Chapter 31 Threads of Fire and Starlight

Auriela

The Council Hall of House Taranis was colder than I remembered, the vast chamber echoing with unspoken judgment. Obsidian underfoot, arcanite in the walls, absorbing all light and warmth. Every family crest was etched into the ceiling, dozens of watchful eyes that seemed to follow my every move.

Before me sat the High Table.

Vaelor Taranis, my grandfather, Patriarch of our line, still as a mountain. His silence was a presence heavier than most men’s anger. To his right, Lord Cerys Taranis, my father, posture rigid, his fury bound tight inside the discipline of a commander. Beside him, Lady Thelya Taranis, my mother, serene and composed, the eye of a storm. Her words rarely rose, yet they always steered. Across from her, Lord Rhaemond Taranis, my uncle, eyes sharp with disdain, the voice of tradition and scorn. At Vaelor’s left hand, Lady Nysera Taranis, my grandmother, austere, her voice rarely heard but never questioned.At the far end, Idros Taranis, my cousin, the family’s analyst, cold-eyed, his wrist-console already alive with feeds and system diagnostics.

The tribunal of my blood.

When he finally spoke, his voice was ancient, and the air cracked around his words, vibrating with his suppressed power.

“You offered our crest. Without approval. Without a vote. Without permission. And to a young man of no liege, power or circumstance. Whats worst, granddaughter is you are already promised to another. Explain yourself.”

I held his gaze, my own unwavering. “I made a calculated decision, Grandfather. One that ensures the future of House Taranis, regardless of my personal commitments.”

My father stepped in, his voice sharper than his own ceremonial blade. “You made a spectacle, Aurelia. In front of the entire Kingdom. You’re little stunt is all over the Realmnets. Gods above, Aurelia—you risked not just your standing, but the integrity of your engagement! Do you understand the political fallout? The implications for the alliance?”

“I do. All I can say is it was necessary,” I stated, my voice firm.

“Necessary for him?” my uncle sneered from his seat, his eyes filled with disdain. “A provincial transfer student with no name, no lineage, and a convenient jawline? Are you truly so desperate for a companion, niece?”

I didn’t dignify that with a verbal response. Such petty insults were beneath me. Instead, I activated the crystal on my wrist and sent the projection to the center of the chamber, letting the truth speak for itself.

The image of Zane flashed to life. Walking onto the Rift field alone. No chant. No armor. Just him, a solitary figure against the encroaching chaos. And then the monsters fell. Then the Knight, an S-Class threat that should have annihilated him.

And then the Knight bowed.

I let the footage hang for a moment, letting its impossible implications sink into their minds, before I added the comprehensive system profile overlay.

[Name: Zane Myles]

[Tier: 3]

[System Sync Level: 0% – Manual Rejection]

[Core Configuration:]

[Soulforce Core – [STABLE]]

….

Everyone was quiet for a moment as they read through the stats. My grandfather leaned forward slowly, his ancient eyes fixed on the display. He wasn't shocked. Just... intensely alert, like a predator who had just caught the scent of impossibly rare prey.

“You knew this?” my father asked, his voice tight with a suppressed fury that threatened to break through his rigid control.

“I suspected,” I answered, keeping my voice level. “I didn’t know. Not until the duel. Not until I saw him wield Pure Edge and received this full data readout from our internal sources.”

My mother—calm, contained, a true master of subtle influence—stepped into the conversation, her voice a low counterpoint to the rising tension. “She notified us before making the offer. We advised urgency.”

“You approved it?” my uncle snapped, turning his disdainful glare from me to my mother. “A boy with a manipulated System Sync? Who is unclassificed or tested. Who is from the Verge. What madness is this? You’ve risked our entire lineage, Thelya!”

“She acted,” my grandmother cut in, just as cool, her voice carrying the quiet authority of generations. “And with judgment.”

I glanced at her. Saw the faint, almost imperceptible flicker in her ancient eyes. She hadn’t explicitly sanctioned it. But she was backing me now, lending her formidable weight to my audacity.

The room quieted as my cousin Idros, the family’s lead analyst, activated his own feed, corroborating my data.

