Chapter 33: The Invitation of the Royal Family
A fraction of a Monarch Rank Bloodline Holder
The afternoon sun filtered gently through the high windows of the study, casting golden hues over polished mahogany desks and shelves lined with rare tomes. The scent of parchment and aged wood lingered in the air, subtly mixing with the faint sweetness of the jasmine tea that Sylvara had grown fond of.
Kitsaro sat quietly beside his mother, watching as she discussed the tutors' final proposals with Galen Everard and Cassian. The meeting had gone smoother than expected—after their initial testing and the quiet pressure of Sylvara's Monarch Aura a few days prior, the tutors had grown not only compliant but oddly respectful.
"We've finalized the schedule, Lady Sylvara," said Professor Thorne "Each of us will take turns across the week to ensure balanced coverage of all core topics."
Sylvara gave a slow, graceful nod. "Ensure that he is not overwhelmed. He is five years old, not a scholar at the Royal Academy."
The tutors exchanged knowing glances.
"Yes, my lady," Liora said with a slight bow.
Kitsaro remained silent until the tutors filed out, leaving only the quiet crackle of the fireplace in their wake. He shifted slightly in his chair, drawing in a small breath before turning toward Sylvara.
"Mother… can I ask you something?"
She glanced at him from her seat with a raised brow, her silver hair cascading down her shoulders like a waterfall of moonlight. "Of course, dear."
"I was wondering… would it be alright if my lessons weren't every day?" he said hesitantly. "Maybe… just three or four times a week?"
Sylvara's expression didn't change, but Kitsaro could feel the sudden weight of her attention on him. Her violet eyes studied his face, searching for the deeper reason beneath the request.
"I'm still going to pay attention. I promise," he added quickly. "It's just… if I'm always studying, I won't get to spend as much time with you."
That last part struck home.
Sylvara's expression softened. Her lips curled into a faint, wistful smile. "You'll miss our mornings."
Kitsaro nodded, his expression earnest. "You used to take me to the gardens. And we'd have lunch together more often. I know the estate is growing, and I have to be strong too… but I want to be with you while we can."
Her gaze lowered briefly to her hands, clasped in her lap. For all her power and status, Sylvara had once been a lone widow of a discarded branch house. That loneliness hadn't vanished—it had merely been hidden beneath elegance and ambition. And here her son sat, choosing her over power.
"I'll speak with the tutors and have the schedule adjusted," she said softly, her voice like a velvet ribbon. "You'll study four days a week. But you must keep your word and attend each lesson diligently."
Kitsaro beamed. "I promise!"
The atmosphere in the study shifted as the tutors' departure left behind only the lingering echoes of formal politeness. Kitsaro's small request had set a gentle, warm tone to the room, one that contrasted with the sudden shift in mood that followed the arrival of the royal envoy.
Sylvara's expression, composed and regal as always, softened only for a brief moment before her usual resolve settled into place. She rose gracefully from her chair, smoothing the front of her elegant, flowing gown with deliberate movements. Galen's eyes narrowed just slightly as he observed the shift in Sylvara's demeanor, while Cassian turned sharply to the door as though expecting the sudden change in fortune.
"Are you sure?" Sylvara asked as she turned to her son, her golden eyes searching his face one last time. "You'll come with me, as a proper heir should. I trust you'll handle this with the maturity your station requires."
Kitsaro straightened, his heart quickening in anticipation. "I'll do my best, Mother," he said, his voice steady despite the flutter of nerves.
Sylvara's lips curved into a soft smile, and with a final glance toward the door, she led the way out of the study, her footsteps echoing on the polished floors. Kitsaro followed closely behind, his mind already turning over the possibility of why the royal family would send an envoy to their estate Sylvara was about to reply when a hurried knock resounded at the door, politely announcing his entrance he went inside with respect.
"Lady Sylvara! Forgive the interruption, but—an envoy has arrived at the gates. They bear the royal sigil."
Sylvara's brows furrowed. "The royal family?"
"Yes, my lady. They requested an audience immediately."
Cassian straightened from his spot near the study's window, a flicker of alarm and curiosity passing across his sharp features. Galen's expression remained unreadable, though his posture grew subtly tenser.
Sylvara rose without hesitation. "Bring them to the audience hall. Prepare formal reception protocol."
The servant bowed and fled.
She turned to Kitsaro and smoothed his slightly rumpled collar. "You'll join us. This is important."
~~~~~~~~~~
The main hall of the Veyra estate was still fresh with new marble and polished glasswork. Elegant tapestries now hung on either side—stars, moons, and fox motifs sewn in gleaming threads. The crest of the Veyra name, once informal and unrecognized, loomed over the reception dais in an unfinished mosaic.
Moments later, the grand doors opened.
A procession of royal white and gold entered the hall. At its front walked a tall man clad in silken regalia, with a silver cloak stitched in divine gold thread. His boots clicked cleanly against the marble, his steps steady, posture like a drawn blade. He bore no crown or formal armor—but the sheer presence around him made even Galen tense.
