Not all great houses passed their legacies easily. A family head, even one steeped in the deep ether, faced no simple task in naming a direct descendant as successor. The inherent aptitude for immense power, for tapping into the primal currents of the world, was a capricious gift. Its transmission to children was barely more likely than inheriting a specific height or hair color. Within a sprawling house, dozens of relatives often shared the same generation, each a potential vessel for the family's strength.
Since their bloodlines traced back to common, ancient ancestors, one cousin or distant kin often manifested a stronger connection than the head’s direct children. “In such lines, when a child with the greatest raw talent emerges, they receive unwavering support from their earliest years.”
Lyra Valerius, youngest daughter of the House Valerius head, exemplified this. Her mother came from a minor noble branch, yet Lyra’s innate power defied expectation. Her eldest sibling had manifested a maternal bloodline affinity, sent through adoption to that side of the family. A second child was deemed merely competent. Another, born of a secondary spouse, showed strong talent, but still paled before Lyra.
Lyra possessed not only formidable innate power but a natural brilliance for mastering its complexities. After her awakening, she needed only ten years. She had mastered not only Valerius’s unique primal manipulations but a vast array of combat rituals. With the full might of the house behind her, her power, even at twenty-one, matched that of core family members. People whispered she might become one of the most potent Valerius heads in history, perhaps even strong enough to dismantle the remnants of the ancient Zahar domains.
“With that much power at her age,” Finn remarked quietly, “did they perhaps grant her all the ancestral attunements within the family?”
Kaelen nodded, a grim set to his jaw. “Precisely. Even our great-grandfather’s essence. Though we all received our own measure, of course.”
Ancient lore spoke of all powerful beings leaving behind an echo, a residue of their energy, even in death. Sometimes, these echoes coalesced, giving rise to restless spirits or localized ley line disturbances. A potent practitioner’s power, too, could be absorbed. Kaelen and Finn, when burying the fallen retinue, had felt the faint, lingering resonance from the Ashworth wards.
Within House Valerius, this process was called 'ancestral attunement.' It focused the lingering elemental energy of deceased nobles, those who passed from old age or accident, into a select few talented young practitioners. This ensured a steady accumulation of power within the family, negating the need for dangerous, distant pilgrimages to active ley lines. Others, less fortunate in their inheritance, had to seek out potent beast-kin or wild elemental founts with diligence.
‘No wonder great families hold such sway,’ Finn thought, a flicker of something akin to envy stirring within him. He pushed it down. His own gifts, raw and untamed as they were, were a profound blessing. Finn snapped his fingers, a small spark of friction heat appearing. It elongated, briefly becoming a needle of rock, then a shard, a blunt spear, and finally, a crude axe head, all conjured from the dust and grit beneath his boot. It vanished.
Kaelen chuckled, shaking his head. “Stone shaping? You’ve added three more forms since yesterday?”
“Only the most basic,” Finn replied.
“Damn it, I still struggle with simple earth warding.”
They walked and talked, yet their minds never truly rested from their craft. Kaelen watched Finn’s intuitive earth manipulations daily. It fueled a renewed desire to practice the combat rituals he’d neglected. He vowed never again to stand by helplessly as his people died.
Kaelen shared his theoretical knowledge of various spells, much of it echoing lessons Finn had gleaned from the ruins of Khem. In return, Finn demonstrated simple earth manipulations and the fundamental laws of resonance he’d instinctively understood. He held back, of course, the deeper currents he could feel, the true extent of his connection to the buried earth. The mention of ancient Zahar echoes in Kaelen’s family’s rituals, a subtle link to his own fragmented ancestry, kept him guarded.
Through these exchanges, Finn gauged the pace of an ordinary practitioner’s learning. ‘Even focusing on one ritual, it takes days to internalize. And even then, it’s not battle-ready. Without constant practice, it fades…’ Finn reminded himself not to grow complacent, watching Kaelen struggle with a minor tremor ritual. How could he dare be arrogant, knowing of Lyra Valerius, a peer with similar, perhaps even stronger, innate power?
“By the way, Finn,” Kaelen asked, breaking the silence, “have you considered the artifact you’ll choose?”
“I have a few ideas.”
Finn’s initial thought had been an artifact imbued with restorative energies. His own ability, while potent for manipulation, offered little for mending flesh. He’d vaguely understood the principles of healing from ancient texts, enough to close minor cuts. But that level of power was useless in true combat. His nascent connection to the deep earth, while powerful, didn’t naturally lean towards restoration.
The issue lay in his own developing abilities. What if the deeper currents within him, yet unawakened, were indeed tied to a restorative principle? Then, an artifact for healing would be redundant. He also considered something universally useful, unrelated to his bloodline, a tool to better understand the deep earth. Yet, he hadn't settled on a final choice.
Kaelen grinned, observing Finn’s contemplation. “No rush. You’ll stay at my family’s estate for a while, yes?”
“Not long. My journey continues.”
