Chapter 40: The Bone Throne of the Patriarch

The wind at the base of the Jagged Peaks did not howl; it vibrated.

Every step Valerian took upward along the narrow, calcified trail sent low, resonant hums echoing through the marrow of his legs. The blood-red sky above had turned into a bruised, violent purple, heavy with the weight of ancient dragon-awe.

Valerian’s left hand remained useless, hanging at his side with the wrist bone entirely collapsed, held together by nothing more than torn sinew and dried dragon-blood. His silk shirt was shredded down to his waist, revealing the crisscrossing scars of phantom whip marks that burned with a deep, chemical heat.

Yet, he didn’t slow down.

’Valerian, stop for three minutes,’ Wren pleaded from within his inner sea. Her ethereal golden form sat cross-legged near his Blood Dragon Core, weaving threads of pure dragon-marrow energy around his cracked ribs to keep his left lung from collapsing.

’The domain ahead is changing. It’s no longer pulling from your childhood memories or your execution block. The atmosphere up there is dense with high-sovereign intent.’

"I can feel it," Valerian murmured, his raspy voice cutting through the whistling wind. He wiped a mixture of sweat and dark blood from his exposed left cheekbone.

Without his blindfold, the cold mountain air bit directly into his eyes, but his vision remained terrifyingly clear.

"It’s not a memory of my weakness."

’Then what is it?’

"It’s the man who created it."

He stepped off the rocky trail and onto a vast, perfectly flat plateau suspended over a sea of swirling crimson fog.

In the center of the plateau sat a colossal throne forged entirely from the fused spines of ancient, long-extinct Blood Beasts.

Resting upon the throne, bathed in the dark, oppressive glow of a suspended void-orb, was a figure that made the very air of the Ancestral Plain collapse inward.

Broad-shouldered, six-foot-five, clad in black-iron pauldrons and dark crimson battle robes—Icarus Prim Sanguis.

The Patriarch of the House of Blood.

He sat with one arm resting casually on the armrest of the bone throne, his face shrouded in deep shadow, save for the twin points of absolute, terrifying void-black light burning beneath his brow.

He didn’t radiate malice.

He didn’t radiate rage.

He radiated pure, unadulterated authority—the kind of pressure that forced mountains to bow and sovereigns to snap their own knees in submission.

’It’s a projection of Icarus’s sovereign intent!’ Wren warned, her wings expanding inside his core to absorb the sudden spike in environmental pressure.

’The Ancestral Plain recorded his aura when he last entered this ground! Valerian, this isn’t a phantom of your guilt—it’s an exact manifestation of his soul-pressure!’

Valerian’s knees buckled immediately.

BOOOOOOM!

The phantom Void-Sovereign Aura slammed down upon the plateau like a falling star.

The calcified stone beneath Valerian’s boots cracked in a radial pattern. The immense pressure forced his broken left arm to grind violently against his ribs, sending a fresh wave of excruciating agony through his nervous system.

" Kneel," a voice boomed—not through the air, but directly into the structural integrity of Valerian’s bones.

It was the exact voice of his father.

Cold.

Emotionless.

Absolute.

Valerian slammed his right hand onto the head of his black chitin staff, driving the base deep into the cracking stone to anchor himself.

His teeth ground together so hard a trickle of crimson leaked past his lips.

"I... will not..." Valerian gritted out, his single exposed crimson-gold eye locked onto the figure on the throne.

’Look at you,’ the projection of Icarus spoke, its voice devoid of any familial warmth, vibrating with the terrifying weight of a man who had slaughtered armies to keep his clan alive.

’A broken arm. Ruined pathways. Bleeding like a slaughtered pig on the stones of your ancestors. You enter the plain seeking dragon-marrow, yet you cannot even stand under one percent of my intent.’

The aura heavy-pressed downward.

CRACK!

Valerian’s right knee slammed into the rock, shattering the flagstone beneath it.

The void-black pressure was suffocating his Blood Dragon Core, trying to forcibly snuff out the golden-red flame inside his chest.

’You were born without aura,’ the Patriarch’s projection continued, stepping down from the bone throne.

Every step he took left a footprint of black, burning void-fire on the stone.

’I was allowed to live because your mother begged, but weakness is a crime that the world never forgives.’

Valerian’s vision blurred.

The memory flared: standing in the grand hall of the Sanguis Citadel at seven years old, watching his father turn his back on him after the Awakening Ceremony declared him aura-less.

The absolute, freezing silence of that massive hall.

The way the clan elders looked at him as if he were already dead.

’He’s trying to crush your resolve!’ Wren roared in his mind, her golden aura flaring around his heart to resist the void-pressure.

’Valerian, use the Sovereign’s Guilt Eyes! Invert the pressure!’

"No..." Valerian choked out, his right arm shaking as he held the staff.

"The eyes... won’t work on him."

’What?!’

"You can’t intimidate a sovereign... with guilt... if he feels none," Valerian rasped, a bitter, bloody smirk breaking across his pale lips.

"My father... doesn’t regret a single life he took. He doesn’t regret... throwing me into the dirt."

’Then how do you break his intent?!’

Valerian closed his eyes for a fraction of a second.

He remembered his past life—sitting in the cold dungeon, hating Icarus.

Hating him for not sending the Sanguis Vanguard to tear down the imperial walls.

Hating him for letting Vespera lead a suicidal charge alone.

He had spent his entire previous life believing his father hated him.

But in this second life, after standing before Icarus in the citadel, after watching the subtle, hidden maneuvers the Patriarch made behind the scenes to test him... Valerian had finally understood the terrifying truth of Icarus Prim Sanguis.

Icarus didn’t hate the weak.

He simply refused to let a weak child survive in a world that would torture him to death.

"You built this clan... out of blood and bones," Valerian said, his voice rising, breaking through the crushing void-pressure as he slowly, agonizingly forced his right leg to straighten.

’Valerian, your leg bone is cracking!’ Wren cried out.

"You treated us like weapons..." Valerian continued, his exposed crimson-gold eye burning through the void-black fog, staring straight into the illusion of his father.

"You made Vespera a monster of slaughter. You made Morrigan an executioner. You made the twins meat-shields.

"And you left me in the dark... to see if I would die or adapt."

He took a step forward.

The Void-Sovereign Aura surged, trying to tear his flesh from his bones, but Valerian didn’t try to block it with dragon-mana.

He didn’t try to use spatial leverage.

He absorbed the pressure directly into his Blood Dragon Core, letting his soul convert the crushing weight of his father’s authority into raw, unrefined fuel.

"You wanted an apex predator for an heir, Patriarch?" Valerian snarled, his voice dropping into a deep, guttural register that vibrated with the roar of an unshackled dragon.

He pulled his black chitin staff from the stone and slammed it down with his right hand.

BOOOOOOM!

The spatial boundary around the plateau shattered.

The void-black aura was forcibly torn open as a pillar of black-scarlet dragon lightning erupted from Valerian’s core, tearing through the projection of the throne.

The shadow of Icarus Prim Sanguis paused.

For the first time, the cold, void-black eyes of the illusion widened slightly.

"I am not your weapon," Valerian whispered, stepping through the fading void-fire, his gaze absolute and terrifying.

"I am the consequence of your bloodline."

The projection of the Patriarch gave a single, almost imperceptible nod before dissolving into a cloud of pure, golden dragon-marrow mist that surged directly into Valerian’s chest.

Valerian stood atop the peak, his body battered, his left arm broken, but his Blood Dragon Core thrumming with the ancient, unyielding strength of his true lineage.