Nerion's eyes fluttered open.
The darkness that had enveloped him began to fade, peeling away like ash caught in the wind.
He was no longer in the dungeon.
He could feel it—the air, fresh and warm. The scent of blood and stone had vanished, replaced by something more familiar. He blinked slowly, his vision still adjusting. Smooth ceilings. Polished wood. Linen sheets beneath him.
And then came the voice. Deep. Steady.
"It seems you're fine now, Nerion."
His father.
Even through the haze, he recognized the voice instantly.
A soft sound followed—clapping. Two people, deliberate, slow.
Nerion turned his head. His thoughts were still blurred, but the scene sharpened moment by moment. He was in the medical wing of his family estate. The infirmary. His bed was surrounded.
The memory came rushing back—the beast. The blood. The death.
That wasn't a dream.
He pushed himself up slightly, eyes scanning the room.
His sister must've carried him back.
Five people were present.
Elyra, the family's chief healer, stood near his bed, her hands glowing faintly as she finished a healing spell. She nodded calmly as she checked the runes on his bandages.
"He's all healed now," she said. "In a week, he'll be in prime health again."
His father, Count Alaric, stood with his arms behind his back, his expression unreadable, yet his gaze never left Nerion. Not cold. Not warm. Just… focused.
Beside him stood Lady Evelyne, his mother. Her eyes were sharp with worry, though her face remained composed. Her arms were folded, her lips tight, but she was there.
And his brothers—Riven and Aelric—leaned casually against the far wall, clapping slowly.
Nerion looked around once more, disbelief still lingering.
But he was alive.
He was home.
⸻
the morning light filtering through the arched windows of the estate's healing wing, casting a soft golden hue across his armor.
"You've got a few days," he said, his voice low but firm. "Recover well, Nerion. Everything's ready. Your bags, your papers, your pass for Emberhold."
Nerion didn't respond right away. His body was still sore, his mind heavy with the echoes of the battle, but he met his father's gaze. There was pride in it, but beneath it—something else. A shadow of unease, carefully hidden behind the steel of command.
"The Tower and the Royal Academy await," Alaric added. "You've earned it. You're ready."
Then, with a hand calloused from war but gentle with his son, he patted Nerion's head once—lightly, as though reminding himself the boy was still flesh and blood.
Without another word, he turned, boots silent against the polished stone floor. Just before reaching the door, he paused. Nerion caught it—that brief hesitation, the breath his father held but didn't speak. Then, without a second glance, he left.
Nerion lay back, his gaze drifting to the ceiling. The look in his father's eyes… it wasn't fear.
It was the weight of knowing what came next.
⸻
After his father left, the door opened once more.
His mother stepped near him ,
She didn't speak immediately—just approached with calm steps, her eyes soft. Without a word, she leaned down and kissed Nerion on the forehead.
"You don't need to worry about anything," she said gently. "Everything's fine now. Just focus on getting better. Recover fast."
Her voice was calm, yet there was something behind it—a quiet strength only a mother could possess.
After a brief pause, she gave him a small nod and turned to follow his father.
The room fell silent once again.
Nerion stared at the ceiling, the warmth of her touch lingering on his skin.
⸻
Once their mother had gone, Elyra lingered only a moment longer. She adjusted the runemade monitor, checked the healing meter one last time, then glanced at Nerion with her usual calm professionalism.
"You're stable. Bones mended, tissue restored. Just rest—everything's fine now."
With that, she packed up her tools and quietly left the room.
And then, there were only his brothers.
The silence didn't last long.
He could already hear them shifting in their seats—mischief crackling in the air like static before a storm.
Riven grinned. Aelric raised a brow.
And Nerion knew—whatever peace he had was about to end.
⸻
His brothers didn't waste time.
"Well done," Riven said, leaning in with a half-smile. "You actually killed an awakened beast on your first try."
"Yeah," Aelric added, his eyes gleaming. "Not bad for the baby of the family. But do you even know what you killed?"
Nerion blinked. "A… fangbeast?"
Riven chuckled. "That thing was Ember Rank. Tier 2."
Nerion's brow furrowed. "Wait, what? I know we were both Ember Rank, but what's this about tier?"
