Chapter 3 – Summons of the Patriarch
The ride to Luther Keep was long, but Jean traveled in silence, the rhythmic beat of hooves giving way to the pulse of tension in her veins. Whitney kept pace beside the horse like a ghost—his divine form never tiring, never slowing.
Jean had only been gone from home a few years. But as the black spires of the Keep broke the horizon, it felt like returning to a battlefield.
The gates opened for her without a word.
No horns. No cheers.
Only wary eyes from armored knights bearing the Luther crest.
She dismounted and entered the main hall. It hadn't changed. White stone, obsidian columns, red banners. And high above, the broken sword of Martin Luther, sealed in crystal—wounded in the final battle against Antares.
Her fingers twitched.
One day, I'll be strong enough to repair it. To finish what he started.
Inside the throne chamber, she found him waiting.
Charles Luther.
Her grandfather. The Iron Wolf. A living legend.
He sat upon the high seat of the Patriarch, back straight despite his age, silver hair bound behind his back. His presence was crushing—Transcendent Master aura laced the walls like a vice.
To his left, stood Jean's elder brother Reinhardt, ever the loyal war hound.
To his right, a shadow leaned lazily on the column. Selene, the youngest daughter besides Jean. All venom and smiles.
"Jean," Charles said. His voice cracked like old oak. "You bonded with your divine guardian."
Jean nodded. "Yes, Patriarch."
"Then Celeste has claimed you fully."
He stood. Even the floor seemed to strain beneath the weight of his presence.
"The Succession War begins sooner than planned," Charles declared. "Already your brothers draw blood in the borderlands. Your cousin declared himself heir three days ago and executed two knights loyal to Silvia."
Jean's heart froze. "Silvia—?"
"She remains in exile," Reinhardt said coldly. "Choosing cowardice over duty."
Charles raised a hand. "Silvia guards our southern gate from dragon kind. Her path is her own. But now the family splinters. The Luther Clan needs more than swords—it needs symbols."
He pointed at Jean.
"You are the Emissary of Light. You will complete your two-year envoy missions. You will grow strong. And when you return, you will stand in the War of Succession."
Jean held his gaze. "You're ordering me into war against my blood?"
He did not blink. "I am preparing you to survive."
Selene laughed lightly. "And to win, little sister. Don't forget that part."
Whitney growled softly behind her. Jean placed a hand on his head.
She bowed.
"I'll return stronger than any of them. If I must draw my sword… I'll decide then if blood is thicker than legacy."
Charles nodded once. "Go. Become the sword this clan needs."
As Jean turned to leave, she glanced at the crystal-encased sword of Martin Luther one more time.
One day, I will finish what you began. The world must be saved again.
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