heir of the cursed blood

The sky above RagDon burned gold as the sun dipped behind the mountains, casting long shadows across the training grounds. The coliseum was empty, the battle scars now replaced by silence and a breeze that whispered of change. Kael Vidarson stood tall, his posture straighter than before, a faint glow of resolve shining in his magenta eyes. His wounds had healed—at least on the outside.

The day had come. Kael had officially graduated from RagDon. The announcement was short, practical, and far from celebratory—just like the clan itself. There were no cheers, no crowds. But for Kael, it meant everything. He had survived. He had grown.

Zehrun, the second head of RagDon and one of the most respected figures in the clan, approached him as he stood at the edge of the courtyard.

"You've done well to endure this place," Zehrun said, his voice firm. "But your next challenge will be different."

Kael turned to him. "The academy?"

Zehrun nodded. "You have only a month left before you leave for Astral Sanctum. Make good use of it."

Kael gave a respectful bow. "I will, Second Head."

Zehrun smirked slightly. "Let's hope you carry RagDon's name better than the last fool who tried."

With that, the clan leader turned and walked away, his black cloak trailing behind him like a shadow. As the courtyard emptied, Kael felt a familiar presence beside him.

"Still breathing, eh?" Eorun said, arms crossed, a rare hint of pride in his expression.

Kael smiled faintly. "Barely."

Eorun walked up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You've trained your body, sharpened your sword, and even gained a scar or two. But there's one thing you've yet to learn."

Kael looked confused. "What?"

"Noble etiquette."

Kael blinked. "You're joking."

Eorun's face remained dead serious. "Boy, you're about to walk into a nest of serpents wrapped in silk. One wrong move, one wrong word, and you'll be eaten alive before you even draw your sword. You think learning how to hold a fork is boring? Try offending a royal duke because you didn't address him with the right title."

Kael sighed. "This is really going to be my final lesson, isn't it?"

"Yes," Eorun said, looking at the horizon. "And maybe the most important one."

Kael's voice softened. "So… are you leaving?"

Eorun nodded slowly. "I have something to take care of. Something I can't speak of yet. But when you graduate from that academy—when you've truly grown—I'll be there. Waiting."

There was silence between the two for a moment, a quiet understanding passing between them.

Kael finally said, "Then I'll survive. No—I'll thrive. So when you come back, you'll be proud."

Eorun gave a rare smile. "Good. Now stop being sentimental and follow me. It's time you learn how to sit like a noble without looking like a constipated goblin."

Kael laughed for the first time in days, the weight on his shoulders feeling just a bit lighter.

And so began his final month of training—not with swords or aura, but with posture, poise, and politics.

The blade was forged.Now, it was time to polish the sheath.