“Don’t be so hasty, friend. We have time.” Kaelen’s words held an echo of something vast. Finn, a mortal man, would live to see children grow old and die, and their children after them. This world offered a grand, almost unsettling expanse of time to those touched by power.
Finn shook his head, a wry smile touching his lips. Why did this world seem to offer so many pathways to arrogance?
---
Since leaving the Barrens, Finn marveled at the slow shift in the landscape. The further inland they traveled, the greener, the more watered, the world became. From sparse, scrub-choked hills, they moved through stretches of dense, low-growing forests. Streams, clear and cold, cut through the land, feeding into broader rivers. Vast plains spread, covered in rich meadows, where any seed seemed eager to sprout.
To a quiet wanderer who had known only the rocky slopes of the Barrens and the hard-scrabble life of Khem, this place felt like paradise. But now, Finn realized that even that 'abundance' was a mere illusion.
Golden grain fields. They stretched so far, even with Finn’s sharpened senses, their end remained unseen. They had walked for half a day, yet the fields showed no sign of receding. This sheer amount of grain, Finn thought, could feed all the people of every village and city they had passed, with ample to spare.
“It truly might,” Kaelen said, shrugging. “People often get lost in these fields, I hear.”
This vast, cultivated expanse was known as the Shifting Sands. After fifteen days of travel from the last small settlement – a journey that would take an ordinary human a month or two – they finally reached the core domain of House Valerius. At the heart of these plains stood Stonefall, the Valerius stronghold. Scattered around its edges were satellite towns, ruled by vassal families like Kaelen’s own House Ashworth.
The region’s population was said to be in the millions, a scale Finn found difficult to even imagine. Once within the Shifting Sands, Kaelen no longer needed to ask for directions. He guided them straight towards Oakhaven, the Ashworth territory, without stopping another traveler.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery streaks, they reached Oakhaven’s tightly shut gates. Kaelen hammered loudly, a voice from above shouting down. “Curfew has begun! Return at dawn!”
“It’s me, Jael!” Kaelen yelled back, using a familiar nickname.
“Young master Kaelen?”
A guard, positioned atop the five-meter-high fort wall, enforcing the curfew, scrambled down immediately. “It truly is you, young master! Your pilgrimage is done? And the others…?”
“They’ve joined the celestial dust,” Kaelen replied, his boisterous cheer dissolving. “I’ll explain later. For now, can we rest? And please, inform my parents of my return.” His face, usually so animated, tightened. The forced cheerfulness he’d maintained for days now crumbled, revealing the raw grief beneath. It would take Kaelen a long time, Finn realized, to truly process such a loss. Perhaps, he might never fully overcome it.
A short time later, they arrived at House Ashworth’s central dwelling, following Oakhaven’s main thoroughfare. A message had sped ahead. Kaelen’s entire family awaited him. A middle-aged woman in an extravagant gown rushed forward first. Her dark, braided hair and striking resemblance to Kaelen made her identity clear: his mother.
“Kaelen, my dear boy! What happened to you?”
“Mother!”
Finn felt a quiet shock as a man who looked to be in his twenties, yet who Kaelen had implied was much older, threw himself into her arms, proudly crying ‘Mother!’ The scene was jarring. This was Elara Ashworth, the matriarch, Kaelen’s mother.
Behind her stood a man who appeared to be her husband, and a young man slightly older than Kaelen. From earlier whispers, Finn recognized them: Kaelen’s father and his older brother, the family heir.
“Kaelen, decorum,” his father’s voice, calm and firm, cut through the reunion. “Address your mother properly.”
“F-Father. Apologies.” Kaelen flinched, lowering his head. He quickly turned, gesturing towards Finn. “This is Finn, a new friend I made in the south. He risked his life to save me when I was on the brink of death. If not for him, I wouldn’t have returned.”
Elara’s gaze, sharp and assessing, moved to Finn. “Your pilgrimage should not have led you to such peril. What transpired?”
“We were ambushed by Sand-Weavers,” Kaelen reported the detailed situation, his voice tinged with the emotion of a child recounting a trauma. He described the sudden attack, the relentless constructs, his subordinates falling, and his own collapse. He spoke of waking to find Finn had already dealt with the threat.
Lady Elara, the matriarch, blazed with fury. Her face hardened, eyes narrowing to slits. “Sand-Weavers! Those soulless constructs dared to target my child? I’ll lead a contingent myself and tear them to dust—”
“Calm yourself, Head. Eyes are upon us.” Her husband’s quiet words seemed to rein in her immediate explosion, but Elara’s eyes remained bloodshot, simmering with rage.
Compared to her fiery personality, Kaelen’s father, a man of quiet gravitas, seemed far more composed. He turned to Finn, his expression unreadable. “May I inquire, benefactor, to which family you belong?”
“That is difficult to say.” Finn’s voice was even, his posture relaxed.
“Difficult?” The father’s brow furrowed slightly.
“Yes. More accurately, I do not know well.” Finn offered no further explanation. He did not speak of distant, forgotten bloodlines, nor of ancient houses whose names might stir old rivalries. He simply was.