...clearly knew the suffering that was coming.
Before Oliver stood Sir Fen Bolton of the Bolton family—one of the most respected and feared noble houses in the kingdom—he stood tall, his black ceremonial robes flowing down like liquid shadow. His sharp, hawk-like features made him appear as if he were always scrutinizing his surroundings, and his piercing silver eyes locked onto Velma with an intensity that betrayed his displeasure. His dark hair, streaked with faint silver strands, was slicked back neatly, giving him the appearance of a man who never allowed disorder to touch him.
"Velma," he said smoothly, his voice carrying the refined weight of nobility, yet holding an underlying command that few would dare ignore. "Come. There are many in my family eager to meet you. Soon, they will be your family as well."
Velma frowned slightly, her arms still loosely wrapped around Oliver. "Sir Bolton, my brother needs me right now."
A subtle shift crossed Bolton's face, the faintest flicker of irritation that disappeared almost as quickly as it had come. However, Oliver—who had spent years as a slave under men far worse—recognized it for what it was. The faintest ripple in the Aether around Bolton sent a cold shiver down Oliver's spine. It was almost imperceptible, even to Velma who had began awakening her bloodline, but to Oliver, who had been conditioned to sense the anger of his former masters, it was a suffocating presence that set his instincts on edge.
For a split second, Oliver's fingers twitched. He had seen this kind of hidden wrath before. It was the same kind of anger his captors had when they were denied something they believed belonged to them.
But Bolton could do nothing—not openly. Velma was a princess, and no matter how powerful the Bolton family was, she outranked him in status. That was the only reason why his anger didn't manifest into something more dangerous.
Knowing this, Oliver carefully stepped back from Velma's embrace, forcing his face into a neutral expression. "I'm fine, Sister," he said softly. "You should go."
Velma hesitated, looking at him with worry. "Are you sure?"
He nodded firmly. "I just needed a moment. I'll be alright."
She studied his face for a long moment, as if she could sense there was more beneath his words. But eventually, she relented, giving him one last concerned glance before turning to Bolton and placing her hand in his. From the way her fingers moved into his, she was obviously reluctant to leave, but she did anyway.
Her fate, a woman born of royal blood without having support in the royal court was sealed the moment she came of age, regardless of her growing strength. Even if her father gave up the throne, she was nowhere close to the throne in either strength or influence... at least not like some of her other siblings.
All she could do was find a way for herself and her little brother to survive by using her position to rely on a strong family.
Oliver knew this. His sister had always been like that. Putting the thought of her younger brother's life before her own. Even now, she did it again and again.
Bolton's fingers curled around hers with an air of ownership, though his expression remained composed.
Oliver watched as they walked away, his nails digging so tightly into his palm that his fingers turned white. His entire body tensed, but he forced himself to remain still.
This man. This man would be the one to enslave his sister. To strip her of her dignity, to force her into submission, and in the end—he would be the one to drive the spear through her heart.
To change that future, he needed to end this man.
The sight of Bolton leading Velma away made bile rise in Oliver's throat, but he exhaled slowly through his nose. No. He couldn't act rashly. He had to focus on the bigger picture.
The Empire of Somaran was going to attack tonight.
His mind raced through the memories of his past life. Was there any way to stop it? Any chance to prevent the bloodshed that would come? But then he recalled the sharp glint in Bolton's eyes—the kind of gaze that belonged to a predator who already knew the hunt was ending.
No, this wasn't just about his family's banquet. The entire kingdom was doomed tonight. And the worst part? His father, Crowned Prince Richie von Rich, the first prince and heir to the throne, had unknowingly set the stage for it.
Richie von Rich was known to be a wise ruler, a strong fighter with rich Aether capabilities, and a man whose name commanded both respect and fear. The kingdom of Tyrell had prospered under his influence, despite the scarce Aether in the world. But he had one fatal flaw—his insatiable desire for beautiful women. And tonight, he would be taking his twentieth wife.
A wife who carried ruin in her very veins.
She was a Somaran noble. A dagger hidden in silk, sent to infiltrate the heart of the kingdom. By the time the first bell of midnight tolled, the castle would be overrun with enemies. Even the guards had already been replaced with spies.
The nobles of this place were similarly not going to be of any help. The sheer brutal force that was coming was much prepared for battle as opposed to these men and women if nobility who had their senses laxed with alcohol.
To make matters worse, as this was the Crowned Prince's residence, no one was allowed to enter the banquet with weapon, armor or even beast pet.
Most were just lambs waiting for the dawn of the slaughter axe.
Oliver clenched his jaw. He couldn't even warn anyone—no one would believe a ten-year-old child, not when the plan had been in motion for months.
Three hours. That was all he had.
He exhaled sharply. He had to focus. There was no avoiding the bloodshed. The hell that was coming would arrive whether he liked it or not, and with it slavery.
His mind flashed with memories of the slaughter. The screams. The fire. The betrayal, and the opportunity to change his fate.
He needed to prepare, to kill Sir Bolton and secure his sister's life, and then have his revenge on all of them. He needed to burn the empire to the ground.
And to do that, he needed to retrieve it.
That thing.
His lips curled into a grim smile, but then...