The return to Ashworth Estate was a quiet event. There were no cheering crowds or banners to celebrate. We got there on a gray, drizzly afternoon, slipping through a side gate while the news of our return was kept quiet on purpose. The official story, which Raven told ahead of time, was that the mission to Port Varrick had run into problems and a lot of danger that they hadn't planned for, so they had to pull back strategically. Lord Lancelot had fought bravely, but he was hurt and needed a long time to heal. It was a vague story that was meant to stop rumors and hide the scary truth.
My father didn't waste any time. Within an hour of us getting there, the main members of our doomed expedition were called to his study. The room seemed colder and more bare than I remembered. Leo stood near the fireplace, leaning heavily on a carved staff that Garrick had gotten for him. He looked at the familiar symbols of Ashworth power with a detached sense of irony.
Garrick stood by the door, his arms still bandaged but his posture stiff, like a silent guard. Rolan stood next to him, looking pale but determined. Seraphina stood near the back, her presence quiet but important. Damian was there too, and he looked grim, as if he had been told about the mission's failure and our rough return. Thank God my mother wasn't there. My father probably kept her busy with his careful planning.
I stood in front of my father's desk, and the weight of his Grandmaster's presence filled the room. The time for judgment had come.
"Report," the Count said in a flat, emotionless voice.
I handed it over. I told them everything, from the time we got to Port Varrick to the last, awful moments in the Sunken Sanctum. I talked about Leo's skills, Seraphina's important work, the Cult's ruthless efficiency, the Huntsman's overwhelming strength, and my own desperate, uncontrolled breakthrough. I told them about the berserk state, how I lost control, and how I attacked my friends. Then came the hardest part. I told them about the winged woman's intervention, her impossible power, the ring she left behind, and the scary things it had taught me. I talked about the Inheritor's Burden, the Path of Integration, the warring wills in my soul, and the terrible fate of becoming a Wyrm if I didn't succeed.
I told everything. The horrible power. The scary lack of control. The alien mind that is sharing my life. There was a very real chance that I was a threat to everyone in this room.
When I was done, there was a thick, suffocating silence. Damian looked at me with shock and a dawning, horrified understanding instead of his usual confident look. Elias, who had come into the room in the middle of my report, looked completely shocked. His earlier anger seemed to be nothing compared to what he had just learned. Garrick and Rolan shifted around uncomfortably and avoided my gaze. It was clear that what they had seen had upset them. Leo just looked at my father, and I couldn't tell what he was thinking.
Count Theron Ashworth sat at his desk with his fingers crossed and his face a stone mask. He listened without saying a word, his cold gray eyes locked on mine, taking in every horrible detail. He didn't say anything for a long, heavy minute after I finally stopped talking. He just stared, as if he could see through the layers of my soul and weigh the monster I had shown him against the son he knew.
Finally, he said in a low voice, "The ring. Show me."
I held out my hand, displaying the simple, matte-black band. He rose, walked around the desk, and took my hand, his own calloused fingers surprisingly gentle as he examined the strange artifact. I felt a subtle probe of his immense Aura, testing the ring, analyzing its nature. He found nothing, just as I had. It was inert, its secrets locked away until triggered by the specific resonance of my uncontrolled power.
"And the book?" he asked.
"It is… within me now," I explained haltingly. "A perfect memory imparted by the ring. It details the struggle, the paths… the consequences."
He released my hand and returned to his chair. He looked not at me, but at Leo. "You have seen this before? This loss of control? This… Inheritance?"
Leo shifted, leaning on his staff. "Not precisely like this," he rasped. "But power comes with a price, Count. Always. Especially power stolen or gifted from things that are not human. I have seen mages consumed by their elementals, warriors broken by cursed blades. The boy's struggle is unique in its specifics, but the war itself… it is an old one."
My father nodded slowly, accepting the cynical wisdom. His gaze returned to me, sharp, analytical, but holding something new. Not fear. Not revulsion. But a grim, almost paternal, determination. The pragmatist had assessed the new, terrifying variable and was already calculating how to manage it.
"This changes nothing," he stated, his voice ringing with quiet authority. "The threat of the Void Cult remains. Your power, however volatile, is now one of this House's greatest assets. We will not discard a weapon because it has a sharp edge. We will learn to wield it safely."
He stood, his presence filling the room with an undeniable command. "Your training doctrine is hereby altered. Strength is irrelevant for now. Control is paramount. Your primary focus will be mastering this… Integration. Understanding the beast within, and forging the chains to bind it."
He looked towards the sealed entrance of the Voidstone Chamber, visible through the study's high window. "That will be your forge. But you will not be alone." His gaze met mine, hard and uncompromising. "Leo will provide guidance based on his… experience. Seraphina will monitor your state, act as your anchor to your humanity. Garrick and Damian will assist in controlled simulations."
He paused, letting the weight of his next words settle. "And I," he declared, his voice leaving no room for argument, "will be your warden. During the most intense phases of your training, when the risk of losing control is highest, I will be present. My power will be the walls of your cage. Should the beast break free, I will contain it." He looked directly at me, a silent, absolute promise in his eyes – a promise of both protection and, if necessary, termination. "You will learn control, Lancelot. Or I will impose it. Failure is not an option. Not for you, and not for this House."
The declaration hung in the air, a heavy, terrifying, yet strangely reassuring decree. I was a monster, yes. But I was his monster. And he would not let me fall. The path ahead was dark, uncertain, fraught with the danger of my own soul. But for the first time since the breakthrough, I didn't feel entirely alone in facing it.