Rowan led them to the edge of the encampment, away from the fires and the festivities. His heart raced in his chest, the moment pressing down on him like a physical weight. He could feel his pulse in his temples, his hands shaking with a nervous energy.

  Rowan knew what he had to say, but standing here, looking at his friends, the words didn’t come as easily as he thought they would.

  “Alright, we fought off a goblin tribe for this,” Omi said, failing to hide his eagerness. “Let’s hear it.”

  “If it’s not something big, I’m going to be sooo disappointed,” Silvia muttered, sitting down and crossing her legs

  Annie rolled her eyes. “Can you two be serious for once?” she asked, glancing at them. “This is obviously a big deal for him, so shut your yaps.”

  Zoe stood in stoic silence, her expression calm, but Rowan could see the curiosity in her stance.

  He tried not to think about what her earlier revelation meant for him. Supposedly, Eldara had sent her a vision to find him so she could somehow prevent his death. It wasn’t that Rowan thought that was a lie, it was just that if a God was involved—especially one of Eldara’s power—there was nothing he could do to affect it.

  So he just accepted it, and in turn, accepted Zoe.

  I appreciate the help, he thought, sending a small prayer to the Goddess of Nature.

  Rowan tried to smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. The others stood quietly, their expressions ranging from curious to concerned. Nemir thrust his greatsword into the ground, leaning against it, watching Rowan with a frown. “Nothing you say here will leave our lips,” he reassured him. “You can trust us, Rowan, you know this.”

  Rowan took a deep breath, steadying himself. He needed to do this. They deserved the truth, even if it meant everything would change once they learned it.

  He knew this was a risk. Keeping his identity a secret from everyone was the smart thing to do. But these were his friends—the people he fought with, the people he bled with.

  There was always the chance that the group that orchestrated the fall of his House was out there, looking for him. Yet he couldn’t live his life disconnected from reality, always looking over his shoulder, going from one identity to the next.

  He needed a safe space, somewhere where he could be himself, and Rowan felt like he’d found it here.

  Kai trilled softly, leaning his head against Rowan’s.

  Nemir was right. He trusted them, and that was all that mattered.

  Rowan looked at each of them in turn, gathering his courage.

  Taking a deep breath, he spoke, his voice almost a whisper. “My full name is Rowan Undomniel-Athlain.”

  He watched, waiting for the realization to dawn on them.

  Nemir was the first to make the connection, his brows furrowing in thought before his eyes widened. “Athlain? As in..”

  “Yes. As in the noble house of Athlain,” Rowan finished for him. He swallowed, pushing away the knot in his throat before continuing. “I am the fourteenth Duke of Eiselyth. Son of Zadriel and Rylana, the Archmages of Dusk and Dawn. Brother to Zykiel, Ryvani, Zemil, and Remilia. I am the Lord of Eiselyth and Sorrow’s Pass, and all that lies beyond.”

  He could see the utter bewilderment on their faces, but he wasn’t done. His voice grew in confidence as he continued. “I am an inheritor to a bloodline that spans millennia. That, as far as I know, is older than the kingdom. And currently, I’m its last heir. The last of my line.”

  For a moment, there was silence.

  Rowan’s heart hammered in his chest, waiting for the inevitable explosion. But that anxiousness was overshadowed by a strange sense of calm.

  He’d done it. He’d unburdened his soul, and for the first time since he left the north, a weight he didn’t even know he was carrying lifted from his shoulders.

  He watched as his friends processed the information, their expression shifting from shock to disbelief, before finally settling on a quiet understanding.

  “You’re… a Duke?” Omi asked, as if he was still trying to wrap his head around the words Rowan had spoken.

  He nodded.

  “The Duke of Eiselyth?” he continued, his eyes wide. “The fucking jewel of the north!? Your mom was the godsdamned Archmage of Dawn!?”

  “Yeah,” Rowan said softly, a small smile tugging at his lips despite himself. “One and the same.”

  Nemir let out a low whistle, running a hand through his hair. “Gods, I’ve heard the tales. I mean, we all have,” he shook his head in disbelief. “The line of Athlain… they’re legends. And you’re…” He trailed off, looking at Rowan with something like awe. “I thought they were all gone.”

