The Pillar of Genesis lit up with a dazzling golden light, and every eye in the chamber turned toward the girl standing before it—her palm resting calmly against the ancient stone.
A girl with blue hair and an expression as cold as ice.
Even as her Blood Crest began to form in a glorious and majestic manner, her face remained unreadable.
Not a flicker of emotion, not even the twitch of an eyebrow.
And then, it took shape.
A beast unlike any other. Its wingspan stretched wide enough to blanket the entire audience chamber in shadow. Its eyes burned like embers, and its scales shimmered, moving as if alive.
The creature radiated power and majesty, for it was a dragon, born of golden light!
But that wasn't the end of it.
"A crown!"
The Ceremony Master gasped, his voice echoing across the chamber.
Atop the massive dragon's head, a radiant golden crown appeared, glowing with regal brilliance.
The true mark of a Royal Blood Crest.
A ripple of whispers surged through the chamber.
"I knew the young miss was incredible…"
"She will carry the will of House Grim, without a doubt!"
Even the Seven Patricians stirred—eyes gleaming with rare intensity as they beheld the bloodline revelation. Yet, none stepped forward. None dared speak.
And it was clear why.
The source of the Royal Crest wasn't from just anyone.
It was Lyra Grim—daughter of the Second Lady.
The Second Wife of Lord Zephyr, known not only as a powerful figure within the clan but also as one of its fiercest warriors.0
She was the one they called the Beast Empress—a woman who had tamed a white wyvern, creatures second only to dragons in aerial combat.
No one would dare make an offer for her daughter—not in public, and certainly not today.
"The Second Lady has raised her well…"
The words floated through the chamber in hushed reverence.
And then, for the first time during the entire ceremony, Lord Zephyr Grim smiled.
"Good," he said simply.
That one word—calm, composed, yet undeniably pleased—echoed like thunder in the hearts of the elders.
Lyra bowed respectfully to the Patriarch before returning to her seat. There was no celebration.
No applause.
Just respectful silence.
The appearance of a Royal Crest was a monumental event, but among the Grim household, it was not rare. Every generation, several such appeared. But those who lived long enough to reach their full potential?
One or two—at best.
The Blood Crest revealed potential—nothing more. Whether that potential would blossom or rot in the shadows was up to fate, will, and survival.
The elders had learned the hard way—not every genius lived to become a legend.
Still, those with a Royal Crest were granted resources, status, and opportunities far beyond their peers. Their path forward might not be smooth, but it was certainly paved.
The ceremony pressed on.
More names were called. More crests awakened—epic, rare, even a few legendary. But none matched the brilliance of Lyra's golden dragon.
And then, at last—
"Renard Grim."
The room fell quiet once more.
All eyes turned towards the boy.
Suddenly, there was tension in the air. Some eyes darted to the seat of the 7th Patrician, some eyes towards the Patriarch, but none seemed to say anything.
Oblivious to others, Renard stood from his place and walked slowly toward the Genesis Pillar.
His footsteps were steady, but his heart wasn't.
He was nervous—not because of the dozens of eyes watching him, not because of the pressure of House Grim's expectations.
But because of his own situation.
Renard was already awakened.
He already possessed a Blood Crest.
And that made this entire ceremony an unknown risk. He didn't know what kind of effect the Essence of Providence would have on someone already awakened. No one did. And that uncertainty gnawed at him.
Still, he pressed on.
When he arrived at the spire, he could clearly see the Ceremony Master.
He was a stern old man with a deeply wrinkled face. His expression was carved from stone, unreadable and imposing. Nothing about him stood out at first… except for a peculiar tattoo on his neck. It looked vaguely like an eye, but with all the folds of aged skin, Renard couldn't be sure.
He frowned slightly.
'I don't remember this old man from before...'
It had been years in his past life since he'd last stood before this spire. The faces had long since blurred together. Perhaps the old man wasn't the Ceremony Master back then—or perhaps he was, and Renard simply forgot.
It didn't matter now.
Renard gave the old man a polite bow out of courtesy, then moved toward the pedestal where the vials were kept.
The moment he picked one up, his breath hitched slightly.
The vial was small, but there was something undeniably otherworldly about it. The blue liquid inside shimmered with unnatural grace, twisting and churning as if alive, like liquid starlight caged in glass.
He had consumed it once before in his past life.
And though he remembered the unbearable pain… he wasn't afraid of that.
He was afraid of what might go wrong.
What would the Essence do to someone already awakened? And how would his current Blood Crest react?
'No point worrying now.'
He uncorked the vial—and in one swift motion, drank.
He waited.
And then…
Nothing.
No pain.
No heat.
No pulse of energy.
It was as if he'd just downed a sip of cold water.
The Ceremony Master's eyebrow twitched. He tilted his head slightly, clearly noticing Renard's strange calmness.
'Oh shit…
'Renard's mind raced. It was too late to fake a reaction now—if he suddenly cried out in pain, it would only raise suspicions. And frankly, he doubted his acting skills could fool so many sharp eyes. Especially not the Patriarch's.
And just as those thoughts passed through his mind—it happened.
[An external catalyst is attempting to awaken a dormant Blood Crest.]
A notification blinked before his eyes, in the old familiar script of Providence—something he hadn't seen in a while.
And then—
—Cough!
His chest spasmed.
He raised a hand instinctively to his mouth. Pain flared behind his ribs like a blade stabbing from within.
He pulled his hand away…
And froze.
"Blood…?"
Dark crimson coated his palm.
A chill ran down his spine. He stared at the blood-stained hand, heart pounding.
Something inside him had shifted!
---***---