Lane descended into the vault. Two guards stood by the door; entry was strictly forbidden.But over time, Lane had found a small hole in the wall—enough to slip through unnoticed. He waited for the guards to turn their heads, then quietly slipped inside.
The vault was utterly dark. Lane immediately cast the Dragonfire spell; a dim light flared to life, bathing the stone walls in a crimson glow.On both sides hung portraits—his grandfathers, great-grandfathers, the long line of his bloodline.He walked slowly between them. At the end of the hall, he stopped before a large framed painting—depicting a figure mounted on a dragon.
Beneath the painting hung a sword.Its scale alone made it impossible for a normal man to lift.It radiated a black aura—dense, heavy, and alive. It pulled at Lane, whispering silently to his blood.
He hesitated, then gave in to curiosity. He grasped the hilt.Instantly, a surge of horrifying black energy erupted and enveloped the room, then turned crimson.Yes—this was the Dragonblood Sword.
The moment his hand touched it, Lane's vision blurred.He saw himself standing before a calm sea, like an observer outside time.Someone was practicing sword techniques by the shore.
At first, he couldn't understand what he was seeing.He moved closer—and realized that the movements were the same sword style his father used, the unique Dragon Sword Dance of their lineage.The techniques were complex, elegant, and nearly impossible to follow.
Lane focused, memorizing every motion."These movements… they're brilliant, but far too difficult," he thought.
Then the vision shattered.A flood of knowledge crashed into his mind—every movement, every rhythm.His head throbbed violently, and he collapsed to the floor, blood dripping from his nose.The pain was unbearable, but he refused to scream.He clenched his teeth, silent, until darkness claimed him.
An hour later, he slowly regained consciousness.He knew every movement, yet he didn't fully understand them.Then a single word echoed in his mind: "Discover."
He sat up, panting."I can't stay in the palace anymore," he muttered. "The reports said the Solarin and Holy Empires won the war—but it was a hollow victory. If they strike the castle now, both sides will weaken themselves. The neighboring empires—Vardane and Zareshan—will seize the chance to invade. Protecting the kingdom would be meaningless. Leaving might be the only path."
For the first time, Lane felt certainty—clarity like steel.He had a purpose now.He swore he would make the Solarin and Holy Empires pay tenfold for what they had done.
As he moved through the vault, something near the pedestal caught his eye.A black dragon scale.He picked it up and turned it in his palm.He couldn't tell what creature it belonged to."Could it be… There is a black dragon?" he whispered, then slipped the scale into his pocket.
Behind a stack of old crates, he found a hidden exit.He strapped the sword across his back—it felt weightless, as if it recognized him.He realized then: this weapon chose its wielder by blood.
Driven by instinct, Lane stepped into the tunnel.The passage seemed endless, twisting downward for hours.He muttered under his breath, frustrated."What kind of exit is this? Is it testing my patience or mocking me?"
Turning back was pointless. Eventually, faint light appeared ahead. He followed it until the tunnel opened into a clearing near the sea. The air smelled of salt and pine; the kingdom's walls were nowhere in sight.
He looked around—he didn't know where he was. Still, a sense of freedom filled him. This was an opportunity, he thought—a new beginning. Without looking back, he stepped into the forest.
The woods were dense and shrouded in fog.He could barely see ten meters ahead.Dusk was falling; he had lost too much time in the hidden passage.He decided to make camp.
He built a small fire and warmed his hands.The air was cold, the silence uneasy.He sat there, resting, but the forest around him felt alive, watching.
A sound—a crack of branches.He reached for his sword immediately.From between two thick trees, an old man emerged.
Lane stayed alert, his hand firm on the hilt.The old man grinned."Boy," he said, "what are you doing in this forest? And that sword you're holding… how can you even lift it?"
Lane's tone was cold."This sword belongs to my family. The real question is—who are you, old man? What are you doing out here at night?"
The old man chuckled softly."Old man? Rude, aren't you? You've got spirit, I'll give you that. But the night here isn't kind. Wolves will start hunting soon. You shouldn't stay alone. Come with me."
Lane hesitated.He couldn't read the man's expression—but something about his calm confidence felt genuine.After a long pause, he said quietly, "Fine."
The old man turned around and started walking slowly."Don't fall behind," he said.Lane put out the fire, tied the sword to his belt, and followed.
As they walked, the old man spoke again."If you can hold that sword, then you must be of the SkyDrane bloodline."
Lane straightened with pride."Yes. I am the young heir of House SkyDrane."
The old man nodded slightly."The last time I visited the castle, I spoke with Kaelric. He was a brave man. You must be his son. Tell me—how is Kaelric?"
Lane's voice trembled."Yes… I am his son. Kaelric is no longer of this world. He watered the earth with his own blood, dying for his people.These lands will never see another man like him. Even in his final moments… he was smiling."
Speaking his father's name brought pain.He wondered how much more suffering life planned to give him.
The old man stopped and looked at him silently.How can a child of six carry such grief? he thought. What kind of life has fate given him?
Then he asked gently, "What will you do now? Will you seek revenge for your father?"
Lane's eyes hardened, his voice low and cold."My father gave his life for us. I will take revenge. My vengeance will be as cold as ice and as fierce as fire.I will destroy this existence. The world has no justice.The gods have forgotten men, and men have become corrupt.I will burn it all down."
His fists tightened as he spoke.
The old man smiled faintly, seeing the fire in Lane's eyes.They continued walking, talking along the way.For the first time, Lane spoke openly—about loss, anger, and resolve.
When they reached the cabin, Lane stopped in surprise.From the outside, it looked small—barely a hut.But when he stepped inside, his eyes widened.The interior stretched vast and deep, filled with shelves upon shelves of books.Ancient tomes, grimoires, and scrolls—more than the royal library itself.
The old man walked into the dining area and placed food on the table.Lane hadn't realized how hungry he was; he ate eagerly.The old man watched in silence.
Then he spoke."Tell me, boy—would you like to learn mana?"
Lane froze, lowering his spoon."You'd teach me mana? I don't even know your name."
The old man smiled."Ah, I forgot. My name is Vaen Solmourn."
Lane's eyes widened. He recognized it immediately.That name appeared in every history book—Vaen Solmourn, the legendary mage of the West, conqueror of demonic beasts, and the only eight-star Stellar Conductor in Elarion's history.
For Lane, this was destiny."Yes," he said eagerly. "I want to learn."
Vaen's tone softened."Then finish your meal and rest. Tomorrow morning, at nine, meet me outside the cabin."He prepared a bed and gestured toward it."You'll sleep here from now on."
Lane lay down, exhaustion finally catching him."Thank you, Master," he murmured.
Vaen smiled faintly. "Good night. Be ready at nine."
Before falling asleep, Lane stared at the wooden ceiling.He had found a new path—a plan, a purpose.As his eyes closed, his mind drifted into deep thought, and sleep finally took him.