Chapter 6 - Family(2)

Previously~

BOOM.

The ground shook.

A deep rumble echoed from the direction of the mage dome.

Both boys froze.

Then they turned, eyes widening.

Smoke was rising.

And something inside… was moving.

—--------------------------------------------

Location- Rugard Palace, Leonhart Duchy

Date- 29th, Month of Frostborn, 2012 A.G.

“Sigmund!” the boy shrieked.

“Yes, Young Master!”

The boys bolted toward the dome.

Black smoke coiled around the structure, thick and suffocating.

FWISH!

A sudden gust tore through, clearing the fog.

At the center stood a woman—white-haired, slightly kneeling, her breaths shallow and uneven. Strands of her long hair spilled over her shoulders, catching the faint light.

Beside her crouched a figure.

He moved swiftly, supporting her without hesitation. His hair—white, short, swept back in a sharp undercut—shone under the fractured sunlight pouring through the dome’s cracked glass. His presence was still. Focused. Like a blade mid-swing.

“Vayren!!” the brown-haired boy shouted, fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword.

The figure smiled and raised a hand in greeting.

The boy dashed forward, throwing his arms around the figure’s waist.

“Leon!” the figure laughed, returning the hug and ruffling his hair.

Sigmund stepped up, his expression a complex mix of admiration, fear, and joy.

“I greet the heir of Duskrane,” he said formally. “Young Master Vincent Duskrane.”

Vincent grinned. “Sigmund, how many times have I told you not to call me that?” He glanced up at the sky with a nostalgic smile. “Call me Vayren.”

Sigmund tilted his head. “What does that mean?”

The woman stepped in, voice calm but proud. “It means older brother and protector in the Ancient Tongue.”

“That’s right, Aunt Sophie!” Vincent gave her a playful thumbs up. “Full marks.”

Sophie let out a soft laugh. “Alright, Cinnamon Roll.” Her tone shifted slightly as she narrowed her eyes. “Now, what did you think of our duel? You promised to give me pointers.”

Leon gasped. “Vayren... are you teaching Mother?”

Sigmund blinked. “Wait, it’s not the other way around?”

Vincent scratched the back of his head, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Well... Aunt Sophie asked for a duel.”

Sophie stepped forward, placing a proud hand on Vincent’s shoulder. “My cinnamon roll is old enough to teach me now.”

Vincent let out a nervous chuckle. “You flatter me, Auntie.”

Sophie’s eyes sharpened with anticipation. “Enough talking.” She turned to him fully. “Tell me—what can I improve?”

Vincent tapped a finger to his chin, eyes closing as he slipped into deep thought, the teasing grin fading into focus. A light breeze ruffled his hair as he spoke, voice low but clear.

“Aunt,”—he cracked one eye open—“you’re too boring.”

Sophie’s hands twitched. Sigmund flinched. Leon immediately ducked behind him like a turtle retreating into its shell.

“Boring?” Sophie raised an eyebrow, her voice dangerously calm.

Vincent blinked, suddenly realizing the trajectory of his words. “W-wait, I meant your moves! They’re… textbook. Rigid. Predictable.”

Sophie crossed her arms, brow lifting. “Alright then—how?”

Vincent shrugged nonchalantly. “Remember when I shot that arrow at you?”

“...Yes?”

“You blocked it with a vine,”—he tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly—“even though you could’ve caught it mid-air. Instead, the vine obstructed your vision and created an opening.”

With a casual flick of his fingers, a pair of spectral glasses shimmered into existence on his face. He adjusted them with mock seriousness.

“That opening,” he continued, “was just enough for me to close the gap and go in for a dagger strike.”

Sophie’s eyes lit up in realization. “Ah… So that’s why you rushed in after the arrow. It wasn’t just improvisation—it was bait.”

Vincent grinned. “Exactly.”

She leaned forward slightly. “What would you have done if you were in my position?”

Vincent’s smile turned sly. His glasses vanished into thin air.

“I would’ve caught the arrow,” he said smoothly, “and the moment the attacker came in range—” his gaze flicked toward the horizon “—I’d drive the arrow straight into his eye.”

Sophie blinked. “That’s... not exactly honourable.”

Vincent looked at her for a long moment. Then he spoke, voice low.

“Honor doesn’t do jack— I mean, it doesn’t mean anything in a real fight. Not when your life’s on the line.”

Vincent’s voice dropped, the lightness gone. His eyes, bright just moments ago, dimmed with a shadow of memory.

“A warrior I once knew… he was bound by that code. That code killed him.”