Behind him walked three elite guards—two marked by glowing tiger stripes along their necks and arms, and a third with faint heat waves rising from his skin, his blood clearly tied to the Phoenix line.
The man stopped several paces from Sylvara and Kitsaro and gave a deep, refined nod.
"Lady Sylvara Veyra. Young master Kitsaro. I bring word and will from the royal family."
Sylvara inclined her head with practiced grace. "You honor our household, my lord. May I have your name?"
"I am Lord Caldreon Vaelis, royal diplomat and envoy of House Vaeloria. I was sent ahead of His Majesty's announcement. The king has taken notice of the growth of House Veyra. Few estates rise so swiftly, and fewer still earn such respect in so short a time."
His gaze lingered on Sylvara for a breath too long—assessing, studying.
"You were once of House Vaelthyr. Now you bear your own name," Caldreon said with unflinching clarity. "The king is aware. The court whispers, specially with the display of event that happened during the Vaelthyr heirs awakening… and yet here you stand—despite leaving one of the Great Houses, you became no longer a discarded branch, but a rising power."
Sylvara neither flinched nor bowed again. "We no longer carry the shadow of House Vaelthyr. Veyra is our name, and it will be carved into the annals of the kingdom by our own hands."
"Well spoken," Caldreon replied with a slight smile.
Kitsaro felt his heart thrum—nervous but steady. This was more than a noble visit. This was recognition.
"By command of King Regnar Vaelios Vaeloria, you and your heir are formally invited to the Midyear Solstice Banquet—two weeks from now," Caldreon continued. "However, it was Queen Amariel Solenne Vaeloria who insisted upon your presence."
Sylvara's eyes narrowed slightly, the news clearly unexpected. "The Queen?"
"She finds your rise… fascinating, she wishes you. Specially you lady Sylvana." Caldreon said carefully.
Cassian's brow twitched. Even Galen's shoulders shifted slightly.
"You will be hosted as noble peers, not guests," Caldreon said. "Your estate is to be marked on the Royal Registry as a recognized noble house—effective immediately. Your house sigil will be crafted according to your wishes and sanctified under the heraldry of the Eternal Sun."
He produced a sealed scroll, bearing the royal crest.
"The queen herself has instructed that House Veyra's sigil will be handled directly by the Royal Insignia Council," he said. "No errors, no delays. What is chosen shall be immortalized."
Sylvara took the scroll with elegant precision, though Kitsaro could see the fierce pride in her fingers as they curled around the seal.
Caldreon gave a slight incline of the head, but did not yet step back.
"There is one formality that remains," he said.
Sylvara raised an eyebrow.
"It is customary, for those who rise so quickly, to offer a glimpse—a thread—of their true strength," he said. "A show of legitimacy, not as challenge, but as ceremony. Would Lady Sylvara… be willing to show a fraction of her Monarch Rank aura?"
The room fell utterly still.
Cassian's hand instinctively twitched toward his sword.
Galen gave Caldreon a slow, sidelong glance.
But Sylvara only smiled.
"You want to know whether House Veyra stands on hollow ground."
"Only for the record," Caldreon said. "Not for fear. It will be recorded by the royal scribes and submitted with your household's elevation."
Sylvara's golden gaze swept the envoy and his guards, her expression unreadable. Then she turned slightly toward her son.
"Cassian. Galen. Take Kitsaro deeper into the house."
Cassian smiling, then nodded sharply. "Careful now, you might hurt them."
"But—!" Kitsaro began, until he met her eyes. Calm, firm, and filled with something… other.
Galen placed a hand on Kitsaro's shoulder. "Come, young master. It's best you don't witness this."
Reluctantly, Kitsaro allowed himself to be led away.
The moment they vanished into the manor, Sylvara released the first breath she had been holding back.
And the world shifted.
The air shuddered—not from movement, but submission. An overwhelming golden brilliance exploded from her core, not just radiating outward but rending the space itself. Fractures formed in midair like cracks in crystal. The ground beneath her feet split apart in sigil-lined patterns that pulsed like a heartbeat.
The envoy barely had time to widen his eyes before the change overtook her.
Fox ears unfurled from her silver hair like a crown. Her eyes ignited, molten gold with slit pupils that shimmered like twin suns. Five colossal tails surged behind her, each laced with radiant gold and ancient power. Claws like obsidian moonlight extended from her hands.
The pulse of her Monarch aura thundered across the estate, rippling through stone, wood, and outside towards the sky and the vicinity of the estate. It wasn't simply power—it was dominion. A force that pressed down upon the world as if to remind it that this was her territory.
The estate trembled beneath her. Even the sky above seemed to twist, as if time itself hesitated.
It was not just power.
It was bloodline.
Ancient. Primeval. Unfathomably deep.
The envoy gasped. "T-That aura—no... That bloodline—!"
Even as he fell to one knee, trembling, his voice shook with disbelief. "This… this isn't a lesser noble lineage… This is older. More sovereign than any I've seen. This power might even rival that of the Great Houses…!"
The guards collapsed. