The following day, Lucas sat cross-legged on the floor of the inn's spare room, tempering his mana with the rune circle technique. His small hands trembled as he focused on guiding the energy through his body. He could now pass the energy through three mana nodes, though he knew from the AI's calculations that there were 800 nodes in total to unlock.

"AI," Lucas murmured in his mind, "check my stats and show me any improvements after using the rune circle."

A soft beep echoed within his consciousness before the AI responded, a faint blue holographic display appearing before his eyes:

[Lucas (Age: 7). Strength: 0.3 | Agility: 0.4 | Vitality: 0.35 | Mana: 1.3 | State: Post-Awakening]

He noticed his mana had increased by 0.3 since his last session.

"AI, how much more can this technique improve my mana capacity?"

The AI beeped, its mechanical voice calm and factual.

"Based on current development, this technique will allow you to increase your mana capacity up to 12."

Lucas sighed, feeling the weight of reality settle on his shoulders. "Twelve? That's all?" He had expected more. His heart yearned for more—more power, more knowledge. But for now, this was what he had. This was the road he had to walk.

As the morning passed and exhaustion began to take its toll, Lucas decided it was time for a break. The room felt stifling, and his body ached from the steady, rhythmic pulse of mana coursing through him. His stomach growled, reminding him he hadn't eaten since dawn.

Lucas joined his grandfather for lunch in the inn's modest dining area. The two of them ate in relative silence, with Silas offering quiet pointers about the mana tempering method between bites. Lucas listened intently, absorbing every word, though his thoughts still churned with curiosity about the meeting they would attend later that day.

Silas had been strangely reserved since dawn, a quiet intensity shadowing his features. The normally calm, grandfatherly air about him seemed shrouded in something darker, something Lucas couldn't quite grasp.

As evening approached, Silas booked a carriage for their journey to the Dragon Tooth Inn. The city of Almera bustled with life, its winding streets glowing in the soft amber light of twilight. Merchants called out to potential buyers, and the scent of roasting meats and spiced wine filled the air. Yet despite the lively surroundings, a tension lingered between Silas and Lucas.

When they arrived, Lucas was awestruck by the grandeur of the Dragon Tooth Inn. The main hall was massive, filled with the scent of wood smoke and aged ale. A massive yellowed tooth, nearly as tall as a man, hung from the ceiling as a decoration, casting long shadows across the room. It emanated a faint, almost imperceptible magical aura.

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One of the inn's staff noticed Lucas staring at the relic. "That there's the tooth of a dragon, lad. Slain by the great Magus Almer himself. This inn's been standing since his time."

Lucas nodded, though he couldn't tear his eyes away from the relic. The power radiating from it was unlike anything he'd felt before. Even long-dead, the dragon's magic still lingers, he thought.

They settled at a table near the back of the hall, waiting for Melius to arrive. Time passed, and Lucas's patience began to wane. Just when he was about to give up hope, the door creaked open, and a familiar, weathered figure shuffled inside. Melius, tall and scarred, with a missing hand, scanned the room warily before approaching their table.

"Why'd you bring the pup?" Melius growled as he sat down, his eyes darting between Lucas and Silas.

Silas remained calm, meeting Melius's gaze with the same unwavering composure he always carried. "He's my grandson, and he's old enough to know the truth. I trust him."

Melius scoffed. "You? A family man? That's a surprise." His voice dripped with sarcasm.

Silas leaned forward, his expression unchanged. "I need your help, Melius."

Melius's face darkened, his brows knitting together. "I warned you, Silas. Out of kindness, I came to give you a heads-up. And now you're dragging me into this mess?" He clenched his one good fist on the table, his scarred knuckles white with tension. "You always knew how to twist a man's arm."

"Don't forget," Silas replied coldly, "this mess didn't start with me alone. We began this long ago, and I kept my word—I kept your name out of it. Now I need you to return the favor. Not for me, but for Lucas."

Melius let out a long sigh, his resistance crumbling under Silas's steady gaze. "Aye, but it won't be free. I'll expect payment."

Silas's lips twitched into a wry smile. This greedy bastard hasn't changed one bit. "You'll be compensated."

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Lucas, who had been listening quietly, couldn't keep his confusion at bay any longer. He looked at his grandfather, his voice trembling with both frustration and curiosity. "Grandpa, why? You've always kept secrets from me. You've always told me I wasn't ready to know. What is this all about?"

Silas looked at his grandson, his eyes softening for the briefest of moments. He took a deep breath and finally spoke, his voice low and steady. "There's much I haven't told you, Lucas. And now... it's time you learned the truth."

As they sat in the dimly lit corner of the Dragon Tooth Inn, the weight of the atmosphere seemed to press down on Lucas. The flickering candlelight danced across Silas's weathered face, illuminating the deep lines etched from years of hardship and sorrow. The inn, filled with the soft hum of murmured conversations and the occasional clinking of glasses, felt distant, as if the world outside their table had ceased to exist.

Silas took a deep breath, his eyes clouded with melancholy. His voice, usually steady and reassuring, now carried the weight of a thousand regrets. "Lucas," he began, his words heavy as iron, "there's something you need to know about me—about our family."

