Kaelen woke up in a bed that could’ve been stolen from a dream or crafted by the gods themselves—so soft it felt like it was woven from the whispers of angels. Mira and Seraphis were coiled around him, Seraphis' scales pressing against his skin like living armor, their breaths slow and warm, like a dragon’s slumber. The silk sheets clung to him like spiderwebs spun by some golden arachnid in a palace of wealth and power. He blinked, groggy, his mind scattered, but his Nanite Nexus kicked in with a mechanical hum:

Host: Successful reboot.

Host: Influence neutralized.

He felt an immediate clarity, the fog lifting as if reality had been recalibrated. He dragged himself up, tossing aside the silk and gold like they were shackles, his heart still pounding as if he'd just escaped a nightmare.

The sprawling mansion seemed too perfect—an opulent mix of modern and ancient. Everything gleamed, from the marble floors reflecting dim chandeliers above, to the floor-to-ceiling windows showing the city of Ravetham spread out like a painting of neon lights and black skies. The house reeked of old money, of secret deals and whispered conspiracies.

Kaelen made his way to the movie theater room, the walls lined with rich, velvet fabric, and a screen larger than life itself took up the far wall. The scene it displayed? Unreal, impossible, a twisted family drama playing out in front of millions. Loren lounged on one of the oversized leather chairs, her sharp eyes locked on the screen, legs crossed like a queen holding court. Her maid uniform was immaculate, and the way she sat was regal, almost detached, but her gaze was steel as it tracked every insane word.

On the screen, standing before a live audience, was Adrian—Kaelen’s son. He had icy-blue eyes, cold and piercing, set against his dark skin that gleamed under the lights. His black, curly hair crowned his head like some twisted halo, and atop that sat a golden crown, making him look like royalty... or maybe a tyrant. His suit was over-the-top, a masterpiece of wealth flaunted: golden chains, loops of intricate metalwork, draped across his chest as if his body alone was a canvas for wealth. Two high-elven maids stood beside him, fanning him like he was some goddamn emperor from a fever dream.

Adrian’s voice cut through the air with a venomous mix of apathy and fury, like a king too bored of ruling but too angry to let go.

"And my father gets home," Adrian spat, his gaze hard, "and refuses to stop my sisters’ insanity. I felt proud of him, yeah. He loves seeing them happy, sure, but what Celesse did with her mother—riding her like some dog? I just couldn’t stand it anymore. That’s why I brought it to you, Gale."

The camera cut to Gale, the blue-feathered kenku news anchor, whose beak clicked in barely disguised shock, her feathers shimmering under the studio lights. Her sharp eyes narrowed, but her tone was cold, dismissive, like every word was a blade she couldn’t wait to plunge.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"I’m not surprised your father did nothing," Gale said, her raspy voice laced with disdain. "He’s just some two-bit thug from Ravenwood."

The words echoed through Kaelen’s mind like an explosion. Two-bit thug? His chest tightened, and he could feel the fury rising like a storm, the blood rushing to his head.

Adrian’s gaze sharpened, his icy eyes burning with something deeper now. "I did my research on my father," he growled, his voice no longer bored but filled with a cold fire. "He’s no two-bit thug. He’s a high 5-A, destroyed billions of Draconian armadas, fought one of their princesses, and won. Yeah, most of it’s top clearance, but I’m under no contract stopping me from spilling it now. So yeah, I’m pissed my father isn’t handling my spoiled little sisters."

The screen flickered, cutting out for a second. Kaelen’s heart raced, and his thoughts swirled. How did it come to this? How had everything spiraled so wildly out of control?

When the feed returned, it was chaos. Xyra, his daughter with her white hair and sharp green eyes, dragged Adrian offstage like he was a rebellious child, her strength apparent in the tight grip she had on his arm. Celesse, with her white hair and icy-blue eyes, stood in front of the camera, glaring at Gale with an intensity that made the room feel like it was heating up. The air around her practically crackled with dangerous energy.

And then there was Selene. Sitting there, calm, composed, with her white hair shimmering in the studio lights and her red eyes gleaming like bloodstones, she grinned at the camera as if the whole situation was some game. Her voice was saccharine, deceptive in its sweetness.

"Sorry about this," Selene purred, her lips curling into a sly smile. "My big brother was just playing a prank. I’m here to tell you how much we appreciate what our father’s done. He’s a hero, you know? Saved us from an alien invasion."

Gale blinked, her blue feathers ruffling slightly in what was clearly panic. "Of course, it was a prank," she stammered, though her voice sounded unsure. "I knew that."

The feed switched again, and now it was the White House—the scene shifting to a room filled with tension. Aeliseth, the president, sat behind a desk, her silver hair gleaming under the sterile lights, her eyes hard as steel. She spoke with the cold, authoritative tone of someone who held the world by its throat.

"I’ll address the rumors now," she said, her voice dripping with finality, "and confirm them to be true. Kaelen Valrath did eliminate countless Draconian spies and armadas. And as of today, I’m announcing his promotion to four-star general."

Kaelen felt like the world was spinning out of control. He stared at Loren, who had moved beside him, her hand on his shoulder like a lifeline.

"Shit!" Kaelen cursed, running a hand through his hair. He could feel his body shaking. "How the hell did those girls know he’d be there before me? And why the fuck did Adrian pulled that stunt?"

Loren sighed, her voice soft but firm, the kind of voice that could ground even the wildest storm. "It’s not your fault," she whispered, her eyes steady on his.

And then it hit him—like a wave crashing against a cliff. Tears of blood welled up in his eyes, the thick, red streaks sliding down his cheeks as the weight of everything finally crashed down on him.