The ceremony ended, but the whispers hadn't.
Riven stood with his back straight, his shoulders squared like he expected to be admired. And he was.
Elders nodded in his direction. Branch family members, especially those who had long clung to the main line's favor, surrounded him with polite smiles and hidden motives. Some even reached out to pat his shoulder, to congratulate Aunt Irena like they were already preparing their invitations.
Jarren, too, had his moment. His Earth affinity wasn't as flashy, but a B-grade was still enough to earn respect. He grinned as his father gave him a firm nod of approval.
Asher stood a few paces away from them.
No one offered him a smile. No one reached for his hand.
And yet, he didn't move. He stood there quietly, arms relaxed at his sides, expression unreadable. Like he hadn't just been evaluated in front of the entire clan. Like he hadn't just been declared mediocre.
> C-grade. Dual affinity—Darkness and Shadow.
That should've caused a stir.
Instead, it was as if the moment passed and no one quite knew how to react. Too strange to celebrate. Too weak to fear.
So, they dismissed it.
He watched as a few younger cousins gave him pitying glances, their mouths twitching like they were trying to hide how relieved they were. One whispered something behind his hand. Another smirked and turned away.
His uncle, Maelin, leaned back with a soft sigh and folded his arms, saying nothing.
His aunt, Irena, offered a nod in Riven's direction, the lines around her eyes tighter than usual. Disappointed, perhaps—but not surprised. It was the kind of look nobles reserved for a pretty blade that failed to pierce.
Asher turned away.
---
Elder Varric was already gone, and the other elders had gathered in the inner pavilion, shrouded by drapes of maroon silk and the low murmurs of political maneuvering.
Asher didn't need to listen to know what was being discussed.
The clan's younger generation had shown promise—Riven with his lightning, Jarren with his stability—but the overall picture wasn't perfect. There were too many D-grades. Too many children who couldn't even take a step in the Mirror Circle. Those failures wouldn't be spoken of directly, but the tension lingered.
Kellen, the current clan head, sat at the center of the gathering, his features like carved stone. Two factions surrounded him—those aligned with Elder Sorain, and those who followed Lady Vessa. Both were powerful in their own right. Both eyed each other with cold civility.
Kellen, ever the cautious one, said little. He merely listened, his gaze shifting from one speaker to another as if weighing words like gold.
"…the lightning affinity is promising," someone said.
"Yes," another added. "Riven could be polished into a candidate for the Academy's upper selection. If paired with the right mentors..."
"I believe Elder Sorain's line has already produced one this year," came the subtle pushback.
Kellen raised a hand. The voices stilled.
"Promise is one thing," he said, voice even. "Application is another."
It wasn't praise. It wasn't scorn. Just observation.
Asher, seated near a courtyard column far from the gathering, sipped his tea slowly. None of the elders had asked for him, and he didn't expect them to.
It was better that way.
---
By the time they returned to the estate, the sun had begun to set. Pale gold light spilled through the windows of his room, casting long shadows along the tiled floor.
Asher sat on the edge of his bed, silent.
The soft rustle of leaves outside filled the space. The manor's servants moved with careful steps, cleaning up the ceremonial garments, preparing light meals, whispering among themselves about the results.
He let the thoughts pass through him like wind.
Six hundred years of life. Six centuries of choices, regrets, knowledge gained and lost. And now, he sat in the body of a boy again, wearing the skin of someone still expected to stumble.
The irony didn't bother him. Not anymore.
He glanced at the mirror near his desk. In the reflection, he didn't see a genius. He didn't see a failure.
Just someone who had seen too much.
In his past life, awakening with a C-grade aptitude had been a blow. He had tried too hard to prove himself afterward—eager to chase recognition, to climb a mountain while blind to the cracks beneath his feet.
He had taken the clan's expectations and disappointments too seriously. He had wasted years trying to prove them wrong.
Now?
He was… grateful.
Grateful that he could cultivate again. That he still had the chance to carve his own path. C-grade or not, his affinities—Darkness and Shadow—were tools. He just needed time.
And patience.
---
That night, when the manor fell quiet, Asher rose.
He slipped out of bed and opened the narrow panel beside his window, the one no one else ever noticed. Beyond it, a hidden stair led to a chamber below—a space long forgotten, wrapped around the remnants of a leyline buried deep beneath the estate.
The air there was cooler, laced with traces of ancient mana.
He sat at the center of the room and closed his eyes.
The leyline responded like an old friend. Threads of mana—thin, nearly invisible—drifted up from the ground, dancing between his fingers.
He didn't need to draw attention to himself. He didn't need to explode into brilliance.
Power didn't always announce itself.
Sometimes, it waited in the silence.
He reached into the currents, guiding them slowly through his body. Each breath steadied the flow. Each second deepened his connection.
It was different from before.
In his past life, his cultivation had been frantic. Always rushing. Always clawing for more.
But now—he understood the weight of each thread. The patience required to build a foundation that wouldn't crack.
And he would build it alone.
Let Riven have his praise. Let the elders drink wine and speak of alliances.
He would stay beneath notice. He would study the path few dared walk.
---
Above ground, in the meeting halls, the elders were still speaking.
"My concern is that too many of our youth lack the drive," Lady Vessa was saying. "They train for status, not strength."
"And you believe this boy, Riven, is any different?" Sorain asked, eyebrows raised.
"He's ambitious," she replied coolly. "That matters."
Kellen said nothing. But his gaze lingered on the report in front of him—brief lines summarizing the results of each candidate.
When his eyes landed on Asher's name, he paused.
> Asher Greaves — C-grade, Dual Affinity: Darkness and Shadow.
He tapped the paper once. Not to emphasize. Just to feel it.
Then he closed the report.
"The Academy's selection will begin next week," he said. "We'll see how ambition holds up when placed beside true pressure."
---
In the shadows below, Asher opened his eyes.
The leyline pulsed beneath him.
And he smiled, faintly.
> Let them watch Riven. Let them forget me.
> When the time comes, I'll move in silence. Just like shadow always does.