weakness, every hidden truth, leaving nothing but bare, trembling reality.
Beside him sat Lady Seraphina Veylmont, a vision of cold, untouchable elegance. Her porcelain skin seemed untouched by time, her pale golden hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, and her lips carried the ghost of a smile, one that spoke of amusement at a joke only she understood. To meet her gaze was to feel insignificant, as though stripped of all pretenses beneath her knowing stare.
Other members of the family sat in their designated places, yet one seat remained conspicuously empty.
Their eyes, filled with quiet expectation, remained fixed on the grand doors. They were waiting.
After some time, the grand doors creaked open, and Dorian stepped into the opulent dining hall. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows across the room, accentuating the tension that hung thick in the air. He gave a respectful nod toward his parents before settling into his seat at the table.
The moment he sat down, every pair of eyes locked onto him. It was the look one would reserve for a criminal caught red-handed, the kind that stripped away pretense and left only guilt in its wake. The scrutiny made his skin prickle. After a beat of silence, he raised an eyebrow and muttered,
"What?"
Alistair voice was like steel, sharp and unwavering.
"What? Not showing any talent as an Echo is one thing, our family has never walked that path, but why, Dorian, did you feel the need to make a spectacle of yourself? To place bets like some common fool, just because a few careless words were thrown your way? You let them lead you straight into the fire, and you jumped without a second thought."
His voice remained calm, yet the weight behind each word was suffocating.
"But you didn't stop there, did you?" He exhaled sharply, his ember-like eyes narrowing. "No, you had to go even further. You declared an arena duel. A fight. Over a petty insult. Your reckless choices make me wonder, should I cut off your allowance and send you before Lysander without an Echo memory? Perhaps then, you would finally learn something."
Dorian adjusted his glasses, his fingers steady despite the heavy atmosphere. His voice carried a defiant edge.
"What did I do wrong? You're the one who always said family values should be the ultimate priority. I did it for the family."
Alistair let out a bitter chuckle, cold and devoid of amusement.
"That's precisely the problem." His fingers tapped against the table, slow and deliberate. "You did exactly what they wanted. They played you like a marionette, tugging on your anger, pulling your strings. Had you been the one to set the game in motion, I might have been pleased. But instead, you let them manipulate you."
His gaze flickered toward his wife.
"Tell him, Seraphina." He exhaled, his patience wearing thin. "Tell your beloved son what he did in his anger. His first time representing our family, and look at the mess he's made."
Seraphina's voice was softer than Alistair's, yet no less firm, a gentle current that concealed an undertow.
"Dorian, my child, where does our family's strength lie?"
Dorian straightened slightly, answering without hesitation.
"In wealth and trade."
A small, approving nod. "And where does your strength lie?"
He fell silent, sinking into thought. Moments passed before he spoke again.
"Probably in managing wealth and finance. After all, I grew up solving the difficult arithmetic problems you gave me."
"Then tell me, why did you accept an arena fight?" Her tone remained even, "Making a bet was a calculated risk, and that, I can understand. But your second decision, to agree to a fight, where did that come from? On what confidence did you accept their challenge?"
Dorian said nothing.
Seraphina exhaled softly,"That is why your second reckless choice casts doubt upon the first choice of bet as well. Was it truly a well-measured decision, or was it the impulsive reaction of an emotional youth who could not tolerate a few mocking words from boys his age?
Our family did not amass its wealth through reckless gambles, but through careful calculation. Every investment we make, every risk we take, is weighed meticulously, we measure profit and loss before we act. That is why we thrive. And yet, my child, you acted without calculation. Do you understand the mistake you made?"
Unlike Alistair, Seraphina's way of guidance was deeper, subtler. She was, after all, his mother, she knew precisely where his weaknesses lay, just as she knew where his strengths resided. And tonight, she was making sure he understood both.
Dorian had lived a life of privilege, everything handed to him on a golden plate since birth. But the Dream Trial had been his first step into the harsh reality beyond the comforts of the Veylmont estate. He hadn't realized how easily a simple boosting of showing display of talent could spiral into something far beyond his control.
He had been played. Toyed with by boys his own age, led exactly where they wanted him. And even now, sitting at this table, it was only dawning on him just how thoroughly he had been manipulated.
He sank into deep thought.
"But I chose to fight because I can. I have the Shattered Veil Aura. I'm an Echo too… but I can't tell them that. Not yet."
The realization settled like a weight in his chest.
"In their eyes, I showed no talent at all. But my only mistake was boasting, carelessly claiming I would reveal an Echo 4 talent. I thought it was a passing remark, something casual, but how could such light words lead to such heavy consequences?"
He exhaled, adjusting his glasses. "I should have asked Levi what to do."
Dorian still didn't realize how naive he was. In his mind, he kept thinking, I should have asked Levi for advice.
Without even knowing it, he had placed Levi on a pedestal, somewhere no one else could reach. But Levi never wanted a puppet, he only saw Dorian as an ally.
Yet, the moment Levi revealed his strength, the moment Dorian subconsciously acknowledged him as a Sovereign, something changed. From that point on, Levi became both his shield and his guiding voice.
Levi also didn't have many options, and with the Shattered Veil Domain opening soon, time was not on his side.
Dorian, as a member of the Veylmont family, possessed something rare, unwavering loyalty. In a world where trust was fleeting, that was a treasure Levi couldn't afford to overlook, not when every moment counted.
Across the table, Vaelin Veylmont, the eldest son, finally spoke. Towering and physically imposing, his short silver hair gleamed under the chandelier's light, and his amber eyes, so much like their father's, held a cold, calculating sharpness.
"What's done is done. Sitting here dissecting the past won't change it. What matters now is the fight ahead. What memory should we give him for the arena?"
Dorian glanced at him, then at Callista, her sister, whose features mirrored her mothers. Unlike them, he was the youngest, the smallest in this family of giants. And now, he was expected to prove himself.
A person who possesses an echo Memory can pass it on to their firstborn. However, there's a condition, this memory must have been earned through the Dream Realm. If it was obtained from another person instead of being personally claimed, the inheritance ends there. Memories, after all, can be transferred from one person to another, but never beyond that. A transferred inheritance cannot be passed further.
Yet, in the first scenario, if a father has rightfully earned the memory through the Dream Realm's trial, both he and his son can use it. However, for the son to wield its full potential, he must pass the trial of orders his father once overcame. In rare cases, the firstborn inherits the memories of both parents, a phenomenon revered as a Holy Birth, a child marked by fate, a Chosen One.