The door opened like it owned the room.
A tall figure stepped through without asking permission, dressed in dark robes trimmed with crimson thread, the color of House Dreadmoor stitched so subtly it looked like dried blood when the light hit it wrong. His hair was the same red as mine was fated to become, though his was purer and brighter, a declaration rather than a stain. His eyes were crimson too, but flatter than mine, like a blade that had been sharpened too many times and learned nothing except how to cut.
Lucian's memories supplied his name before he spoke.
Cassian Dreadmoor.
Third son.
Not the strongest, but the cruelest. The kind of cruelty that came from boredom.
His gaze swept the room first, then landed on me with the slow certainty of a man inspecting a corpse that had inconveniently sat up.
For a heartbeat he did not speak.
Then his mouth curved into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"You're standing," he said.
His tone suggested it was a mistake.
I didn't answer immediately. On Earth, silence had been survival. Here, silence was a weapon too, if you used it on purpose.
Cassian stepped closer, boots soundless on the thick carpet. He stopped a few paces away, close enough that I could see the faint scar along his jawline, a pale line like old lightning. A training scar, not a desperate one. Dreadmoors earned their scars with pride.
He tilted his head. "Did the healers finally find a way to stitch your spirit back together, little brother, or are you just refusing to die out of spite?"
Lucian's memories recoiled. Cassian had asked that question before. More than once. It had never been humor. It had always been a reminder: you are weak, and everyone knows it.
Something in my chest pulsed. Not anger exactly. Not yet.
Heat. A restless thrill, like the moment before a fight starts and you realize you might actually enjoy what comes next.
I met his eyes. I held them.
"I woke up," I said. "That seems to disappoint you."
His brows rose slightly. Surprise flickered, then vanished beneath amusement.
"Oh, it does more than disappoint me." Cassian's eyes narrowed. "It makes me curious."
He reached out as if to grab my wrist.
My body moved before my thoughts did.
I stepped back and turned my shoulder, slipping away from his hand with a smoothness that made my own stomach tighten. Lucian had never moved like that. Lucian had moved like a dying animal.
Cassian's hand closed on empty air.
For the first time, the room went quiet.
He stared at his own fingers, then at me again, and something in his expression sharpened from mockery into focus. Predators didn't like surprises.
"You learned to dodge," he said softly. "How interesting."
Lucian (internal):System. What is he?
System:[Target: Cassian Dreadmoor. Cultivation: Core Awakening. Threat level: High to current host.]
Core Awakening. That was already beyond what most men in this empire would ever touch. Lucian's memories filled the gaps with bitter clarity. Cassian had broken into Core Awakening at sixteen, hailed as a talent, praised by generals and elders alike. He could have commanded soldiers already if he wanted to. Instead he stayed near the estate because power was easier to use when the victims couldn't run.
Cassian took another step forward, slower this time.
"Do you remember what Father said when you were ten?" he asked, voice almost conversational. "He said the Dreadmoor blood does not forgive weakness. He said if you cannot stand on your own, you do not deserve the name."
Lucian's memories flashed. A training yard slick with rain. A child coughing blood into his palms. A tall man watching without expression.
Not cruel.
Worse than cruel.
Indifferent.
Cassian's mouth curved again. "You cried that day. You begged to rest."
I felt something cold settle under the heat. Not fear. Not shame.
Something like decision.
"That day is over," I said.
Cassian blinked. He hadn't expected that answer either. He smiled wider.
"And what do you think you are now?"
I didn't know. Not fully. I knew I had died once already. I knew I had woken in a body that had been written off. I knew something ancient had attached itself to my soul and called me host as if I belonged to it.
But more than that, I knew what I would not be.
"I'm not your entertainment," I said.
Cassian laughed, a short burst that didn't reach his eyes. "You have never been anything else."
He moved.
It was fast enough that a normal man would have registered it as teleportation. One moment he stood in front of me. The next his palm was aimed at my throat, fingers curved like a hook.
I twisted, but this time it was not smooth.
Cassian's hand grazed my collarbone, and pain flared hot and sharp. The air squeezed out of my lungs. His spiritual pressure hit me a fraction of a second later, invisible weight pressing down like a hand on the back of my neck.
My knees threatened to bend.
Lucian would have dropped.
Ethan would have folded.
I did neither.
I forced my feet to stay planted and stared at him through the pressure.
Cassian's eyes widened slightly.
He pushed harder.
The pressure thickened until my vision trembled at the edges, and in that moment the heat in my chest surged, not to protect me gently, but to devour the sensation. It licked through my veins like fire catching dry grass.
The pain became fuel.
My heartbeat steadied.
And something in my mind—something not human—purred with approval.
Cassian saw the change. He leaned closer, voice low. "What are you?"
Lucian (internal):System. How do I stop his pressure?
System:[Ember Pulse can resist suppression through stabilized circulation. Current instability prevents full resistance. Recommended action: provoke combat response. Risk: vessel damage.]
Provoke combat response.
My lips parted slightly. I almost laughed.
That was the first time in my life I had ever been told that fighting would help me.
On Earth, fighting would have gotten me suspended, beaten worse, punished at home. Here, fighting was the language everyone spoke. And something inside me wanted to speak it fluently.
Cassian's hand tightened against my collarbone. His thumb pressed the spot where my pulse beat.
He looked pleased. "Say something clever again."
I inhaled through the pressure. It burned. I kept my voice calm anyway.
"You're scared," I said.
Cassian froze for half a breath. Then he smiled like a man offered a gift.
"I am amused," he corrected.
"You expected a corpse," I said. "You didn't come here to check on me. You came here to confirm you were still above me."
The pressure spiked, sharp enough that my vision went white for an instant.
Cassian's smile vanished. "Careful."
