Chapter 21: The Bloodline Duel
A Clash of Bloodlines
The first light of dawn spilled through the estate's grand windows, casting long shadows over the marble floors. The air was crisp, laced with the distant scent of morning dew, yet inside the estate, a quiet tension had settled like a storm on the horizon.
Elysia stood in the foyer, hands clasped before her, her sharp eyes scanning the group of servants gathered before her. They were a small handful—only those the duke had assigned when Sylvara and Kitsaro first moved in. Some were seasoned workers of House Vaelthyr, while others were newer hires, but none had ever truly felt loyal to their mistress.
And now, their time here had come to an end.
Elysia cleared her throat, drawing their attention. "Listen up. You all need to pack your things and prepare to leave the estate today."
The announcement was met with stunned silence before murmurs rippled through the group.
"What? We're being dismissed?" one of the younger maids blurted out, looking startled.
"Why so suddenly?" another, an older footman, frowned. "Did we do something wrong?"
Elysia inhaled deeply, already expecting the reaction. "No, you're not being dismissed. The mistress has decided to leave House Vaelthyr today."
Gasps rang through the group.
"She's leaving?" one of the housekeepers whispered in disbelief. "I thought we were here to serve her indefinitely."
Elysia gave her a pointed look. "Were you, though? Half of you still take your orders from the main estate rather than directly from her. And even if you don't, none of you were ever loyal to her."
A tense silence followed. None of them could refute that.
A young stable boy, shifting uncomfortably, finally asked, "Then… what happens to us?"
Elysia exhaled through her nose and crossed her arms. "The mistress has already made arrangements. House Vaelthyr's main butler will see to your placements once she and the young master are gone. You won't be left without work."
That seemed to settle some of the immediate panic, though another maid huffed under her breath. "Typical. The duke sends us here, and now we're tossed aside like nothing."
The housekeeper next to her elbowed her sharply, glancing around as if afraid someone might overhear. "Quiet!" she hissed. "Do you want trouble?"
Elysia narrowed her eyes. "If you have complaints, keep them to yourselves. You've all had a comfortable stay here. Besides, we both know you would've left the moment the main house called for you."
A few of them looked guilty but said nothing.
The older footman sighed, rubbing the back of his head. "Well, I suppose it was never a permanent arrangement… Still, I never thought she'd actually leave House Vaelthyr. There's been talk that the duke—"
A loud *crash* from outside made everyone flinch.
The doors to the estate were thrown open with a force that sent the heavy wood slamming against the walls.
And there, standing in the entrance, was Duke Zephiron.
A sharp silence gripped the room.
The servants—shocked and wide-eyed—quickly bowed in unison. "Greetings, Your Grace."
Elysia, however, straightened her posture, her expression betraying nothing.
Zephiron barely acknowledged them. His striking silver eyes scanned the room, burning with frustration, before landing on Elysia. His tone was sharp and demanding.
"Where is she?"
Elysia tilted her chin up, unfazed by his presence. "The mistress is in her study."
Zephiron exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening.
Without another word, he strode forward.
But before he could take another step, a voice called from above.
"Must you always make a dramatic entrance, Zephiron?"
Atop the grand staircase, Sylvara stood with a cold, unreadable expression. Her silver hair cascaded over her shoulder, and her golden eyes were sharp with irritation. Behind her, the morning light caught the edges of her silken silver tails, gleaming like threads of moonlight.
Zephiron's breath hitched slightly at the sight, but he quickly masked it with a scowl.
"You're leaving," he stated, rather than asked.
Sylvara descended the steps slowly, each movement deliberate, filled with regal grace.
"Yes," she replied coolly. "I thought you already knew."
Zephiron clenched his fists at his sides. "I did," he admitted. "And that's why I'm here. You can't just leave House Vaelthyr on a whim."
Sylvara's lips curled into something resembling amusement. "Oh? But I thought the council always had the final say in everything. Wouldn't it be best if we took this matter to them?"
Zephiron's scowl deepened. He knew exactly what she was doing.
"That's unnecessary," he said, voice low. "I came here to speak to you, Sylvara. Not the council."