Aelric gave him a look like he'd just asked how to hold a sword. "Right. You wouldn't know. Tiers are like… sub-ranks. Each Rank has ten of them. Minor milestones. That fangbeast had two mana circles already formed. That's Tier 2."
Nerion's eyes widened. "So… I'm Tier 1?"
"Yeah," Riven nodded. "But humans at the same tier are generally weaker than monsters or beasts with cores. And you still won. That's something."
Nerion exhaled, remembering the blood, the claws, the sheer weight of the beast's charge. "It was already wounded."
"Still counts," Aelric grinned. "Most people wouldn't have lasted thirty seconds."
Nerion shook his head. "Why doesn't anyone ever tell me this stuff?"
"Because you were unawakened," Riven replied. "It's restricted. Too dangerous to dump this kind of info on someone before they're ready. Now? You've stepped into the real world."
Aelric leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "I think Seraphine took you to that dungeon on purpose. Probably wanted to show you what real combat feels like—test your instincts a bit and tell you more about the awakened. That fall threw things off, sure… but I doubt anything in that dungeon could even scratch her."
"Hmm, we got separated. I know it would've taken her seconds to kill that beast," Nerion muttered.
"That thing was an anomaly. Only Tier 1 beasts should've been in that part of the dungeon," Riven said. "She probably meant for you to fight a Tier 1, not something like that."
Nerion leaned his head back against the pillow, eyes on the ceiling. His ribs still ached faintly beneath the healed skin, but the fight had been real. The fear, the pressure, the blood—it had taught him more than a dozen lectures ever could.
He was in the world now.
And there was no turning back.
⸻
Riven tossed a nearby fruit into the air, catching it lazily. "Honestly, I thought you'd cry down there."
"I did," Nerion muttered. "Inside."
Aelric burst out laughing. "He's honest, I'll give him that."
"You'd better be," Riven said, standing to stretch. "Because from now on, crying inside won't be enough. You'll need to kill before anything kills you."
As the two bantered, Nerion's eyes drifted—not on them, but inward. A memory bubbled up: just before he lost consciousness, when the fangbeast's last breath rattled out, something strange had happened.
A light—warm and alive—had floated from the beast's dying body and passed into him. Not smoke. Not blood. Light.
His brows furrowed.
He summoned his system panel.
It flickered into existence before his eyes, faint lines of gold forming a semi-transparent screen. And there, sitting at the bottom edge of his inventory, was something new.
A Soul Card.
Unopened.
"…Hey," Nerion said slowly, "I think I got something. A card. Just… appeared after the fight."
Both brothers stopped.
"You serious?" Aelric leaned in, instantly alert.
Riven stepped closer. "Let me guess. It floated into you after the beast died?"
Nerion nodded.
"Yeah, that's normal," Riven said. "Awakened beings many times leave behind a Soul Card when they die. These cards might be their own, or if they don't have one, it could be a changed part of their existence. If you're the one who kills them—or if your summon does—it belongs to you."
"And if you killed someone's summon," Aelric added, "they turn into Card Shards. Can be used to rebuild or make new cards, but it's a loss."
Riven crossed his arms. "That card you got? That's your right. Your kill, your reward. Not every low-tier beast drops one, though. You got lucky."
Nerion stared at the shimmering card icon in the panel. Its details were hidden behind a golden lock—waiting.
"So it's like loot?"
"But in small dungeons like the one Seraphine took you to, drops are rare."
"But not in the Tower," Aelric added. "In the Tower, everything drops a card. No exceptions."
Nerion exhaled slowly.
He stared at the glowing outline of the card.
It pulsed once—like it was breathing.
Waiting.
Nerion tapped the glowing card.
The edges pulsed once—then shattered into golden sparks.
Light burst outward, brighter than before, sharp and radiant like a blade of the sun cutting through fog. His brothers stepped back instinctively, shielding their eyes. Energy roared out of the card in a soundless wave, pulsing through the infirmary like a silent bell strike.
Then the projection appeared.
⸻
[Soul Card Unlocked]
Grade: Epic (A+)
Type: Soul Beast
Name: ??? (Unhatched)
Form: Soul Beast Egg – Bound (Unhatched)