  “They almost are,” Rowan said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Well, you probably know the story.”

  “You’re the Wayward Son,” Silvia suddenly said, her eyes fixed on him. He could tell she was still trying to process everything, but the sharpness in her gaze was unmistakable.

  Rowan winced. He never did like that nickname.

  “The who now?” Omi asked, frowning in confusion.

  “The Wayward Son,” Silivia repeated. “It was… I don’t know, three or four years ago?”

  Rowan sighed. “Thereabouts.”

  “Right,” Silvia nodded. “It was all everyone talked about for a few months. How the youngest son of two of the strongest Archmages in the kingdom was… well, dull,” she said apologetically.

  They all looked at him, and Rowan shrugged. “That wasn’t a lie. I Awakened a few months ago,” he raised his hand, stopping their questions. “I know, I know. I’ve probably read every single book in existence about Awakening. The oldest documented case I found was a farmer who got access to the System at eighteen. And no, before you ask, I don’t know why it happened so late for me.”

  That wasn’t strictly the truth, but telling them about his trait would just overcomplicate this. He assumed that was the reason for the delay, but it wasn’t pertinent to what they were discussing, so he decided to gloss over it for the time being. He’d tell them about it eventually.

  It took them a moment to process that, and Silvia broke the silence. “Well, I officially retract my earlier statement. That was a cluster of fireballs you just dropped on us.”

  That got a laugh from the group, and Annie added. “That certainly explains all the fancy gear.”

  Rowan chuckled softly. “Yeah, that came from the—”

  Omi pointed a finger at him, eyes widening. “The Vault!“ he exclaimed. “Gods, I thought that was just a myth!” he shook his head. “Like, a story for children!”

  “No, it’s not just a story,” Rowan chuckled, showing off his ring. They moved closer, eyeing the simple gray stone he wore on his finger. “Those items I gave out? They’re not even a fraction of what’s inside,” he admitted.

  “Hells, I knew you were rich,” Omi shook his head. “But this?”

  “How does it work?” Nemir asked. “Couldn’t you have just pulled out some Mythical item and dealt with everything? If even a fraction of the stories are true, there’s bound to be something like that inside.”

  “There probably is, but I only have access to a small portion of it,” Rowan explained. “It’s locked to the level of my soul. And each time I advance, I unlock another chamber.”

  “So it’s like a really big storage ring?” Silvia asked.

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Rowan could have gone into detail, explained that it didn’t work in nearly the same way, that it was a marvel of magical engineering on par with the King’s Crown, but that wasn’t important right now. “In essence, sure,” he said instead. “It’s soulbound to me, and the bloodline lock prevents anyone besides me or mine from gaining access to it. But besides that?” he shrugged. “Yeah, it’s a really big storage ring.”

  After that, they all sat down, each of them taking a minute to process his revelation.

  Zoe looked the calmest of the bunch, nodding once before pulling out a small book from her breast pocket, flipping from page to page.

  Rowan watched their shifting expressions. The silence stretched on, heavy and expectant. While they processed, he braced himself for what he had to do next. There was one more thing he needed to tell them, and after finally opening up, the knowledge of what he planned on doing—what he had to do—filled him with a quiet dread.

  “Well,” Omi said, breaking the comfortable silence. “I’m never buying another round while you’re around, that’s for damn sure.”

  The group laughed. It was a release of tension, and Rowan found himself laughing alongside them, grateful for the easy camaraderie he’d built with these people.

  As the laughter quieted down, Rowan’s heart began to pound again.

  “There’s more,” he said, his throat suddenly dry. The others, sensing the shift, grew serious once more.

  Annie tilted her head, her sharp eyes narrowing. “You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

  Rowan’s throat tightened.

  He gave her a small, sad smile. “Yeah,” he said. “I have to."

  A ripple of surprise and confusion passed through the group. Nemir’s brows furrowed, and Annie’s expression darkened. Omi looked at Silvia, both of them trying to process what that meant.

