A few days passed as the day of the True Awakening drew closer and closer. One by one, the Suns and Moons began to return, their presences slowly gathering like looming clouds before a storm.
The last time they had assembled at this level was during Asher’s first awakening, the very same one in which he had failed.
Now, however, the tension that filled the entire Wargrave estate was palpable. It hung in the air like a dense fog. Every maid, butler, and knight walked on eggshells, practically quaking in their boots.
After all, meeting all the Wargraves at once was something so rare, so overwhelming, that even veterans of the estate felt unsettled. The Wargraves themselves wore cold, distant, or expressionless looks, faces carved from ice, which only served to deepen the terror in the hearts of those around them.
At this moment, within a silent, dimly lit chamber, Azeron could be seen sitting in deep thought. His head rested gently against his palm, his golden eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling above him. His expression was unreadable, but a certain weight hung around his shoulders, as though invisible chains had bound him in place.
At the side of the room stood Zarek, Azeron’s personal butler and long-time right-hand man. He stood with poise and calm, silently observing the man who had long since earned the title of the strongest Wargrave, a man who could topple mountains and tear apart legions with nothing but his spear.
And yet here he was, sighing continuously, mulling over something as though it was far beyond his reach, beyond his power.
Azeron’s thoughts, in this moment, were completely focused on Asher. His tenth heir. His tenth child. His Tenth Sun.
His wife, Lily of the Abyss, had entrusted Asher to him as her final, dying wish. She had placed the boy in his hands and asked only one thing: protect him.
And now, here he was, throwing that very son into the fires of the True Awakening, where death loomed like a specter waiting to strike.
Azeron didn’t know what to do.
He didn’t know what to say. He felt trapped at an impasse between duty and love.
He knew Asher could die during the Awakening process. In fact, Asher wouldn’t be the first Wargrave to do so. But at the same time, Asher was a prodigy, a genius who even eclipsed his mother in talent when it came to the rapier.
A rare brilliance that hadn’t been seen in any generation.
Azeron’s heart was torn. If Asher was about to die... should he intervene?
Should he save his son and honor the final wish of the woman he had loved with all his heart?
Or... should he sit back, bound to his seat by the heavy weight of tradition and legacy, the burden that came with the position of Primarch?
He was bound by invisible, invincible chains.
Which path should he choose?
He sighed once more, the sound deeper this time. His heartbeat thudded louder in his chest, beating faster, harder, nervousness he hadn’t felt in decades. He, the mighty Azeron, had long since forgotten the last time he had heard his own heart beat with such intensity.
Perhaps only when fighting to death against a Sin.
’What should I do?’ Azeron thought, his brows furrowing.
Even if he did save Asher, nothing would happen to him. He was the strongest Wargrave for a reason. No one dared question his strength. No one could truly stand against him.
But just because he could... didn’t mean he should.
Being Primarch wasn’t a title to be thrown around. It came with rules, expectations, and ancient laws. Even he, at the top of the Wargrave hierarchy, couldn’t casually break family tradition.
His mind began spinning, thoughts churning like a storm. Contingency plans, escape strategies, if Asher ever fell into true danger, Azeron was already beginning to calculate how best to act without dismantling everything.
From the side of the room, Zarek finally broke the silence.
"Should I intervene when necessary?" he asked, his voice composed, yet thoughtful.
Azeron heard the question but didn’t reply immediately. He continued to stare at the ceiling, unmoving. Zarek, patient as always, said nothing more. He simply waited for the reply.
Azeron finally opened his mouth.
"What do you think I should do, Zarek?" he asked, his voice quiet but filled with tension.
"Should I save my son’s life... or allow the weight of this crown to keep pressing me down?"
He could confide in Zarek. Of that, he was certain. Zarek had been by his side since the beginning. He knew exactly how heavy the crown of the Primarch was. He had witnessed Azeron’s rise. He knew the cost of it.
Crowned the strongest, yet forever bound by rules.
"Azeron," Zarek said gently as he began to speak again. "I believe the answer to that question is, in some way, simple."
Although he used the word ’simple’, he understood more than anyone how far from simple it really was.
Azeron’s golden gaze finally moved, turning toward Zarek as he continued speaking.
"You simply have to decide what you love more. The crown on your head... or your wife’s dying wish."
Zarek’s words hit like thunder, reverberating through Azeron’s chest.
He frowned. Deep down, he knew Zarek was right. There was no middle path here. He had to choose one or the other. There was no balancing act this time.
But if he were to truly choose, honestly, without fear of consequences, he would choose her. He would honor her.
He had become the Primarch for her sake in the first place. He had fought, bled, and conquered just to be able to hold her hand.
Besides, even if he did step down from the Primarch position for breaking tradition, his First Sun, Malrik, was already powerful enough to take the mantle. The boy was ready.
Azeron could gently retire, step away from it all, and spend the rest of his years fighting to his heart’s content without the weight of the throne.
The path was becoming clearer now. If Asher truly fell into grave danger, Azeron would save him. He would step down. Then Malrik would take over.
And if Asher didn’t fall into danger... then all was well.
Better to be prepared and not need it, than unprepared when the worst happens.
"But I don’t think that’s the only option, Azeron,"
Zarek said again, shattering the silence that had once more begun to settle in the room.
Azeron blinked. "What do you mean, Zarek?"
With a faint smile on his face, Zarek replied, "Do you really believe that Malrik would just sit by and let Asher die during this True Awakening?"
Azeron froze.
He hadn’t considered that.
Indeed, Malrik wouldn’t let Asher die. His First Sun wouldn’t allow it. Azeron knew it in his bones, Malrik would intervene.
And if Malrik did interfere, then as Primarch, the power to mete out punishment rested solely on Azeron’s shoulders. He could simply assign a light punishment... or even none at all.
’How didn’t I think of this earlier?’ Azeron thought, a slow smile spreading across his face as clarity dawned.
His heart rate, which had been racing moments ago, began to slow. He was calm again.
"Thank you," Azeron said sincerely, glancing toward Zarek.
Zarek merely nodded, offering no further words. He had no children of his own, but that didn’t mean he didn’t understand Azeron’s pain.
’You better not die, Asher,’ Azeron thought, leaning back slightly. ’Though, I must admit... I’m starting to look forward to seeing what you’ll do.’