Reincarnated As A Dragon With A Godly Inheritance

Excitement made Kaedros's eyes lighter.

"So they were the most powerful Eldritch in history. What about the current Eldritchs?"

"The four current Eldritch?" The man with glasses floated toward them. "Why do you want to know about them… I see. One of you, if you did wear it, will become the Eldritch leader. Interesting."

"Oh, don't put fear in them! Let them take the last trials first!" the sharp-angled man said, though Kaedros got the feeling he was saying that just to say something.

"I'm not scaring them, am I? The state of the Eldritchs is far from what it was, that's for sure. There's a reason why Eldritch leaders die young before they grow into their powers—not to talk of a Dragon one… and humans." The man smiled crookedly, looking at them through the lens of his glasses. "If you manage to wear the crowns, then I'm sorry to say we'll have hundreds of candidates again in Twilight in a maximum of two years."

"What do you mean you—" Kaedros's hand on Taria's shoulder stopped her from advancing toward them, to do who knows what.

"Easy, Taria. We must hear what they have to say." He made sure she calmed down before facing the three figures again. "But I heard the last Eldritch leader was a human."

The woman hissed. "Yes, he was. That blasted man who sealed Twilight! He stopped the challenge of the Eldritch candidates and left us for years."

"Come to think about it, who opened Twilight again? The Castle was sealed with his blood and Eldritch powers." The sharp man asked the one with glasses.

The man was staring at Kaedros intently, then floated to the woman and began whispering with the other two. Occasionally, they glanced back at Kaedros.

They could only hear fragments of their conversation. Kaedros couldn't tell if it was intentional or not.

"Are you the one that healed him…"

"Yes…"

"Don't you notice anything…"

"…his blood…"

"…not like him though…"

"…must be… why… it didn't open before… yes… but now…"

"What are they talking about now?" Taria sneered.

Rauk raised his brows. "That doesn't look good on you."

Taria's eyes lit up. "I'm practicing my gloating expression for when I return to Havenbrook."

That sobered them. Havenbrook. The Kingdom. Kingdom of Valeria.

A place they might never touch again if they didn't wear the crown.

"Ahm…" The woman cleared her throat loudly. "Even though he's dead, the previous Eldritch is still the master of this Castle, and that won't change until another wears it."

Her voice was business-like now. "Let's get you to the next room."

She reached out to the door behind her and… took it? She moved as if snatching something from the air, and the door vanished, only to reappear in front of Kaedros's team when she opened it again.

"This will lead you to the next trial."

Kaedros bowed, took a step toward the door, then paused and turned back to them.

"Can you tell me anything about the next trial?"

The woman pursed her lips. "It's a separate trial."

"You will either see yourself again," the man adjusted his glasses, "or never!"

Then the three faded slowly, disappearing until nothing remained.

"I want to see you both again."

It was only when Rauk and Taria looked at him that Kaedros realized he was the one who spoke. He stood there waiting for thunder to strike him, but when nothing happened, he carefully cleared his throat.

"I… what… I mean… of course, we're a team, right?"

He gave them an awkward smile. Taria squealed and threw up her arms for a hug, but that was where Kaedros drew the line. He pulled back with as much dignity as he could muster. He was liking this clan stuff less and less.

Rauk only bowed deeply, with the promise of seeing him later. Kaedros turned and, without a backward glance, entered the ninth room.

He found himself facing a city. It sprawled below him, dipped in the golden hue of the setting sun. It was beautiful to watch—if not for the people who lived there.

"Kaedros."

It was with shock he heard his full name. He hadn't heard it in months, and there was only one place that knew it. The Dragon City.

He turned—and saw his mother.

She was dressed in a warrior's robe, leaving a slit in the back for her wings to spread like a blanket of shadow. The wings were solid black with red stripes.

"Kaedros," she repeated, her red eyes fixed on him. Two long horns jutted out of her mass of black hair.

"Dragon King." Kaedros bowed so deeply that had he been anyone else, he would have knelt.

As she came closer to the balcony attached to one of the many towers of the Dragon Palace, he felt his strength leaking away as his Bloodline Trait took effect.

He would lose to any Dragon, regardless of his power.

"Do you see all this?" She spread her hand to indicate the Floating City—the Dragon City. "It is mine. Our family didn't always have this, but we took it and made them all bend the knee."

Something nagged at Kaedros. His mind was warning him of something, but he refused to listen. Instead, he gazed at the sun's fading light, painting the city in rich colors.

His mother continued, "What we respect and follow is strength, and now more than ever our family must have that strength. Other clans are growing more powerful. We cannot have even a single member caught lacking."

Kaedros frowned. He remembered something—something important—but couldn't quite grasp it.

He frowned at his mother. What was she talking about? Ah! The other Dragon Prince!

