Novel Full Chapter 303: Kid
Chapter 303: Kid
The chamber had gone still, but Dominic remained awake. He stood in his quarters, arms folded behind his back, gazing through the tall window that overlooked the moonlit edge of the estate. He wasn’t watching anything in particular. His eyes were sharp, but turned inward.
Thoughts of Damien looped like a slow-burning mantra.
[Cradle of Primordials.]
He didn’t say it aloud. The words didn’t need voice to weigh heavy.
It was the oldest method. The rawest. The one their house hadn’t dared use for over five centuries.
Not because it was forbidden.
Because it was lethal.
The Cradle did not coax a core into forming. It didn’t teach. It devoured. It broke the Awakened down to dust, pulled them through the eye of the storm, and remade what was left—if anything remained.
Dominic’s jaw tensed slightly.
He had known it would come to this. Known the moment Damien asked to awaken through it.
But still.
He didn’t want to lose his son.
Not to legacy. Not to bloodline pride. Not to an ancient rite carved from extinction and trial.
And yet…
Tonight had confirmed something.
Dominic had seen hundreds of trainees, dozens of Awakenings, and enough potential warped by arrogance to know better than to be impressed quickly.
But Damien…
That wasn’t normal.
His Partial Awakening had already stabilized past the point most initiates could reach with six months of supervised work. His resilience to mana pressure was climbing. His compatibility with Resonation was near perfect. And most damning of all:
He was learning.
Not through structure. Not through routine.
Through contact. Through pressure.
He was watching, adapting, and his will was syncing with the pulse of mana like he had been born for it.
Dominic exhaled slowly, the glass before him fogging slightly at the edges.
He didn’t trust optimism. But neither could he ignore what he’d just seen. Damien hadn’t simply performed. He had answered the Cradle’s call before stepping foot inside it.
“This kid….”
Even though Damien hadn’t fully awakened yet, Dominic knew—deep in his marrow—that what his son had endured tonight placed him in a category all his own. Most couldn’t even tolerate one cycle of concentrated Resonation without sedation. Damien had gone through them all. Back-to-back. With no enhancers. No supports.
And still—he stood.
It was unthinkable.
That kind of alignment, without a core, without even a completed first breath of mana, was unheard of.
If it were anyone else, Dominic would have forcibly pushed them into Awakening right there. He had the method. He had the control. The compatibility was perfect. It would’ve worked. He was sure of it.
But when he looked at Damien—
When he looked into those cold, brilliant blue eyes—
He saw something rare. Not desperation. Not defiance.
Trust.
Damien trusted himself. Believed, truly, that he could walk into the Cradle and come out breathing. Maybe even laughing.
And that trust… held Dominic back.
He turned away from the window, exhaling tightly.
’Sigh…’
A soft knock interrupted the silence. A familiar pattern. Unhurried. Unapologetic.
The door opened before he spoke.
Vivienne stepped through.
Vivienne stepped in with barely a sound, the hem of her nightgown gliding softly across the marble. The pale silk clung gently to her form, marked only by the faint shimmer of the Valeheart sigil near her collarbone. Her hair was pinned loosely, like she’d intended to sleep minutes ago but never made it to the bed.
Dominic didn’t need to look twice.
If this were any other night, she’d already be asleep—head buried beneath pillows, curled under the ambient wards that kept her dreams soft and mana-balanced. He’d be there too, in the quiet rhythm of domestic compromise neither of them ever talked about.
But tonight wasn’t normal.
And neither of them was sleeping.
Vivienne stopped just inside the room, her hands folding at her waist. Her eyes, normally shaded with flirtation or veiled wit, were stripped of all masks.
“How was he?” she asked.
Flat. Crisp. No delay. No playfulness.
Dominic turned to face her fully, and for a moment, he studied that expression—the lines sharpened by tension, the stillness in her stance. She wasn’t furious. She wasn’t afraid.
She was serious.
Deadly so.
He didn’t see that face often.
Not even when the board tried to outvote her. Not when nobles maneuvered to undercut her holdings. Not when House Valeheart nearly lost one of its primary leyline contracts.
No, this was something deeper. Rarer.
Dominic’s jaw set slightly. He knew what that face meant.
’She really cares about him.’
And of course she did. Vivienne doted on Damien in ways that Dominic never could. With her, Damien had never needed to posture. Never needed to measure up. She gave him space where Dominic gave him expectations.
Which was why, when Damien had announced he’d undergo the Cradle…
It had nearly broken her.
Dominic still remembered the fallout. The late-night arguments. The silences that stretched for hours. The days he wasn’t allowed to share the bed—exiled to the lounge, the library, even the sparring quarters.
He’d slept on the floor more nights that week than in the ten years prior.
Because Vivienne didn’t just see Damien as an heir, or even as a son.
She saw him as hers.
Dominic exhaled softly, then replied.
“…He held.”
Vivienne’s gaze didn’t soften.
Dominic continued. “Resonation. Pressure alignment. Even partial imprinting. No sedation. No collapse.”
Her jaw twitched, just once.
“He’s strong,” Dominic added.
Vivienne didn’t blink. “Strong enough?”
Dominic hesitated. Just for a breath.
Then he met her eyes and said quietly, “I think so.”
A long silence stretched between them.
Vivienne’s fingers twitched faintly, then stilled.
Vivienne’s fingers tensed again—this time more consciously—then she unfolded them, smoothing the silk at her hip like she needed something to do with her hands.
“…Mother didn’t like it.”
Dominic’s brow arched, slow and deliberate. “You told your mother?”
Vivienne didn’t flinch. She just met his eyes, dry and steady. “We both know well I can’t hide anything from her.”
Dominic exhaled through his nose—half a sigh, half a resigned grunt. “Wonderful.”
Vivienne’s lips twitched, but not into a smile. There was no warmth in it. Just weight.
“She felt it, Dominic,” she said quietly. “From across the leyline relay. The moment Damien made that decision, the Threads stirred. She said it was like watching a knot form—tight, absolute, and already pulling toward something sharp.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed faintly.
Vivienne continued, softer now. “She didn’t say he’d die. She didn’t say he’d survive. But she did say… he would change. In a way none of us can take back.”
She paused.
“And she warned me. Not as the head of Valeheart. As a mother.”
Dominic studied her face. The control was perfect. The delivery polished.
But her eyes?
There was grief in the corners. And something close to guilt, just beneath the surface.
“She said,” Vivienne whispered, “’don’t try to stop it. Just be there when it ends.’”
Dominic stayed silent for a moment, gaze steady. Then he gave a small nod—reluctant, but certain.
“So… we take it as a confirmation, then?” he asked.
Vivienne’s arms folded loosely across her waist. Her posture was calm, but her voice was quiet steel.
“I guess we do.”
Silence again.
She glanced toward the window, the moonlight casting a thin silver line across the stone floor, before asking, “When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow,” Dominic said. “At dawn.”
Vivienne’s throat worked, once. She didn’t ask why. She already knew. Timing was critical. The mana convergence was peaking. Waiting any longer would be a waste—or worse, a risk.
“All right,” she said softly.
Then, a breath later, her voice thinner but still composed:
“Come to bed soon.”
She didn’t say it as a request. Just a need.
Dominic gave a single nod. “I will.”