"Why?" I asked. "Because you might actually have to work for it?"
His eyes flashed.
And then his aura moved.
It spilled out in a crimson tide, thick and violent, the kind of killing intent Dreadmoors cultivated deliberately over years. The air in the room seemed to dim. Shadows deepened at the corners. The candle flames near the window flickered as if afraid.
Lucian's memories screamed.
This was the pressure that had made him vomit blood in the training yard. This was the weight that had taught him to be quiet, to be small, to disappear.
My lungs strained.
My bones ached.
And the demon heat in my veins rose like laughter.
It wasn't an emotion I recognized from Ethan. It was new, and it was wrong in a way that felt right.
I took one step forward.
Cassian's eyes widened again, genuine now.
I could feel it—the pressure trying to crush me, and my body answering with heat, pushing back, not with technique, but with raw refusal.
Lucian (internal):System. What is this feeling?
System:[Demon blood resonance detected. Combat stimulation increasing. Warning: aggression amplification may impair judgment.]
I heard that warning and understood it in the same way you understand someone telling you a fire is hot. It was accurate, but it was not enough to stop you from putting your hand near the flame again.
Cassian released my collarbone abruptly and stepped back, studying me like a problem.
"Father needs to see this," he murmured, and for the first time, the words were not mockery. They were calculation.
I did not like that.
I did not want to be presented like a curiosity.
I wanted control.
I rolled my shoulder slowly, testing the ache where his hand had hit me. The pain was real, but it was clean. I could feel my body already adjusting, heat moving through my veins like it was patching cracks.
Cassian's gaze flicked to the mirror behind me. He caught his own reflection, saw something in himself that displeased him, and turned back sharper.
"You think you can talk to me like that because you stood up from bed," he said.
I kept my voice even. "I think I can talk to you like that because you didn't finish it."
His expression tightened. Then he laughed again, but this time there was a thin edge to it.
"Bold." He took another step forward. "Tell me, little brother. Can you actually fight, or are you just trying on a new mouth?"
My blood heated again, eager, and I realized with quiet clarity that the answer mattered.
If I backed down now, I would spend the rest of my life being tested.
If I met him, even knowing I could lose, something would shift.
Lucian (internal):System. Can I fight him?
System:[Current cultivation insufficient for direct victory. However, combat engagement may accelerate stabilization. Optional directive available.]
My heartbeat kicked once.
Lucian (internal):What directive?
System:[Mission available: The Ninth Son's First Stand.]
The words settled into my mind like a blade being offered hilt-first.
Lucian (internal):Explain.
System:[Mission: The Ninth Son's First Stand. Objective: survive a direct confrontation with a Core Awakening cultivator for sixty breaths without collapse or submission. Conditions: combat must be initiated publicly or witnessed by at least one non-family retainer. Reward: Ember Pulse stabilization to 70%. Secondary reward: Demon blood seal loosening by 1%. Failure: system dormancy for thirty days.]
Sixty breaths.
Not win.
Survive.
And it had to be witnessed.
Cassian was still watching me, eyes narrowed, waiting for my answer, as if he could smell hesitation.
My mind moved quickly. I didn't need to beat him. I needed to change the narrative.
A witness meant servants. Retainers. Guards. Anyone whose gossip would travel through the estate faster than any messenger.
If word spread that the Ninth Son stood up to Cassian, even briefly, it would reach the ears of the elders. It would reach my father. It would reach people who had already written Lucian off.
That mattered.
Not for validation.
For leverage.
I turned my head toward the door and raised my voice, not shouting, but speaking clearly.
"Someone," I said. "Bring water."
There was a pause outside, then hurried footsteps.
Cassian's eyes sharpened. He understood immediately. He glanced toward the door, then back at me.
"You're calling servants as witnesses," he said softly, the amusement returning. "You've grown clever."
"I've grown tired," I replied.
Cassian's gaze slid over me, and I saw the moment he decided to indulge it. He was arrogant enough to believe a witness would not harm him. He was cruel enough to enjoy humiliating me in front of others.
He lifted his hand, palm open, and crimson aura gathered around it like heat haze.
"Fine," he said. "Let them watch."
The door cracked open. A young attendant stepped in, eyes lowered, carrying a tray with a glass pitcher and cup. He froze the moment he sensed Cassian's pressure and my stance.
His hands trembled slightly.
Cassian noticed and smiled. "Good. Stay."
The attendant swallowed, nodding quickly, and moved to the side, trying to make himself small.
I understood him. I had been him.
But I was not him anymore.
Cassian turned his gaze back to me. "Sixty breaths," he murmured, as if he already knew the mission without hearing it. "Let's see if you can last even ten."
Lucian's memories flashed again—vomiting blood, collapsing, humiliation.
I inhaled slowly.
I counted the first breath deliberately.
And then I stepped forward.
Cassian moved to meet me, his aura rising like a tide.
My own heat surged to answer it, not as an aura yet, not as cultivation that could be seen, but as something inside my veins that wanted violence the way starving men want food.
I lifted my hands, not with elegance, but with intent.
I was not trying to look like a warrior.
I was trying to become one.
Lucian (internal):System. Start the count.
System:[Count initiated. Breath one.]
Cassian's palm came toward my face.
I ducked and drove my shoulder into his chest with everything I had.
It wasn't enough to move him.
But it was enough to make him blink.
And that blink was the first proof I needed.
The attendant's breath hitched.
Cassian's eyes narrowed, a smile fading into something colder.
"Interesting," he said, and his aura sharpened like a blade.
I felt the pressure try to crush me again.
I welcomed it.
Because every second I stood, every breath I kept, the old life where I swallowed humiliation died a little more.
And in its place, something new took root.
Something that did not know how to kneel.
System:[Breath five.]
I did not look away.