Chapter 14: Shadows on the Bloodline
Back at Luther Keep, the ancestral fortress at the heart of the Northern Highlands, the air was sharp with tension. Snow fell in eerie silence, muffling the sound of steel and sorrow.
Inside the Great Hall, banners of the lion and sword waved above the marble throne. And at the center of it all stood Adam Luther—broad-shouldered, with a blade of blackened steel strapped to his back. His golden hair was cropped short now, his eyes colder than they had ever been.
Before him, the heads of the inner families bowed—not in loyalty, but in caution.
"I return as a Master among Transcendents," Adam declared. "And as a son of Charles Luther, I now claim my right. The Succession War begins anew."
A murmur spread among the gathered nobles. Some looked toward the empty throne of the Grand Patriarch. Charles Luther had not been seen in weeks. His silence echoed louder than any roar.
From the shadows stepped Raven Luther, cloaked in black and silver. Her dark hair marked her as the cursed bloodline—the only Luther born without white hair. Her gaze was sharp, her smirk sharper.
"So you finally decided to crawl back," she said. "What took you so long, brother?"
Adam tilted his head. "Had to ensure the weak culled themselves first. But I see you're still standing."
Raven laughed. "You always talk of wolves, Adam. But wolves don't wait. They hunt."
---
Meanwhile, high above the continent, aboard the Silver Oath, Jean stared at the scroll. Her fingers trembled slightly.
"Adam's return changes everything," she said. "He's more than dangerous. He's a symbol. The old families will rally."
Ryan folded his arms. "You'll have to face him eventually. You know that."
Freya looked between them. "Then the Succession War has truly begun."
Whitney growled softly, sensing the shift in Jean's aura. She nodded.
"No more waiting."
---
By the time Jean returned to Luther Keep, the torches were lit crimson—signaling an official challenge. She stepped through the gate in full ceremonial garb: white leather trimmed in gold, the sigil of Celeste upon her chest, and the Lightbringer Blade across her back.
Nobles and warriors watched from the balconies. Some sneered. Others watched in silence. The prodigal daughter had returned—not to plead, but to fight.
At the center of the arena stood Adam.
He smiled when he saw her.
"Sister."
Jean drew her blade. "Don't call me that."
He stepped forward. "Then shall we skip the formalities?"
Before Jean could speak, a third voice echoed from above—
"Enough."
All heads turned as Charles Luther entered from the high balcony, cloaked in fur and steel, his presence immense. His aura—thick and ancient—crushed the tension like glass beneath boot.
He stared down at his grandchildren.
"The Succession War begins. But this is not the place."
He turned to Jean. "You are late."
"I was gathering strength," she answered.
He nodded slowly. "Then show me. Both of you."
He raised a single finger.
"Tomorrow. At dawn. In the Hollow Arena."
The silence that followed was absolute.
---
Later that night, Raven visited Jean's quarters, uninvited.
"You'll have to go through me too, you know," she said, leaning against the doorway.
Jean didn't look up. "I never expected otherwise."
Raven smirked. "Good. Because I don't intend to lose."
As she turned to leave, she paused. "Be careful with Adam. He's changed."
Jean nodded. "So have I."
---
Far away, in a fortress of obsidian and moonlight, Vaelros the Hollow, the leader of the Shadow Guild, stood before an ancient relic—a cracked black egg pulsating with cold power.
A whisper escaped its shell.
"Light… Fire… Stone… Storm… they gather… But you, Vaelros… you are Shadow."
He smiled behind his mask.
"I was never anything else."
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