“The Tower has flagged him,” he said, his voice clipped and precise. “Unofficially still as the Queen hasn’t approved the designation as of yet. But the boy wield a power that has only been used in a handful of times in the last thousands years, most scholars thought it was a myth. OF course he is Unbound.”

Murmurs swept the hall, a wave of unease and dawning realization. The concept of the Unbound was rare, dangerous.

My uncle’s voice cut through the rising murmur, demanding answers. “Pure Edge? YOu mean True Edge. What nonsense, none of that is actually confirmed. And how could boy with no training conjuer a master’s tools. Commoner propaganda if I have ever heard any.. ”

“The Internal Rift Response had confirmed it Uncle and what’s more It’s not standard True Edge as we understand it.” Idros looked at our grandfather. “But I am unclear as ot what it is exactly.”

My grandfather cleared his throat. The hall went quiet. “Aureila, child. Replay the fight between the boy and the Deathknight.”

We all watched the fight with Zane and the Deathknight a second time.

Vaelor didn’t speak at first. He simply sat there, absorbing the information, his gaze never leaving the holographic display.

Then he stood.

Slowly. His eyes, ancient and piercing, narrowed on the feed, burning with a new, fierce light.

“They are right. The Tower’s designation…That’s not True Edge,” he said, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. “That is… an impossible harmony.”

His voice dropped into something quieter. Older. More profound.

“There is a theatical form of True Edge which finds a perfect balance somethat is more pure, more powerful and completely stable. Its is indeed called Pure Edge. But its a technique that requires a divine catalyst.”

“Auriela, does the boy have divine contract?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think so father. I didn’t feel any sort of familar or divine mark.”

My grandfather look at the screen and whispered. “Impossible. Look at the balance of Soulforce and Worldveil in that impact. It flows with an unnatural purity. How is this possible, Aurelia? How can a twenty-year-old boy, without noble lineage or formal training, possess such a thing? He soloed a Death Knight, not by luck or technicality, but with a power we barely understand! Pure edge, if this power could be mastered it could rivil the Flame and Starlight.”

The room erupted.

Voices collided, a cacophony of shock and fear and dawning greed. People stood, their chairs scraping across the obsidian floor. Questions flew, a storm of frantic speculation. Everyone would want him. This young man could utterly redraw the lines of power among the nobility, could shift the very foundations of the Kingdom’s hierarchy.

I didn’t flinch. My composure remained absolute.

Because I’d already known.

He wasn’t a myth.He was the knife buried in every assumption we’d made about power. About what it meant to rise to true mastery.

And I wasn’t going to let the court or the Tower define him before I did.

My grandfather turned back to me, his ancient eyes sharp and assessing.

“How do you actually know this boy,” he said, his voice a quiet challenge. “Where did you find him? What is story?”

I met his gaze. Unwavering. My voice was calm, certain.

“I met him in the Crucible Realms,” I said. “Not as Aurelia Vael Taranis. Not with wings on my back or a crest at my throat. Just as another sword in the arena.

“We fought six times. I didn’t win. Not once. And that was before I knew his name, before I realized that his movements weren’t the product of any school or lineage I’d ever studied. He adapts in ways manuals can’t teach. He fights as if the blade and his mana have been speaking the same language since birth.

“He didn’t know who I was, and he didn’t care. No deference. No calculated charm. Just clean, relentless steel.”

I let the memory sharpen in my mind—the blur of his steps, the unshakable balance, the way he dismantled me without gloating.

“So when I saw him at school—saw the same stance, the same intent—I knew he was something special. Whatever the records say about his birth, his lack of training, the fact that he’s crestless… none of it matters. The boy isn’t a product of the system we built. He’s something outside it.”

I leaned forward slightly, my voice lowering. “And if we’re smart, we won’t let the rest of the court realize exactly what that means. The boy has to be brought into the family at any costs. If we do not, the others will and he will be the most powerful of the next generation. I would stake my mana core on it.”

My grandfather’s gaze held mine, the weight of his silence saying more than any question could. The others kept arguing, grasping at ways to use or claim Zane Myles.

But my mind was already moving ahead.

Because they could debate all they liked.

He was mine to understand first.