Sylvara finally reached the bottom of the staircase and walked past him without sparing him a glance. "Elysia, send a letter to Cassian Aurevellis. Tell him to prepare for our departure."
Elysia nodded immediately. "Understood."
Zephiron turned, his patience thinning.
"Sylvara—!"
She paused beside him, close enough that he could catch the faint scent of lavender clinging to her. Without looking at him, she whispered, "Today, I will make you regret ever abandoning us. Ever treating my son like an outcast."
Zephiron's breath caught. His eyes flickered with something unreadable.
But before he could speak, Sylvara stepped forward, heading toward the estate's entrance.
Zephiron watched her go, his expression darkening.
~~~~~
A While Ago…
Kitsaro hummed softly, sitting by the window in his mother's study. A book rested in his lap—one filled with images of the empire's grand cities and noble estates. He traced a tiny finger over an illustration of the royal palace, tilting his head in thought.
But then, something outside caught his attention.
A man in fine clothing stepped out of a carriage, his broad shoulders stiff with purpose.
Kitsaro narrowed his eyes. The face was instantly recognizable.
Father.
The young boy groaned internally, his face twitching in irritation.
"What does this guy want now?"
Not taking his eyes off Zephiron, Kitsaro turned his head slightly. "Mother?" he called.
Behind him, Sylvara's presence loomed. He
glanced up to find her peering through the window, her golden eyes narrowing.
A sigh left her lips. "What does he want this time?" she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Kitsaro smirked. "Maybe he finally realized he's a terrible father."
Sylvara snorted. "Unlikely."
She straightened her posture, fixing the folds of her dress. "Stay here," she ordered. "I'll handle him."
Kitsaro watched as she strode toward the door. He tilted his head, a mischievous glint in his gaze.
"Both of them look annoyed… This should be fun."
As soon as Sylvara left the room, Kitsaro hopped down from the window seat.
He stretched his arms before humming to himself. Then, grinning, he tiptoed toward the door.
It would be such a waste if he didn't see this confrontation firsthand.
And so, with practiced agility, Kitsaro slipped out of the study, ready to witness the drama unfold.
~~~~~
The moment Sylvara stepped outside, the cool morning air greeted her, crisp and refreshing. But the sensation was short-lived.
Before she could take another step, a strong hand seized her wrist.
She stilled.
Golden eyes flicked downward, narrowing at the sight of Zephiron's fingers wrapped around her wrist. The pressure wasn't painful, but the firm grip made her irritation flare instantly.
"Let go," she said, voice sharp.
Zephiron didn't budge. His expression, usually composed and unreadable, was lined with frustration. "Just stop for a moment. Let's talk."
Sylvara let out a humorless chuckle. "Talk?"
She finally met his gaze, her golden eyes alight with cold amusement. "Didn't we already talk last night on the balcony? Or have you already forgotten?"
Zephiron's jaw clenched. "That wasn't enough."
She yanked her wrist free with a swift motion, stepping back as she dusted off her sleeve as if his touch had sullied it. "Well, it was more than enough for me."
But before she could move past him, Zephiron stepped directly into her path, blocking her. His golden eyes burned with desperation, something unfamiliar—something out of place for a man who always seemed untouchable.
"Just listen to me," he pleaded.
Sylvara's patience thinned. "You've had years to make me listen, Zephiron," she snapped.
"Years to treat us as family. And yet, here we are."
"And now you want to beg?"
Zephiron's breathing was heavy. "Then tell me—what do you want?!" His voice trembled, but he pressed on, discarding the pride he had once clung to so desperately. "Tell me what it will take for you to stay. Ask for anything, Sylvara—just don't leave."
Sylvara stared at him.
Then, she stepped closer.
Zephiron barely had time to react before she whispered, "Anything?"
He nodded, unflinching. "Yes."
A slow, cruel smile curled on her lips.
"Then announce Kitsaro's legitimacy," she said, watching his expression carefully.
"Declare him before the noble society. Accept us back into the main family."
Zephiron stilled.
His face remained neutral, but the flicker of hesitation in his silver eyes was answer enough.
Sylvara's lips curled in disdain. "You can't do it."
"It's not that simple," Zephiron insisted, but his voice lacked conviction.
"But it is." Sylvara took a step back. "That's why this conversation is over."
