The Heart Of Chaos

Entering the Royal Dining Hall of Flames was like stepping into a realm of grandeur and nobility.

Towering obsidian pillars adorned with fiery dragon motifs lined the room, their glowing molten veins casting a faint, ethereal light. The domed ceiling, a masterpiece of red-and-gold stained glass dragon-shaped chandeliers, shimmered with an enchanting glow reminiscent of the Sacred Flame housed within the keep.

A colossal banquet table of blackened oak stretched the hall's length, flanked by high-backed chairs intricately carved to resemble dragon wings. Flames flickered in braziers along the walls, their light dancing across opulent banners emblazoned with the Drakon crest. The air was thick with the aroma of spiced meats and exotic wines, an intoxicating blend of power and refinement.

The soft clinking of goblets ceased as all eyes turned to a lone figure entering the chamber, each echoing footstep resonating across the marble floor.

A man with long, spiky black hair and piercing golden eyes rose abruptly, his anger palpable as the fiery light from the chandeliers highlighted his bronze skin, a striking resemblance to Abaddon.

Aelric Von Drakon...

"Who dares allow such filth into the Hall of Flames during the royal family's banquet?"

Unfazed, Abaddon strode forward, his gaze fixed on the man seated at the far end of the table—a figure exuding majesty and command.

Clad in a blend of ceremonial armor and royal finery, the man's long black hair, streaked with silver, framed his short beard and golden eyes, which burned with quiet intensity. The presence of Kaedryn Von Drakon—Regent, Hero of Avalon, and the second-strongest Imperium Rank in the thirteen human empires—was overwhelming, even for Abaddon's wounded frame.

Before Kaedryn's siblings, stepmothers, and the assembled heads of the royal branch families, Abaddon bowed. The act, though respectful, was deeply painful.

"I have returned from the dead, Father. It is I… Abaddon Von Drakon."

The name sent a shockwave through the hall. A goblet clattered to the floor as Kaedryn's eyes widened in disbelief. Before he could speak, another presence entered.

A man with long black hair and piercing golden eyes, clad in luxurious royal attire, strode confidently into the hall.

Veylan Von Drakon....

He surveyed the ragged figure before him with amusement, bowing to his father.

"Your third son sends his greetings, Father. Forgive my tardiness. On my way, I encountered some trouble—a commoner attempting to impersonate my dead brother. I allowed him in, thinking he might learn the folly of mocking the royal family."

The room fell silent as Veylan's mother, Lady Draviana De Drakon, rose in indignation. Her curled white hair and snow-like complexion gave her an air of icy elegance.

"You have done well, my son," she praised, her voice laced with venom. Turning to Abaddon, her gaze hardened. "Have you no shame? How dare you dredge up old wounds and tragedies in such a manner?"

As murmurs of disdain filled the hall, with some nobles calling for Abaddon to be cast into the Magma Dungeon, a commanding voice cut through the uproar.

"Enough!"

Kaedryn's golden eyes gleamed, their intensity silencing the chamber like the fury of a shadowed dragon. His gaze lingered on Abaddon, scrutinizing him. The resemblance to Elyssia—the first consort—was undeniable: the shape of his eyes, the curve of his nose, even the roundness of his ears. But something was amiss.

The boy's red eyes carried an unsettling malice, a deviation from the golden glow that symbolized Drakon lineage.

As the room settled into silence, Abaddon sighed, a smirk curling on his lips. He slowly removed his tattered cloak, exposing his battered form. His gaze swept over the consorts and their children.

"In six years, you've all grown quite... comfortable"

He remarked coldly. His eyes fixed on Lady Draviana and Veylan.

"Draviana, as sharp-tongued as ever. And you, Veylan—still as foolish and incompetent as when you were my senior brother."

Draviana slammed her fist against the table, her fury evident as Veylan's expression darkened. A scarlet aura began to emanate from him, the energy rippling with his mounting anger. Yet, Abaddon only seemed more amused, his taunting smirk deepening.

With a deliberate motion, he flung his tattered cloak to the floor and turned his back to Kaedryn. He pointed to the dragon tattoo etched across his skin—a sight that left everyone in stunned silence.

"Isn't this what defines us as the true bloodline of the Dragon—true Drakons?"

Gasps rippled through the room as the five siblings' eyes widened in shock. Even the stepmothers were rendered speechless. The mark on Abaddon's back was unmistakable: the symbol of a true Drakon.

The tension in the hall was suffocating, yet Kaedryn remained calm, his icy gaze fixed on the boy before him, betraying no emotion.

The silence was suddenly broken by laughter. A young woman, majestic in her poise, rose gracefully from her seat. Her long black hair framed two piercing golden dragon eyes, and every movement radiated elegance.

"With all due respect, Father"

She began, her tone cutting.

"we all know there are Rankers capable of mimicking the dragon tattoo. What he's showing us might very well be a façade... don't you agree, Mother?"

Seraphina turned toward Lady Elira De Drakon, seeking her support. The move was calculated, a subtle attempt to curry favor with the head of the family by demonstrating sharp insight and loyalty.

Elira responded with a nod and a faint smile.

"Indeed. A keen observation, Seraphina. Truly a Von Drakon. In these times, it seems anything is possible."

As Seraphina smirked, Lady Draviana and Veylan, emboldened by the exchange, appeared eager to chime in and further prove their worth. But before they could speak, Kaedryn's cold voice cut through the rising murmur.

"The dragon tattoo cannot be mimicked, recreated, or removed. It is a direct gift from the Sun Dragon Myth, the God of all myths. Our ancestors earned this power through great sacrifice, and it is bound to the very soul of our bloodline. The tattoo is not merely a physical mark. It is unique to each Drakon and cannot be awakened without the bearer realizing its potential. There is, however, a way to verify its authenticity."