  “Why?” Annie asked, her voice softer than he’d expected. “Are you in danger? Is someone hunting you?”

  Rowan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “No, not right now. Or at least I don’t think there is. But you saw what I did back there. That much gear, that many weapons…” He shook his head. “Word is going to spread. Once people start asking questions about where it all came from, I’m going to have a lot more problems than just a pack of goblins. People are going to come looking—powerful people—ones I’d rather avoid.”

  “And you can’t stay and deal with it?” Silvia asked, a frown on her face. “We’ve fought off worse.”

  “This isn’t a fight we can win,” Rowan said. “The people who are going to come looking if there’s even the slightest suspicion I’m here aren’t going to be Yellow-core mages and Gold-ranked adventurers. They’re going to be Archmages and Praetorians. And they’ll tear this place apart to find me.”

  Quinea’s face flashed in his mind. She was a strong leader, but Litwick was an insignificant city in an insignificant region. If anyone from a Great House came sniffing, she would be forced to bow her head, and Rowan didn’t want to put her—or the town—in that position.

  “Why do they want you dead?” Silvia asked. “I know your family is… gone,” she said gently. “But your House isn’t just your family, right? You have vassals, allies, people who’d be willing to help you.”

  That was true. Rowan knew he had allies in the north. People who’d sworn their loyalty to his father, and if not that, who’d at least be willing to help him if he came calling.

  Horus was one of those men. But for starters, he had no way of getting to him, and trusting someone to cast [Message] wasn’t something Rowan was willing to risk.

  “Simple,” Rowan answered. He focused, willing his title to appear. “Scan me.”

  Even though he couldn’t see it himself, Rowan knew what appeared over his head.

  [Duke of Eiselyth]

  “I’m still the rightful ruler of the north,” he said. “Even if I have neither the power, nor the authority to exercise that right.”

  Rowan sighed. “The Great Houses… some of them are just. But others?” he shook his head. “They crave power. They crave riches. And the north is the most powerful, and the richest region in the kingdom. House Davar currently holds Eiselyth, and I’m sure they’re doing everything they can to get the title I currently hold.”

  He willed it away, hiding it once more.

  “And if they figure out the reason they can’t get it is because I have it?” he chuckled. “It seems pretty obvious what they’d do.”

  “So that’s it?” Omi asked, his voice tinged with frustration. “You just vanish and leave us behind? After everything?”

  Rowan’s chest tightened. He had known this moment would come, but it was harder than he’d imagined. “It’s not that I want to leave. But I don’t have a choice. If I stay, I risk everything. I risk my life, and I risk yours too.”

  Silvia looked up, her face set in a stubborn scowl. “So what? We’ve been in danger since the day we became adventurers. You think we’d just let you get taken? Get killed?”

  “Sil, these aren’t bandits or goblins we’re talking about,” Rowan replied, his voice steady. “These are people with power. Real power. People who can level mountains with a swing of their swords and raise oceans with a wave of their hands. They could wipe Litwick off the map without breaking a sweat.”

  Annie stood abruptly, her fists clenched at her side. “And you think we’ll just let you leave like that?” Her voice was low, intense. “You’re one of us, Rowan. You don’t get to make this decision alone.”

  Rowan met her gaze, seeing the determination in her eyes. It was that loyalty that made this so difficult.

  “I’m not asking for your permission,” Rowan said softly. “I’m leaving. This is just me informing you of that fact.”

  She gritted her teeth, taking a menacing step closer.

  “Then we’re coming with you,” Nemir said firmly, standing up.

  Rowan blinked. “What?”

  Nemir crossed his arms, staring him down. “You heard me. We’re not letting you go off on your own. If you’re leaving, then we’re coming with you.”

  Rowan’s heart skipped a beat. He wanted this. Wanted it more than he could admit, even to himself. But he knew it wasn’t that simple.

  “Didn’t you hear a single word I just said?” his tone grew frustrated, though not at them.

  Silvia stood up as well, standing next to Nemir and Annie. “We’re not asking for your permission,” she stubbornly crossed her arms. “This is just us informing you of what’s going to happen.”

