Chapter 17: The Awakening of Zion Lyka Vaelthyr
A Hall Bathed in Divine Radiance
The grand hall held its collective breath as Zion Lyka Vaelthyr took his first step toward the massive silversteel doors. The polished marble floor beneath him reflected the glow of the ceremonial torches lining the chamber, their enchanted flames flickering with anticipation. Nobles and esteemed guests of high lineage leaned forward, eyes gleaming with curiosity, admiration, and—among some—veiled envy.
Duke Zephiron Kael Vaelthyr stood tall, his piercing gaze fixed on his son. His white and silver ceremonial robes, embroidered with the sigil of Vaelzaryn, billowed slightly as a faint ripple of energy pulsed through the room. This was a moment of judgment, where the bloodline would prove itself.
As Zion neared the ancient doors, the engravings of Vaelzaryn seemed to stir, the intricate carvings shifting as if the Divine White Tiger itself was watching. The pressure in the air thickened. A subtle yet unmistakable force emanated from the door, testing him, measuring the purity of his inheritance.
A deep, resonant chime echoed through the hall as the royal herald took a step forward, his voice ringing with formality.
"The time has come for the heir of House Vaelthyr to undergo the Rite of Awakening."
Nobles straightened in their backs. Murmurs rippled through the crowd as anticipation thickened in the air. This was not merely a ritual; it was a declaration of power.
At the far end of the room, standing among the sidelines, Sylvara knelt beside Kitsaro, lowering her voice so only he could hear.
"This is the Baptism of Vaelzaryn," she explained, her golden eyes fixed on the massive door. "Every firstborn of the main Vaelthyr lineage undergoes this ceremony upon reaching the age of ten. It determines the strength of their bloodline—how much power they have inherited from the Divine White Tiger."
Kitsaro's eyes flickered with intrigue. "And the door? What does it do?"
Sylvara's gaze softened slightly, though her tone remained even. "It serves as the medium between the mortal and divine. The brighter it glows, the purer the heir's connection to Vaelzaryn. But that is not all."
She nodded towards the grand fountain-like structure near the ceremonial space. At its center, a colossal crystal—clear as ice yet brimming with ancient magic—rested upon an elaborate pedestal adorned with runes. Symbols of House Vaelthyr's lineage wove around the base, glowing faintly in anticipation.
"That crystal," Sylvara continued, "is the Heart of Vaelzaryn. A bloodstone Crystal. It resonates with the power of the awakening heir, reacting in proportion to the strength of their bloodline. The crystal changes color and intensity based on the child's Bloodline Purity, allowing their rank to be determined—"
A low hum began to reverberate through the chamber as Zion approached the doors.
The grand hall, already steeped in heavy anticipation, now crackled with palpable energy. Every noble, every dignitary held their breath as the ceremonial proceedings took their next step.
A Vaelthyr elder, draped in flowing robes of deep azure and silver, stepped forward. Embroidered across his chest was the sigil of the Divine White Tiger—a majestic beast woven from threads of starlight, its eyes gleaming like twin suns.
With a solemn nod, the elder raised an ornate staff, its head crowned with a pristine crystal shaped into a tiger's fang. The relic pulsed with faint light as he extended it toward the massive doors, pressing its tip against the center.
A moment passed, heavy with silence. Then, his voice, aged yet firm, rang out with ceremonial reverence.
"Zion Lyka Vaelthyr, First Heir of House Vaelthyr," the elder intoned. "Step forward and claim your birthright."
Zion obeyed without hesitation. His movements were measured, precise—an elegance ingrained through years of noble discipline. Though only ten, he carried himself with the bearing of one far beyond his years.
The young heir came to a halt before the towering silversteel doors. Their intricate carvings of Vaelzaryn loomed above him, lifelike in their craftsmanship, as if the beast itself were watching.
Raising his right hand, Zion placed his palm against the cool metal. His silver hair shimmered under the glow of the enchanted chandeliers, the ceremonial robes draping around him in regal folds.
For a fleeting moment, the world seemed to still.
Silence reigned.
Then—
A tremor rippled through the ground.
Faint at first, but unmistakable. It rippled through the marble floor, resonating outward like the first breath of a stirring giant.
The silversteel carvings of Vaelzaryn pulsed with light, a deep ethereal glow spreading outward from Zion's touch. The intricate engravings of the Divine Beast's form flickered, its eyes igniting with golden radiance. A soft, reverent gasp spread through the noble spectators as the light began to intensify, traveling along the veins of the carving like molten energy.