Sophie flinched, her expression softening. Gently, she reached out and cupped his cheek. “Vincent…”

But then, as if a switch flipped, Vincent’s trademark warmth returned. He smiled, cheeky as ever.

“Anyway,” he said with a wink, “you’re just too predictable, Auntie.”

He turned to glance at Leon and Sigmund. “But that’s something that can change—with time and practice.”

A man approached, his brown ponytail brushing against the collar of his white shirt. Golden eyes locked onto them, sharp but familiar. On his shoulders sat a small girl, not older than three. Her white hair tied in beautiful locks, golden eyes gleaming with joy.

“Hey, Vincent!” he called out.

“Vayren!” the girl shouted.

Vincent turned, his grin lighting up like a lantern.

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“How are you, Uncle? Elise?”

Alexander shrugged, already sighing. “Still alive—though barely. Your aunt's keeping me under martial law.”

Elise ran towards Vincent, who crouched, stretching his arms for her.

Sophie arched an eyebrow. “Oh? Is that so, Alexander?”

A bead of sweat trickled down Alexander’s temple.

“Ahem… So, what brings you here, Vincent?”

Sophie crossed her arms with a playful pout.

“He’s my nephew. My first son—”

Leon narrowed his eyes at Vincent, clearly not a fan of the label. Vincent met his gaze with a lazy shrug, unfazed.

Sophie went on, hugging Vincent's shoulder.

“He’s welcome here whenever he pleases.”

“Yes!” Elise chimed in, now on Vincent’s shoulders.

Alexander raised his hands defensively. “Not saying otherwise, darling. It’s just that a letter arrived this morning from Vincent, announcing his visit.”

He turned toward Vincent.

“Not that there was a need for it.”

Vincent smacked his forehead. “Shoot! Totally forgot I sent that.”

Then he straightened, grinning even wider.

“Anyway, Grandpa says this year’s Hunt is being pushed forward.”

Alexander’s arms folded, tension settling in.

“Why?”

Elise looked at Leon teasing him by poking her tongue out.

Vincent blushed faintly.

“Because I was admitted to Eldrin Academy.”

The silence shattered.

All four gasped.

Alexander’s jaw nearly hit the floor.

“E-Eldrin Academy?!”

“Elwin Acadwemy?” Elise tilted her head.

Vincent nodded.

Sophie squealed with delight, throwing her arms around him.

“My cinnamon roll!” she cried, squeezing him tight. “You’re a genius! Why didn’t you tell me earlier? I would’ve thrown a feast in your honour!”

“Vayren is gwenus!” Elise hugged Vincent, nearly choking him.

Vincent smiled, his voice soft.

“Your happiness is enough.”

Sophie beamed at him, her eyes gleaming with pride. Then she turned to Leon, eyes narrowing with playful scorn.

“Leonatus! Look at your brother Vinnie—see how much he loves his auntie.”

Leon shot Vincent a withering glare. Vincent met it with calm amusement, as if nothing could touch him.

With a nervous laugh, Vincent continued,

“Grandpa moved the Hunt forward because of my admission.”

His words pulled them back to earth. Sophie’s excitement paused, while Alexander looked like he was still trying to process it all.

“I should take my leave now.”

Vincent turned on his heel.

“Wait!” Sophie called out.

“Cinnamon roll, why not stay a little longer?”

Alexander chimed in, “Yeah. I can’t just let my ten-year-old nephew walk out on an empty stomach.”

Vincent chuckled. “I’m heading to Aunt Amy’s. They don’t know yet.”

Sophie sighed but smiled.

“Tell Amy I send my love.”

Alexander added, “And remind your dumb Uncle Edward that he owes me a hundred-year-old whiskey.”

Vincent smirked.

“Got it.”

Sophie pinched Alexander’s arm with a mock glare.

“Alex! Talking about alcohol in front of kids?!”

“Sorry!” he winced.

Vincent felt a tug on his sleeve.

Leon looked up at him, eyes flickering with hope.

Vincent tilted his head—not harsh, but definite.

Leon lowered his gaze... then, mustering courage, he looked up again.

“Tell Ralph I’ll challenge him to a duel.”

Vincent nodded, his tone calm and distant.

“Sure.”

Then Sigmund stepped forward, hesitant.

“Y-Young maste—I mean, Vayren… if it’s not too much, could you please ask Theobald for his muffin recipe?”

Vincent gave a dramatic wink.

“That I can do.”

Vincent then attempted to put Elise down.