  Omi nodded in agreement. “You think we’re just going to sit here while you run off into the unknown? Not a chance.”

  Rowan opened his mouth to protest, but the words wouldn’t come. He looked at each of them—Annie’s fierce loyalty, Nemir’s unyielding resolve, Silvia’s determined stare, Omi’s mischievous grin, and Zoe’s quiet solidarity—and he realized something profound.

  These people were more than just his friends, and though he wasn’t ready to say the word that popped into his mind just yet, it warmed his heart nonetheless.

  Rowan swallowed the lump in his throat, wiping at his eyes. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “You don’t understand,” he repeated. “I’m not going to Tumbleton, or Sheercliff, or anywhere close. I’m going to the Stormspire Heights.”

  He’d decided on that region for the simple reason that it was as far away from Litwick as it got. On the western border of the kingdom, next to the elven tribes of the Galabar forests. The weakest monsters there were high Silver, with most of them being Gold. Which meant Auras. And out of the five of them, only Nemir had one.

  The swordsman stepped forward, clapping Rowan on the shoulder. “Where you go, we go,” he said firmly.

  “The Stormspire Heights?” Omi frowned. “That’s going to be a long walk. Like, years. At least.”

  Rowan sighed, pulling out a teleportation token from the Vault. He raised his hand, holding the enchanted piece of parchment. “It’s going to take exactly one minute.”

  That seemed to stump them, so he explained how they worked. How the token teleported a person to a random location in the Wilds. Alone.

  Rowan had a solution to that, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to voice it.

  The teleportation tokens came with a beacon—a way for him to have at least a single location he could return to. He could brave the Wilds alone and have them teleport once he made it to a settlement, but that wasn’t what stopped him.

  Associating with him was dangerous, in the truest sense of the word.

  “I can’t ask that of you,” Rowan fists clenched. But even as he spoke, the warmth in his chest didn’t falter. “If the worst happens. If someone finds out who I am…” he trailed off, unable to voice his concerns.

  To him, it felt like an hour passed before someone spoke.

  “If you ask me, the solution is pretty straightforward,” Silvia shrugged. “We just have to get stronger. If the problem is that we don’t have Aura’s, then we’ll just get them.”

  She looked around. “I know I’ll get mine as soon as I reach peak Iron. That battle gave me all the Insight I needed. Give me a few weeks to advance, and I’ll be all set.”

  “Likewise,” Annie said firmly.

  “Same,” followed Omi.

  Zoe closed her book, seemingly satisfied with what she read. “My vow to follow you is not contingent on you agreeing,” she said. “However, it would make the task easier.”

  Rowan let out a strained chuckle. They were willing to follow him. To go into the unknown just so they wouldn’t have to part ways. He’d expected resistance, but this? This was beyond anything he’d anticipated.

  He stared at his friends, each of them standing tall, their faces resolute. It wasn’t just loyalty or camaraderie that drove them; it was something deeper, something unshakable. They weren’t willing to let him go—not because they felt obligated, but because they truly believed they were in this together, no matter the cost.

  He opened his mouth to protest again, to argue that they didn’t understand what they were getting into, but something stopped him. A realization washed over him, silencing his objections.

  They already made their decision.

  Rowan swallowed hard, trying to gather his thoughts. “You’re… willing to risk your lives for this? For me?”

  Nemir gave him a firm nod. “It’s not just for you, Rowan. We’ve all fought for each other. It doesn't matter where you go or how dangerous it is—we’re in this together.”

  Annie stepped forward, her gaze never leaving his. “We’re the Crimson Grove. We don’t leave our own behind.”

  Silvia grinned. “Besides, you’d be bored to death without us.”

  Rowan’s heart swelled with gratitude. For the first time in years, he didn’t feel like he was carrying his burdens alone. These people were willing to shoulder that weight with him, no matter how heavy it became.

  He exhaled slowly, the tension finally draining away. “Alright,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Alright. We do this together.”

  Rowan looked at each of them, feeling a deep sense of peace settle over him.

  They were right. Whatever dangers lay ahead, they would face them together.

  And for the first time since he left Eiselyth, Rowan didn’t feel so alone.

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