At the same time, the great crystal atop the fountain trembled. Its runes flared one by one, forming concentric patterns of glowing symbols. The water surrounding its base churned, casting fragmented reflections of divine light across the walls.
Zion did not move. His hand remained pressed against the door, his expression unwavering as the entire hall filled with a rising pressure—an aura of raw, undiluted power.
Kitsaro's breath caught in his throat. "It's so bright…"
Sylvara exhaled softly. "Yes. His bloodline is strong."
The glow of the door reached its peak, and suddenly—
Boom!
A deafening sound erupted as the divine energy converged. The entire chamber quivered under the force of the awakening.
Across the hall, the Heart of Vaelzaryn responded.
The colossal crystal resting atop the sacred pedestal trembled. Runes—ancient and intricate—began to flare one by one, their activation forming concentric rings of glowing symbols.
The water encircling the crystal churned violently, reflecting scattered beams of divine radiance across the chamber walls.
The pressure in the air grew thick. A weight. An unrelenting force pressing upon the soul.
The runes encircling the Heart of Vaelzaryn flared in synchrony, and the great crystal—nestled atop its sacred pedestal—began to ascend.
Gasps filled the hall. Even seasoned nobles, long accustomed to such ceremonies, could not mask their awe.
The Heart of Vaelzaryn rose higher, a magnificent beacon of divine energy. The luminous inscriptions orbiting its surface expanded, their glow fusing into a singular, celestial radiance.
And then—
A roar.
It was not heard with ears but felt within the bones—a distant, otherworldly reverberation. The presence of something ancient. Something vast.
It was felt.
A presence—immense, ancient, sovereign—unfurled across the hall like an unseen tidal wave. The very air shuddered beneath its weight.
The image of Vaelzaryn on the doors seemed almost alive now, its carved form emanating an undeniable sense of sovereignty.
Zion's body trembled.
The glow enveloping him had reached a near-blinding brilliance, his form barely visible within its radiance.
His breath hitched.
The pressure was immense. It wasn't simply power—it was judgment.
The Divine White Tiger's will was weighing him, measuring his worth.
Kitsaro, still watching intently, narrowed his eyes. Something wasn't right.
Zion was struggling.
Zion clenched his jaw. His body trembled, but he refused to falter.
This was his moment.
This was his proof.
The runes reached their peak luminosity, casting radiant inscriptions across the chamber, each symbol pulsing with divine energy. The great crystal of Vaelzaryn responded in kind, sending out one final, powerful pulse before slowly descending back onto its pedestal.
A resounding chime echoed through the hall, marking the ceremony's completion—or so it seemed.
Then—
A new tremor rippled through the ground.
The massive silversteel doors before Zion began to part.
Beyond them lay the Sacred Chamber of Vaelzaryn.
A realm untouched by time.
Bathed in an endless silver radiance, the chamber extended beyond mortal perception, its walls etched with celestial markings that pulsed like the heartbeat of a slumbering deity. The very air shimmered, heavy with ancient power—the remnants of Vaelzaryn's divine presence.
And Zion was about to step into it.
As Zion took a step forward, something within him shifted.
A pulse.
A stir.
Then—
Power.
A blinding burst of white energy erupted around him, swallowing his form in a radiant storm. His silver hair whipped wildly in the unseen wind, ceremonial robes billowing as the force of his awakening surged outward.
The nobles inhaled sharply, many instinctively shielding their eyes as the intensity of the light became almost unbearable.
Kitsaro, however, did not blink.
Sylvara's gaze sharpened. She knew what was happening.
Then, through the blinding radiance, a shadow took form—
A great, ethereal tiger loomed behind Zion.
It was massive—far larger than any beast of the mortal realm. Its form wavered between the corporeal and the divine, its fur shimmering like stardust against the backdrop of silver light.
But what held the entire chamber spellbound—
Were its eyes.
Piercing golden eyes that burned with sovereign might.
The Aspect of Vaelzaryn.
The beast let out a deep, rumbling growl, its mere presence causing the very air to vibrate. A raw, primal energy surged through the hall, pressing upon every noble present—forcing them to acknowledge the overwhelming authority of Zion's awakening.
A whispered voice broke through the stunned silence.
"He manifested Vaelzaryn's Aspect."
Zion stood amidst the divine radiance, his breath shallow, his body trembling beneath the force of his own power.
For a brief moment, his form wavered—but he did not collapse.
Instead—
He exhaled.
A slow, controlled breath.
The spectral tiger behind him began to fade, its celestial form dispersing into flowing streaks of divine energy before sinking back into his being.