She turned.
"I challenge you to a Bloodline Duel!"
Sylvara froze mid-step.
She turned back slowly.
"...What?"
Zephiron's expression was wild with desperation. His silver eyes sparked with barely restrained power.
"A Bloodline Duel," he repeated, his voice trembling with emotion. "Like old times. Settle this with our abilities."
Sylvara stared at him, searching for any trace of reason in his eyes. "Zephiron, have you finally lost your mind?"
"Yes!" Zephiron bellowed, his voice raw. "I don't know what to do anymore! I don't know how to fix this!"
Sylvara inhaled sharply.
"I don't want you to leave," he admitted. "I know I've made mistakes, but Sylvara—just fight me. If you win, I-I'll do it. I'll approve of your departure. I swear it."
Sylvara's breath hitched.
"You swear it?" she whispered.
Zephiron nodded. "Everything."
A heavy silence stretched between them.
Then—
"You're a fool, Zephiron," Sylvara muttered.
"Desperate even"
"A disgrace of a duke"
But despite her words—
Five silver tails unfurled behind her,
shimmering like divine fire.
Zephiron's body tensed. A sharp crack split the air as arcs of white lightning surged around him, the ground beneath his feet fracturing from the sheer force of his awakening bloodline.
The duel had begun.
Zephiron moved first—a blur of raw speed as the wind propelled him forward.
Sylvara barely dodged, twisting mid-air as her tails flicked outward, forming a golden barrier. Sparks of white lightning crashed against her shield, sending shockwaves rippling through the air.
Her fingers moved in a practiced motion—her bloodline flaring—Illusory Mirage.
The air shimmered, splitting Sylvara into multiple copies.
Zephiron snarled, his instincts sharpening. "You think that'll fool me?
A burst of lightning erupted from his body—crackling tendrils that lashed out, dispersing the illusions with ease.
But Sylvara was already behind him.
Golden flames surged around her palm as she thrust it forward—Foxfire Rend.
Zephiron barely turned in time, crossing his arms as a golden explosion sent him crashing into the courtyard ground.
Dust billowed into the air.
A split second later—Zephiron lunged from the rubble.
His body shimmered with Divine Wind, his speed multiplying as he vanished from sight.
Sylvara's eyes widened—
A strike from above!
She barely leapt away as Zephiron's clawed hand tore through the ground where she once stood, his nails crackling with white lightning.
"Too slow," he growled.
Sylvara flipped mid-air, golden light wrapping around her form.
Then—her fifth tail gleamed.
Zephiron's breath caught. "She's—!"
A pulse of pure, unrestrained power exploded from Sylvara.
Her Nine-Tailed Sovereign Bloodline awakened, golden foxfire engulfing her.
Zephiron immediately reacted—his Vaelzryn Bloodline roaring in response. His white tiger form flickered behind him—a massive, regal beast of wind and lightning.
For a moment—neither moved.
Then—
They clashed.
Golden foxfire met white lightning.
The sky shattered with light.
Landing on the ground Zephiron moved, his Divine Wind launching him forward at impossible speed.
Sylvara barely dodged, flipping mid-air as her tails flicked outward, forming a barrier. White lightning crashed against her shield, the impact shaking the courtyard.
She landed gracefully, golden flames coiling around her fingers. "Still too slow, Zephiron."
Zephiron snarled, his silver eyes glowing. A crackle of white lightning surged across his body as he vanished.
Sylvara's pupils contracted into slits.
She saw him.
A smirk played on her lips as she twisted her body, just as Zephiron's clawed hand tore through where her throat had been a second ago.
"Surprised?" she taunted.
Zephiron's breath caught.
Sylvara wasn't just dodging.
She was moving faster than him.
Golden flames surged as Sylvara raised her hand. Foxfire Rend.
The explosion sent Zephiron crashing into the courtyard, rubble flying.
But Sylvara was already moving—appearing above him mid-air.
Zephiron barely reacted as a blur shot downward, a sharp kick slamming into his chest with brutal force.
He skidded back, blood dripping from his mouth.
He growled, standing. "When did you evolve?"
Sylvara tilted her head, her golden eyes shining unnaturally, her elongated canines peeking past her lips.
