Cursed To Conquer

The morning sun shone brightly over the Eryndor estate, casting long shadows across the lush gardens. Basil, seated on a carved stone bench, stared at the blooming flowers but wasn't really seeing them. His mind was preoccupied with the whirlwind of events since his transmigration.

The world he had once mastered as a gamer now surrounded him in all its intimidating reality. Every decision carried weight—real people, real consequences.

"Big Brother!"

A high-pitched voice cut through his thoughts. He turned just in time to see a small figure running toward him. His five-year-old sister, dressed in a flowing lavender dress, skipped to his side.

She was a peculiar sight. Her small horns, barely visible beneath her dark curls, gleamed faintly in the sunlight. A delicate dragon tail swayed behind her, the scales catching the light. Yet, her innocent smile made her look no less human.

Basil couldn't help but marvel. So, this is what it means to inherit traits from a dragon.

She clambered up onto the bench beside him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Are you sad, Big Brother?"

"No," Basil replied, a little taken aback by her forwardness. He wasn't used to anyone in the family addressing him with such openness. "Just thinking."

She tilted her head, her horns glinting. "Thinking about being nice?"

He blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Well…" She wrinkled her nose, her tail curling slightly. "You're usually scary. But now you're not. Mama says it's okay to change."

Her words struck a chord. The warmth in her voice, the innocence in her eyes—Basil felt a pang of guilt for what this little girl must have endured under the old Basil's reign.

"What's your name again?" Basil asked, his tone soft.

She giggled. "It's Illyria! Don't you remember, Big Brother?"

"I do now," Basil said, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

"Come with me!" she said, tugging at his hand.

"Where to?"

"It's a surprise!"

Illyria led him to a small room in the east wing, where the walls were adorned with colorful drawings. She pointed to a new painting drying on an easel.

Basil stepped closer, his breath catching.

The picture was simple, childlike but full of emotion. It depicted three figures: Illyria, her dragon tail curling around her feet; Basil, with his sharp, regal features; and a woman with striking dragon-like horns and piercing golden eyes.

"Our family," Illyria said proudly.

The image stirred something deep within Basil. He stared at the figure of the woman—their mother. Memories from Basil's life flooded his mind, memories Leon had not yet fully explored.

The noblewoman who had once been a beacon of grace and strength. The mother who had doted on him as a child. The same woman he had locked away under false accusations, casting her into the depths of the estate's prison.

Basil's hands clenched. The weight of her betrayal loomed large in the memories, yet now he saw how skewed those events had been.

Illyria's voice broke his reverie. "I drew this because Mama says one day, we'll all be happy together again. Do you think she's right?"

Basil knelt before her, his gaze steady. "Yes, Illyria. She's right."

Illyria's face lit up with a wide smile, her small fangs showing. "Really?"

Basil nodded. "I promise."

Later that day, Basil sat in the library, poring over family records and historical texts. He needed to piece together not just his own past but also the current state of the world.

From the scrolls, he learned that his family's position as the most powerful in the kingdom was precarious. The Eryndors had surpassed even the royal family in influence, but that had earned them many enemies—both within the kingdom and beyond.

Basil's actions, if careless, could trigger political fallout, something the old Basil had never cared about. The realization hit him hard: this wasn't just about survival. It was about navigating a treacherous web of power and alliances, all while protecting his newfound bonds.

For the first time, Basil felt the true burden of his role. But as he looked at Illyria's painting, now resting on a nearby table, he felt something else.

Hope.

If he could mend what was broken—starting with his sister and mother—perhaps he could become someone worthy of the Eryndor name.