​"Brother... I thought you were never going to wake up!" Emma wailed, her small hands gripping his shirt like a lifeline. She couldn’t even catch her breath as she spoke. "Brother, Father is... he’s..."

​She couldn’t finish the sentence, her voice breaking into a fresh wave of agonizing sobs as the reality of their father’s death crashed over her again. The sheer weight of her sorrow seemed to suck all the air out of the grand, dimly lit bedroom.

​"I know, Emma. I was there," Kael murmured, gently wrapping his arms around the trembling girl. He could feel her tiny shoulders shaking violently against him. "I’m so sorry. This weak brother of yours couldn’t do anything to protect him. I just stared."

​As Emma looked up at him, her tear-filled, puffy red eyes met his. Suddenly, a sharp, twisting ache bloomed in Kael’s gut. It was a visceral, painful feeling he completely despised. He wasn’t used to dealing with such raw, heavy grief, but the residual soul of Ian Thorne was forcefully bleeding through, fusing with his own consciousness. He hated seeing this girl cry. Her tears were soaking right through his thin sleepwear. Even though she wasn’t his real sister, the moment he accepted the memory integration, this family became his family. And he was going to do whatever it took to protect them.

​"Don’t worry, brother. I know you couldn’t do anything," Emma sobbed, burying her face back into his chest to comfort him.

​To Emma, it was a gentle reassurance, a way to tell him she didn’t blame him. But to Kael, those words felt like a physical slap to the face. You couldn’t do anything. In his mind, it translated to one simple, humiliating truth: You are weak. He gritted his teeth, a flicker of genuine anger and determination lighting up his eyes in the dark room. He promised himself right then and there that no one in this kingdom would ever be permitted to call him weak again.

​"I’m sorry, Emma," he repeated, his voice much steadier now. He gently separated from her, keeping his hands firmly on her shoulders to ground her. "By the way, where is Mother and Emily? I don’t see them with you."

​Emma wiped her runny nose with the back of her wrinkled sleeve. "Mom and Sis left the estate. They went to the city to find a Mage to heal you. You were unconscious for two whole days, Ian. Your injuries looked really bad... The estate doctor said you might not make it."

​Kael frowned deeply. Two days? He hadn’t realized the system’s soul assimilation had knocked him out for that long. No wonder Emma was a wreck; she had been sitting vigil beside what she thought was a corpse.

​But his frown deepened for a different, much more calculating reason. Mages in the Trillah Kingdom charged sky-high prices for their services, especially for advanced healing magic. To them, a powerless noble family with no political connections like the Thornes were absolute nobodies. Many Mages would refuse their coins entirely, figuring that associating with them would put them in a bad spot with the other wealthy nobles. They would simply conclude the Thorne family wasn’t worth the trouble, even if they had the money ready in hand.

​Going to the Atlas Church for help was an even bigger ’no’. Kael didn’t know who started the vicious rumor in the Church that the Thorne family was cursed with tainted blood, but because of it, the Holy faction refused to associate with them at all. There was once a kind-hearted priest who healed the current family head’s son, Adam, as a favor. But within a week, that priest vanished from the capital and was never found. This caused the other priests to view them in a completely negative, terrifying way. Someone at the very top of the social ladder really didn’t like the Thornes, and they weren’t even afraid to touch the untouchable Church to prove their point.

​"Brother... brother... Ian... Ian!"

​Kael blinked, snapping out of his deep, strategic thoughts. He hadn’t even realized Emma was calling his name in the background, her voice growing increasingly frantic.

​"IAN!" Emma shouted at him, giving his arm a light shake.

​"Sorry, Emma. I was thinking about something," he replied, forcing a soft, apologetic smile. I guess I really should get used to being called Ian, he thought to himself.

​"Ian, I have a question," she sniffled, her crying finally subsiding as a look of intense curiosity washed over her face.

​"Oooh, what is it?" he asked gently. Even though he answered casually, he already knew exactly what question was coming, and he already had a foolproof answer prepared.

​"Brother... how did you heal so quickly?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly as her eyes drifted to his clean stomach. "Because when I saw you carried in, there was so much blood. I thought you were going to leave me too." He could see her shaking again, fresh tears welling up inside her eyes at the horrific memory.

​Ian sighed, sitting down heavily on the mattress, and started explaining. "When they killed Father, I ran into the forest. The assassins didn’t chase me right away. Maybe they thought of me as a game or something, or because I was such a weakling, they didn’t need to put much effort in."

​He clenched his fists, letting a dark, angry expression show on his face, before continuing. It wasn’t entirely an act; he genuinely despised the memory of Ian running away.

​"While I was running, tripping over the roots in the dark, I thought running was useless. I asked myself, ’Am I going to die today?’ Sorry, let me spare you from this sob story..."

​"No, no, it’s alright. Continue, I want to know," she interjected quickly, leaning in closer.

​Ian nodded. "Okay then. When I fell down in the dirt, my hand felt something strangely warm and glowing in the mud. When I took a closer look, it was a muddy bronze necklace that looked really ancient, covered in strange symbols. But I didn’t have time to mesmerize over it, because I heard sounds. The crunching of leaves. It was the assassins."

​Ian’s face tightened, showing authentic signs of pain and anguish. "The assassins saw me down and they stabbed my leg so I couldn’t run anymore. They wanted to stab me again, but this time straight through my heart. I threw my hands up to block it, but the pendant in my hand shined so bright—brighter than the sun—and it protected me. I lost consciousness. When I woke up, I was in here all healed, and the pendant was gone. Turned to dust. I guess it gave up its magic to heal me."