"Beastification, you hid it from me," Zephiron accused, breathing heavily.
Sylvara smiled, a cruel thing. "You already saw it last night didn't you, The lot of you."
"There are a lot of things you don't know about me," she murmured. "I mean you could have, but well... You happened so I never bothered."
Her silver tails flickered behind her, ethereal yet terrifying.
"And maybe it's for the best," she continued, stepping forward. "Because you don't deserve to know. Just like how you don't deserve to be a father to my son."
Zephiron's chest tightened.
But before he could process the words—
Sylvara moved.
Zephiron barely had time to react before she was in front of him—faster than lightning, faster than thought.
Her sharp nails pressed against his throat, piercing the skin—a thin line of blood slipping down his neck.
Zephiron froze.
Her golden slit eyes gleamed, filled with cold, merciless intensity.
For the first time in his life—
Zephiron Vaelthyr knew what it meant to be powerless.
Blood dripped from Zephiron's throat as Sylvara's sharp nails pressed into his skin.
His breath was ragged. She was stronger.
Faster.
More terrifyingly refined.
The realization burned.
Sylvara smirked, her golden slit-pupil eyes gleaming with quiet triumph.
"Is this it?" she whispered, her voice smooth, taunting. "Is this all the great Zephiron Vaelthyr has left?"
A growl rumbled from his chest.
Then—
Lightning exploded from his body.
Sylvara darted back in time to avoid being blasted away, but Zephiron had already moved.
He was faster—far faster than before.
His Divine Wind surged, launching him forward like a phantom streak of white.
Sylvara's foxfire burned bright, her tails flaring out, but—
Too slow.
Zephiron appeared behind her.
A devastating palm strike slammed into her side, sending her flying into the air.
Before she could recover, he was above her, his body crackling with lightning.
His clawed foot struck down like a falling star—
Sylvara barely twisted her body mid-air, throwing up a barrier of foxfire, but Zephiron's foot shattered through it like glass, slamming into her stomach.
The impact sent her crashing down into the courtyard, the stone beneath her fracturing into a web of destruction.
Zephiron landed with a thunderous crackle, his breath heavy.
"You evolved," he said, silver eyes narrowed.
"But I've been training, too."
Sylvara pushed herself up, wiping the blood from the corner of her lips.
Her golden eyes gleamed.
"Not bad," she admitted, rolling her shoulders.
"But did you really think brute force was enough to beat *me*?"
Zephiron stiffened.
Then—a voice whispered in his mind.
"Do you remember, Zephiron?"
A shiver ran down his spine.
"Do you remember what you gave up?"
His heart pounded as the world around him darkened.
The courtyard, the wind, the storm—it all faded.
He was standing in a black void.
And in front of him—
Sylvara stood.
Not the Sylvara he was fighting.
But the one from the past.
Her long silver hair flowed behind her, her gentle smile softer than he remembered.
A warmth filled his chest.
"Zephiron."
His breath hitched.
He reached out—
But the moment his fingers touched her—
Blood bloomed from her chest.
A sword pierced through her heart.
Zephiron's eyes widened in horror."
"You chose them over me."
Sylvara's voice was soft, her golden eyes filled with sorrow.
"You abandoned me."
The world shattered.
And suddenly, Zephiron was back in reality.
His breath was ragged, his pulse racing.
His grip on reality wavered, the lingering echo of her sorrowful gaze still burning in his mind.
A moment of hesitation.
That was all Sylvara needed.
She appeared in front of him.
Her clawed hand dug into his side, tearing through his defenses.
Zephiron coughed blood.
Before he could react, she twisted behind him, her sharp nails dragging across his back in a searing arc of golden foxfire.
His body spasmed from the burning pain.
Lightning crackled around him, but his movements were slower.
His mind—still shaken.
Sylvara smirked. "Not so confident now, are you?"
Zephiron grit his teeth. "Damn you—!"
Sylvara's tails wrapped around his throat.
He froze.
She pulled him closer, her golden eyes gleaming with something both dangerous and distant.
"You always fought with your fists, Zephiron," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear. "But I? I fight with my mind."
Her grip tightened.
And just like that—
Zephiron knew.
He had already lost.