[Two Years Ago o]
The morning sun hit the white stone of Aethel Palace with a warmth that felt eternal.
Regius Aethel stood on the grand steps of the manor, bouncing on the balls of his feet. He was fifteen years old, his brown eyes bright with the naive certainty that the world was a fair place waiting to be conquered.
He wore a casual tunic of cream and gold, the fabric loose and comfortable. Behind him, the palace hummed with the bustling efficiency of a Valiant House. Automated cleaning drones—small, spherical robots of brass—whirred silently across the floors and walls, polishing away the dust.
Above the atrium, the faint shimmer of a Rank 6 defensive ward slightly distorted the air, a silent reminder that while the Aethels were beloved, they were also targets.
"Good morning, Young Master," a gardener called out, pausing his pruning of the roses that lined the driveway.
"Morning!" Regius waved back, his smile easy. "How's the hip?"
"Better, thanks to that salve your mother sent down. Tell her the roses are blooming early this year."
"Sure thing!"
Minutes passed. He checked his Sigil Link for the tenth time. The holographic display read 12:10 PM.
"He's late," Regius muttered.
"He is a High Assessor, Regius," his mother, Lady Lucine, said, stepping out onto the marble porch.
Her hair cascaded over her shoulders in warm waves, softening the sharp intellect of her gaze. She walked to Regius and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a side hug.
"He operates on his work time, not yours," Lucine teased, squeezing him. "Patience is a virtue, my little lion."
"But he said noon; Uncle Berick never misses a—"
The low, powerful thrum of an energy engine cut him off.
An armored transport bearing the golden seal of the Assessment Bureau crested the hill. A military-grade sedan, hovering one foot off the ground on repulsion pads, glided through the open gates.
Regius straightened up, his heart hammering with excitement.
"He's here."
The transport hissed as it settled onto the driveway. The gull-wing door ascended, and a tall man with broad shoulders and a neatly trimmed beard stepped out. He wore the grey-and-silver uniform of a High-Assessor with the casual grace of a man coming home.
High-Assessor Berick. A Kingmaker.
"Uncle!"
Berick's face split into a grin. He caught Regius mid-air in a rough hug.
"Look at you," Berick laughed, his voice booming. "You've grown three inches since the last I saw you. Finally filling out those shoulders. Huh. Are you eating the castle out of house and home?"
"I've been training." Regius stepped back. "Father has me on the advanced regimen. Sword tactics, strategy-making, energy-cycling, and all the sorts."
"I can see that."
At the top of the stairs, High Lord Magnus Aethel stood there. He was dressed in his formal house robes, looking every inch the High-Lord, but his eyes were warm.
"Berick," Magnus said, his voice thick with emotion.
"Magnus."
The two men walked toward each other. There was no bowing, no political posturing. They clasped forearms, pulling each other close. They were brothers in everything but blood—veterans of the same wars, survivors of the same trenches.
"It's been too long," Magnus said, clapping Berick on the back.
"The Crown keeps me busy," Berick sighed. "Too much paperwork. Not enough paid time off."
He turned to Lucine. "And you look radiant as always, Lucine. How you manage this domain and this husband of yours, I'll never know."
"It's a full-time job," Lucine joked. "Come inside. We need to review the protocols before lunch."
———
The descent into the Aethel Sanctum felt less like walking into a basement and more like entering the heart of a machine.
The spiral staircase wound down deep beneath the foundations of the palace, past layers of reinforced concrete and energy shielding. The air grew heavy, rich with energy.
Regius walked between his father and Berick, feeling the weight of the earth pressing in.
This was the ritual sanctum. Safe. Secure.
They reached the ritual chamber. It was a vast, circular room dominated by a central pedestal of white marble. Surrounding it was a complex array of sensors, machinery, crystal dials, and silver inlays.
Berick walked to the control console. He ran a hand over the dials, his expression shifting from friendly uncle to professional Assessor.
"The calibration is precise," Berick said, tinkering with the controls. "Energy density is at 98%. Good. Very good."
He turned to Regius. "Alright, Initiate. Step into the circle. Let's see if you remember your theory."
Regius stepped onto the marble pedestal. He felt a hum of power beneath his boots. The atmospheric energy pressed onto his body.
"I'm ready," Regius said.
"We'll see," Berick said, flipping a switch. The room hummed as the containment wards flared to life. "Quick fire. Don't think; just answer. What is the Flinch Grade?"
"The initial stage," Regius answered. "Duration is 1 to 10 seconds. The result is a Low-Tier summon."
"Correct. What is the Stable Grade?"
"Second stage. The duration is 11 to 25 seconds. Mid-Tier summon. The backbone of the military."
"Superior Grade?"
"Better than most," Regius recited, his voice echoing in the chamber. "Duration is 26 to 45 seconds. The result is a High-Tier summon."
"And finally," Berick leaned over the console, his eyes locking onto Regius. "The Sovereign Grade."
"The one percent," Regius said. He felt a shiver of anticipation. "Duration is 46 to 60 seconds. Result is a High-tier or if they're extremely lucky, Elite-Tier summon. They're the mark of Kings."
"Forty-six seconds. It sounds short, doesn't it?
"Yet at the moment, it feels like an eternity," Berick said. He walked over to Regius, scanning the boy's pulse points. "Most men break at fifteen to twenty. The pain is existential, Regius. The summon tries to rewrite your blank Soul Palace to fit its shape. You have to be strong enough to force it to fit yours."
"I am," Regius said.
"We know," Lucine chimed in. "But don't be a hero, Regius. If you hit forty-five seconds, that's a High-Tier. That's enough to rule this domain. Don't push for sixty and burn yourself out."
"Okay, mom"
"Promise?"
"I promise."
Berick clapped him on the shoulder. "Good. Because we calibrated this circle for the highest concentration of energy. If you do bond with a High-tier or even an Elite-Tier, never burn yourself out. You'll just end up with a Fractured Soul Palace, and some say it's worse than death."