“I am going too!” Elise gripped Vincent’s hair in refusal.

“Ouch!” Vincent winced.

Elise stopped, with teary eyes,

“Sowwy Vayren, dows it huwrt?”

Vincent laughed softly,

“No, do you think Vayren is weak?”

Elise tilted her head.

Sophie rushed in, picking Elise from Vincent’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry cinnamon roll.”

“Its okay auntie.”

He raised a hand in farewell.

SWOOSH!

In an instant, Vincent vanished—leaving only a breeze behind.

Location- Felgris Palace, Tigranclaw Duchy

Felgris Palace loomed like a prowling beast atop the black cliffs of River Velgorath, its shadow stretching long over the borderlands. From its battlements, one could see two worlds diverge—on one side, the churning waters of the Velgorath river that marked the divide between nations; on the other, the vast, mist-wreathed Wyrdclaw Range, where beasts older than history still roamed beneath the ever-stormy skies.

Carved from volcanic stone and weathered by centuries of wind and war, Felgris wasn’t merely a palace—it was a fortress-temple, dedicated as much to conquest as to legacy. The stone towers rose like blackened fangs into the sky, draped in vines that clawed at their surfaces like forgotten hands.

It's great gates, bound in bronze and beastbone, bore the Crest of Tigranclaw:

A tiger’s head crowned in flame, its jaws open wide around a broken sword—symbolizing dominance, ferocity, and the duchy’s refusal to bow to anyone and anything.

The inner courtyards smelled faintly of iron and incense. Fires burned in cauldron braziers night and day, casting shadows across carvings that showed ancient hunts, rituals, and the first Dukes who dared build a home so close to untamed death. In some corners, moss and claw marks told a quieter tale: of what the mountains occasionally sent down from above.

From Felgris, the current Duke could watch both enemies and creatures stir beyond the borders. And inside, war rooms, beast archives, and ancestral relics whispered of a long, unbroken line of predator-kings who ruled not by nobility—but by surviving where no one else dared to.

STEP!

Vincent stepped before the great maw—the gap between the Tigranclaw Duchy and the rest of the world. With a soft chuckle, he leapt into the air.

THUD!

He landed lightly atop the colossal walls that shielded the Duchy like a sleeping behemoth. From that height, the view unfolded like a living tapestry.

The estate was masterfully crafted—a fortress and a home.

Below him, houses stood in symmetrical precision, each designed with care. The Duchy boasted not one, but four defensive rings, each layer serving a purpose beyond simple fortification.

* The First Wall: A vast, artificial forest stretching around the Duchy like a natural shield. Thick with medicinal herbs, game trails, and watchposts camouflaged among the foliage. It was both camouflage and harvest ground, hiding the heart of the land from enemy eyes.

* The Second Wall: The residential quarters. Every home built not for luxury, but resilience. Reinforced structures, strategically placed evacuation points, regular guard stations, and open gardens interspersed between rows of dwellings. Even outdoor training gyms dotted the district, a nod to the Duchy’s martial roots.

The people went about their lives beneath a bruised sky, thunder rumbling above—but their expressions were calm, determined.

* The Third Wall: The hub of activity. Bustling markets, government offices, playgrounds, public gardens, and community halls were visible even from this distance, structured in a circular grid radiating from the center.

* The Fourth Wall: And there it stood—Felgris Palace.

An imposing marvel of blackstone and silver, its spires clawing toward the heavens like tiger fangs. The palace loomed at the highest elevation, watching over the Duchy like a vigilant sentinel. Walls were engraved with the symbol of the Duchy.

Vincent smiled.

KRAAAAK-THOOM! – like a divine tear splitting heaven itself. The sky split in two, the grey clouds showing the sun behind them.

A scythe materialized in Vincent’s hand. Its obsidian shaft gleamed under the sun, swallowing light rather than reflecting it. The blade curved like a crescent moon—dark, elegant, and hungry.

[Heavenbreaker Ring VI – Ring of Death]

“Obelus,” he whispered, so soft it almost disappeared with the wind.

The scythe dissolved into shadow, sucked into nothingness. In its place, a platinum huggie hoop appeared near his left earlobe. Intricate engravings coiled across its surface—thorny vines spiraling like quiet death, wrapping around the otherwise smooth ring like a secret.

Vincent looked downward-

“Let’s visit my family should we?”

He jumped, descending into the market with pure grace.

THUD!

Vincent landed softly while somersaulting. The crowd gasped.

“It’s him!” a woman selling apples shrieked.

People gathered near Vincent.