The gates of Blackwall creaked as they opened, for the first time in decades.
Aelric stepped into the morning mist, his new sword sheathed across his back, still humming faintly with dormant power. The world outside felt brighter—but heavier.
He was no longer just a noble boy with a blade.
He was the last Vaelion.
And he carried a weapon the world thought buried forever.
Lyria followed close behind, eyes sharp as always.
"No patrols," she muttered. "No scouts. No signs of life for miles."
"That's not comforting," Aelric replied, scanning the treeline.
They'd left Blackwall behind, but unease clung to them like dew. The forest felt watched.
Hours passed as they traveled east, following the old imperial trade road—a moss-covered path half-devoured by nature.
> [System Notification: Mana Field – Stable]
[No Hostile Entities Detected…]
[…Correction: 3 Mana Signatures Detected – Concealed]
Aelric stopped in his tracks.
"They're here."
Lyria didn't ask who.
She unsheathed her blade just as the shadows shifted—and three black-cloaked figures emerged from the mist. Crow masks. Silent feet. Swords already drawn.
The Blackwing Crows.
Assassins.
Elite hunters of secrets and heirs.
The lead Crow bowed mockingly.
"By order of the High Circle of Crowns, heir of Vaelion, your life ends here."
Aelric's heart thundered.
He hadn't expected the Empire to move this fast.
Battle broke in an instant.
Steel rang through the trees. Lyria danced like lightning—blades and bolts flying.
Aelric met the lead assassin head-on, Oathsworn igniting with ancestral energy.
> [Blade of the Oathsworn – Echo Surge Activated]
Strike enhanced with spectral force. Duration: 10 seconds.
The phantom slash returned—Kaelen's presence guiding Aelric's movements.
Clash after clash, Aelric adapted. He wasn't the scared boy from the funeral anymore. He fought with purpose. With fury.
With legacy.
One by one, the assassins fell.
The last tried to flee—but Lyria's bolt caught him mid-step, a crack of thunder echoing through the trees.
Silence returned.
Aelric wiped the blood from his blade.
"They'll send more."
Lyria nodded grimly. "And stronger."
They buried the bodies under the roots of a gnarled tree. Aelric placed a stone over the grave.
"Even enemies deserve rest," he murmured.
She looked at him, curious.
"That sword's changing you."
"No," he said. "It's reminding me who I'm supposed to be."
That night, by the fire, Lyria unrolled a map.
"The Fifth Empire's council meets in three weeks," she said. "If we can reach the capital before then, you might find the allies you need."
Aelric stared at the distant mountains.
"The capital… or a trap."
She shrugged. "Everything worth doing is."
He smiled.
"Then let's walk straight into it."
Far across the continent, in a shadowed war tent beneath a black banner, a general received a report.
"Aelric Vaelion lives," the scout whispered. "He wields the Oathsworn."
The general turned.
His eyes were burning silver. His armor bore no sigil—only scars.
"Then raise the banners," he said. "The last heir walks the world again."
> "And the war… begins anew."