As the final pulse of divine energy faded, the grand hall remained suspended in silence, the weight of Zion Lyka Vaelthyr's awakening still lingering in the air. The ethereal remnants of Vaelzaryn's Aspect shimmered before vanishing completely, leaving behind an overwhelming sense of reverence.
Then, a voice—measured, authoritative—broke the stillness.
"Royal Bloodline."
All eyes turned toward the speaker.
Lord Malrik Everthorn, an esteemed elder of the Imperial Court and an expert in bloodline assessment, stood with an expression of certainty. His piercing emerald gaze flickered over Zion as he stepped forward, his crimson ceremonial robes embroidered with golden sigils of lineage and authority.
"Zion Lyka Vaelthyr has inherited the Royal Bloodline," Malrik declared, his voice carrying the weight of irrefutable truth. "The Heart of Vaelzaryn has spoken. His blood purity stands at no less than ninety percent."
Thunderous applause erupted.
A wave of astonished murmurs spread through the noble spectators. Such an assessment was rare—almost unheard of. To possess a Royal Bloodline meant Zion's connection to Vaelzaryn was nearly as pure as the blood of the divine beast itself, a testament to the strength of House Vaelthyr.
Duke Zephiron Kael Vaelthyr, standing above the gathering, remained outwardly composed, but a keen observer would notice the slightest shift in his silver eyes—acknowledgment, satisfaction.
Queen Lythienne of the Imperial House inclined her head slightly, her celestial-blue gaze appraising Zion with newfound interest. The Emperor himself, though silent, exuded an aura of approval, the edges of his lips curving ever so faintly in a nod of recognition.
Selene Yuki Vaelthyr, Zion's mother, allowed herself a victorious smile. Her son had not only met expectations—he had surpassed them. She turned her gaze toward Sylvara, her expression one of quiet triumph.
In the center of it all, Zion remained still. Though his body trembled faintly from the strain of the awakening, he met Lord Malrik's gaze with unwavering resolve.
The elder noble extended a hand toward the sacred pedestal where the Heart of Vaelzaryn rested. The once-crystal-clear stone had taken on a deep golden hue, radiating with divine energy. Faint, prismatic flickers danced within its core, the telltale sign of a bloodline verging on transcendence.
"This level of purity rivals that of Duke Zephiron himself," Malrik continued, his words carrying immense weight. "There is no doubt—Zion Lyka Vaelthyr is destined to lead the next generation of House Vaelthyr."
Applause thundered through the chamber. Nobles stood in respect, their expressions a mix of admiration, envy, and reverence. Even those who had secretly hoped for a lesser result had no choice but to acknowledge the undeniable truth.
Zion had cemented his place as the rightful heir.
Among the crowd, Kitsaro watched in silence. His golden eyes flickered as he absorbed every detail—not just the reactions, but the shifts in power, the way even the highest nobles adjusted their stance in response to Zion's newfound standing.
Sylvara, still kneeling beside him, remained unreadable. Yet, a single thought echoed in her mind as she observed the radiant crystal.
A Royal Bloodline…
Zion Lyka Vaelthyr had proven himself.
Duke Zephiron Kael Vaelthyr observed the scene, his expression as unreadable as ever. But in his silver gaze—a flicker. A hint.
Pride.
Beside him, Selene Yuki Vaelthyr watched her son's triumph with a far less restrained reaction.
A smile—one of absolute victory.
Her gaze shifted, settling on the silent figure standing amongst the onlookers.
Sylvara.
Selene's smirk deepened.
For years, Sylvara had been a reminder of an unforgivable mistake—one that had no place in the divine legacy of House Vaelthyr. But tonight…
Her son had awakened.
Her son had ascended.
And Kitsaro?
He remained in the shadows. Silent. Overlooked. Forgotten.
As it should be.
Selene turned away, basking in the victory of her bloodline.
Yet—
Sylvara did not flinch.
Her golden eyes, so much like Kitsaro's, remained fixed on the fading light.
She had expected this. She had anticipated Zion's awakening. It was inevitable.
But then—
Her gaze flicked downward.
To Kitsaro.
The boy had not reacted to the spectacle like the others. He had not gasped. Had not flinched.
He simply watched.
His golden eyes, deep and enigmatic, bore no awe—only understanding.
Sylvara studied him for a moment, an unsettling feeling taking root in her chest.
She could not yet name it.
But a single thought lingered.
"When his time comes…
Will his light shine just as brightly?"
She did not yet have the answer.
But something in the air—a whisper, an unseen force, an intuition woven from years of experience—
Told her she was asking the wrong question.
Because his light…
Would not simply shine.
It would eclipse everything.