The revelation struck Abaddon like a bolt. Though his soul was at Level Five, he had never once sensed any external force embedded within it. No'el's voice echoed in his mind through the telepathic Soul Scripture rune.

'He's correct. I neglected to tell you this. My descendant isn't entirely worthless, but it's disappointing how weak the Drakons have grown. By your father's age and with his golden soul-ore, he should have reached the Mystic Rank long ago. What a shame.'

Kaedryn gestured to his personal steward, a composed elderly man with a glass monocle and formal attire. Without hesitation, the steward approached Abaddon, his expression unreadable.

The steward's hands began to glow with mantra energy as he performed intricate gestures. Concentrating the energy into his palms, he pressed it against Abaddon's consciousness.

For a moment, nothing happened. The room was tense with silent prayers from nobles, hoping the mark would prove a forgery. But then, golden runes began to illuminate Abaddon's body, their intricate patterns flowing like veins of light. The dragon tattoo on his back glowed fiercely, and a matching sigil appeared in his eye—a stark contrast to his red irises.

Behind him, a massive golden magic circle materialized, the dragon tattoo prominently engraved in its center.

The steward stepped back, his hands trembling as he stammered.

"S-Sir... he's... he's indeed a Drakon!"

Gasps filled the room as nobles and royals alike rose in shock and disbelief. Veylan stumbled backward, tripping over the marble floor, his expression one of utter horror as he stared at Abaddon.

Kaedryn, however, remained composed. Yet Abaddon could sense the subtle shift in his breathing—a telltale sign of his suppressed emotions.

Kaedryn's voice rumbled like distant thunder, his tone cold and deliberate.

"So... you've indeed returned from the dead, Abaddon Von Drakon."

Abaddon met his father's gaze, a wild smirk playing across his lips. His eyes burned with a fierce intensity, and the very air around him seemed to ripple with power, as though even the floating land trembled at his presence.

The Banquet of Thorns....

That evening, a banquet was held in Abaddon's honor—or so it was said. In truth, it felt more like a thinly veiled power play, with his siblings and stepmothers subtly vying for dominance under the guise of civility.

The dining hall hummed with polite conversation, but beneath the surface, every word dripped with venom, every glance carried an unspoken challenge. The tension was palpable, a heavy weight in the air that even the guards outside could feel.

Fatty and Jane sat nearby, looking out of place among the aristocracy but steadfastly refusing to leave Abaddon's side. Jane leaned in and whispered nervously.

"This is so awkward. I want to crawl under the table."

Abaddon smirked.

"Oh, the mighty assassin is intimidated by nobles now? How adorable."

Though his teasing held a note of humor, Jane wasn't wrong. The room was teeming with vipers, their eyes narrowing further at the sight of commoners seated among the nobility.

The first strike came from Seraphina, his stepsister.

"Tell us, Abaddon"

She said with a syrupy sweetness that belied her intent.

"What valuable lessons did you learn in your six years away? Surely exile must have taught you something, though I can't imagine what."

Abaddon met her gaze, his expression unreadable.

"Exile teaches clarity. You see people for who they truly are."

Seraphina's smile faltered, but before she could respond, Veylan interjected with a sneer.

"And yet, clarity didn't teach you loyalty. You abandoned us when we needed you most. What makes you think you deserve to sit at this table?"

The room fell silent, all eyes fixed on Abaddon.

He leaned back in his chair, replying in a calm tone.

"The fact that I'm here at all."

Veylan's smug expression vanished. Lady Draviana quickly intervened with a lilting laugh, attempting to diffuse the rising tension.

"Enough, children. Let's not ruin the evening with petty quarrels."

As the banquet wound down, Abaddon slipped out into the gardens for a moment of respite. The moon bathed the magma-carved hedges in a soft glow, and the cool air was a welcome escape from the stifling atmosphere inside.

"You handled them well."

The voice startled him, and he turned to see Lady Selandra stepping from the shadows. A tall, commanding woman with sharp features and an air of quiet authority, she had once been his mother's closest friend and was now an imperial representative.

"Should I take that as a compliment, Aunt Selandra?"

He asked cautiously.

"A fact"

She replied. Her gaze softened slightly.

"I thank the gods that my friend's son survived. She would be proud to see you now. You've matured—you're no longer the timid, bullied boy I remember. But don't be deceived. They will test you, Abaddon. Your siblings, your stepmothers, even your father. None of them want you here. They hate your return, and they should."

Abaddon frowned.

"Hate me? Why?...I just arrived"

Selandra studied him for a long moment before answering.

"Your return has upset the balance of power. After your mother's death, the others tore into the family's holdings like scavengers. They consolidated their influence, but your presence threatens all they've gained. They know you have the potential to take everything they covet—today's exchange proved that."

She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a near whisper.

"For now, rest—but not too much. You've just entered a dangerous game, and you'll need to relearn the terrain as if you never left. Allies will be essential. Choose them carefully, and trust even fewer."

Without waiting for a reply, she disappeared into the shadows, her words lingering in the cool night air.

Later, as Abaddon returned to his chambers, No'el's voice resonated in his mind.

"You're walking into a den of wolves, boy. Play their games if you must, but remember—chaos is your ally, not them. Let them underestimate you. Let them believe you're weak. Use their ignorance to your advantage."

Abaddon sat on the edge of his bed, staring into the darkness. He knew No'el was right. Strength alone would not ensure his survival—he would need to outwit them at every turn.

A quiet smirk crossed his lips. His voice, soft but resolute, broke the silence.

"Since I'm back, I'll make myself at home… Drakon Keep..."