"But the Dragon Princes are strong. Already they occupy powerful positions in our military, and even I…" His frown deepened. What was his position in the Dragon City? He didn't remember… he didn't have one.

He turned to the Dragon King, his face smooth and unreadable.

"You are not the Dragon King."

A presence appeared behind her, and she turned, her eyes landing on one of the three people who had healed them. It was the man who looked as if he were made of angles.

"Of course, this is the trial." Their surroundings had changed, and now they were standing atop a dark mountain.

The air blew her hair around her head, but she didn't bother to put it together. "What's that about? Did I fail?"

She could still feel it in her—fear, panic, and emptiness that had followed her through the years after her father's disappearance and her mother's death.

The emotions she had buried in the past few months since she had met Kael. No, not forgotten. She had forbidden herself from feeling such emotions long before she met Kael.

There was no place for emotions when you had to struggle just to survive, just to eat your next meal.

But now… slow anger began to burn in her. At first, just an ember, then a fire, and now it roared into an inferno. The air around her quivered, and if she still had her core, her aura would have blanketed her surroundings.

"Holy Church!" They had torn her life apart without her even knowing why, and even now, years later, they still found ways to torment her—the raid had been just another of their cruel games.

"Holy Church," she said slowly now. "I must know what they did to my father. They must pay."

She had another reason now—one that rivaled being Kael's warrior. Another reason to crave power. She wanted revenge. She wanted answers.

"Did I fail?" she asked again.

"No. This was also a stimulation for the soul. But if you hadn't separated yourself from those memories, if you hadn't realized, then you would have been lost forever," the man said, as if such an occurrence were routine.

"Open the door to the last room," Taria said, and when the man raised his brows, she bowed. "If you please."

The door opened, glowing softly with blue light.

With her will, her reason held close to her heart, she stepped through the door that led to the Crown of Aetheria.

---

Rauk realized immediately that he was in a memory—or at least in the body of his past self. He was thirteen here, at the moment he was told he was not truly a Keenreaver.

He was a Regalis. Royal blood.

Vexa, his "loyal" knight—his supposed loyal knight—had just told him everything. How he was a bastard and must live powerless, forever cut off from politics.

Rauk hadn't minded then, since he believed Lord Keenreaver was his father and his mother long dead, but still, his life had changed.

His real father, the King of Valoria, often came to visit him at least twice a year. Rauk would be smuggled to whichever Lord's castle the King was visiting, and they would talk.

"You are doing well, Rauk. You've managed to learn our history so well! You've also memorized all the High Houses and most of their histories." The King smiled. His thick hair was iron-grey now, his beard white.

Rauk, in the body of his younger self, wanted to scream. To shout. To warn him of the plots forming against him. But his past self only swelled with pride and love.

"Thank you, Father."

The King sighed. "I wish you could live with me, but alas—they would snatch you up faster than you can imagine! Already there are factions in court debating who should rule next, and how."

He smiled again, his pale eyes—so like Rauk's—warm as they gazed at him.

"Sometimes I think they want me dead. Some want war with the Empire. Others want us to reclaim the Dukedom of Solara. The High Lords have grown too powerful."

Sometimes the King would ramble on like this, telling him about matters of state that Rauk promptly forgot. Not out of disinterest, but because he treasured every moment with his father, and wished to spend their limited time otherwise.

Now, seeing it again through older eyes, Rauk wished he had listened. He might have noticed how thin his father was becoming, how frail, how his face lined with worry. How less frequent his letters became.

Rauk's theory on why the King had reached out to a bastard and acknowledged him secretly was simple: the King was old, and wanted to spend his last years unburdened by the stress of ruling Valoria.

And then came the final letters, when his father confessed his fears—that he had been poisoned, that something terrible might happen. It had been his plan to send Rauk to Havenbrook, far from the capital, to keep him safe.

But Rauk had other plans. Foolishly, he thought he could go to Havenbrook and raise an army. He chuckled bitterly at the memory.

His surroundings shifted. Now he was in a desert. Rauk frowned. He had heard of such places, but this was the first time he had seen one.

"Memories… why show me this?"

"You are a sharp one, aren't you?" The man with glasses floated above him, studying him as if he were something to dissect. "You knew it was memories immediately. You realized without hesitation. Interesting."

Rauk ignored his comments. "What is this place?"

"Nowhere. It is the space between Room Eight and Room Ten. The place where candidates get lost in dreams and memories, because they try to change the past. They refuse to realize they can't. Not here. There is only one way. One thing."

Rauk looked at him firmly. "Power—to determine how the future will go."

The man laughed. "Yes, yes! Time to see if the Crown will fit you—or burn away your soul."

A door appeared. Without hesitation, Rauk walked toward it. He had never once forgotten why he needed power.