Lucas, sensing the gravity of the moment, remained silent, his young eyes locked onto his grandfather's. Silas's gaze drifted, as if he were looking into the distant past. "I come from an ancient magus family… the Magenthors. A powerful house in the kingdom of Almeria, serving under the wing of Sir Almer, the Great Magus himself. Our lineage stretches back thousands of years. Our ancestor, the great Magus Magenthor, was a figure of immense power, revered by many."

Lucas listened intently, the name Magenthor stirring something within him.

Silas continued, his voice thick with emotion. "I was born into the branch family—a bastard child, the result of my father's affair with a housemaid. My mother… she was kind and loving, despite the harsh treatment she endured from my father's wife. And by some twist of fate—whether fortune or curse—I was born with a mana seed. Not the legitimate children… only me."

Lucas noticed how Silas's hands clenched tightly, his knuckles white. The pain of that memory was fresh, even after all these years.

"I was taken in by the main family," Silas went on, his voice quieter now. "Adopted as a Magenthor. They gave me everything—wealth, status, and the chance to attend Felmora Magical Academy with the other children of the main house. I thought… I thought my mother and my little sister would finally be safe. That they would no longer suffer."

Silas paused, his face growing darker as the memories returned. "For twenty-five years, I trained at the academy, working my way up to become a novice magus. And when I returned, eager to see my family… I found that my mother had been killed by my father's wife. My sister… my sweet, innocent sister had been sold as a sex slave." His voice cracked, and for the first time, Lucas saw tears in his grandfather's eyes.

Lucas felt his heart clench at the sight, his young mind trying to process the cruelty of this world.

"I tracked her down," Silas continued, his voice trembling. "But the sister I found wasn't the girl I remembered. She was broken, aged beyond her years, her spirit shattered. When I told her who I was, she cried… and then she screamed at me. 'Why did you leave, brother?' she yelled. 'Why did you leave us? Mom is dead, and I've been…'" Silas's voice trailed off as his hand trembled. "She was right. I left to chase my dreams, and in doing so, I left them to suffer."

Silas's tears fell freely now, and Lucas sat frozen, the gravity of his grandfather's confession sinking deep into his bones.

"She stayed with me for a few days… but the pain was too much for her. She took her own life. I buried my sister with my own hands, and with her, I buried my humanity. I swore revenge on those who had wronged us."

Lucas could feel the anger radiating from his grandfather now, the quiet fury that had simmered for decades.

"I hired Melius," Silas said, nodding toward the scarred swordsman sitting across the table. Melius's broad frame leaned back in the chair, his one remaining arm resting on the table. His other arm, lost during the bloody massacre of the Magenthor family, was nothing but a stump hidden beneath his cloak. "He was a Blade of the Ember, a skilled aura swordsman. Together, we slaughtered them all—my father, my brothers, their wives, even their children. I was consumed by rage, Lucas. I killed everyone in that house… even the servants who had turned a blind eye to my family's suffering."

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The silence that followed was suffocating. Lucas stared at his grandfather, the man he had always seen as kind and gentle, now revealed to be a man who had committed unspeakable acts in the name of vengeance.

"And for that," Silas whispered, his voice hollow, "the main family—the Magenthors—hunted me down. My brother, Thoren, showed me mercy, sparing my life but damaging my mana nodes beyond repair. He left me broken, a shadow of my former self."

Lucas swallowed hard, the weight of Silas's confession pressing down on him. The firelight flickered in his grandfather's eyes, reflecting both sorrow and resignation.

"And now, by coming here, I've risked everything," Silas said, his voice steadying. "The Magenthors will know I'm alive, and they'll come for me. But Lucas, I brought you here because I want you to carry on my dream. I want you to become the greatest magus this world has ever seen. And, more than anything, I want you to live a life of happiness… something I've never known."

Lucas's eyes welled with tears. "No, Grandpa! I won't let anything happen to you! I'll protect you. I'll use everything—my wits, my power—I'll make sure nothing happens!"

Silas smiled faintly and nodded, his gaze softening. "I know you will, Lucas. I believe in you." He turned his attention to Melius, who had been sitting in quiet observation. "If anything happens to me, Melius… take Lucas to Marona. Protect him."

Melius, the grizzled one-armed swordsman with scars etched deep into his face, leaned back in his chair, crossing his one arm. "You old fox, you're not going to die that easily. But… fine. I'll do it."

Lucas clenched his fists, a vow forming deep in his heart. I will not let anything happen to Grandpa. No matter what it takes.

As they left the inn, the cold night air bit at Lucas's skin, but inside, his resolve burned brighter than ever. He glanced at his grandfather, the weight of his legacy now resting heavily on his young shoulders.

I will protect you, Grandpa, Lucas thought, his mind racing with determination. I'll make sure your dream lives on.

In the quiet of the night, as they going back to the inn, Silas watched Lucas closely. His grandson's raw talent—his ability to temper mana so quickly, to master the first steps of an ancient technique that had taken Silas years to learn—was beyond anything Silas had ever seen. What kind of monster talent is this boy? he wondered. With his power, Lucas could one day become a true magus, something I never achieved.

Silas's heart ached with a mixture of pride and sadness. If I only have a few years left… I'll spend them teaching Lucas everything I know. I'll make sure he's prepared for the world that's coming for him. But... the Magenthors... they won't stop until I'm dead. If they find us...

His thoughts drifted back to the promise Lucas had made. Maybe... just maybe... he's the one who can change everything.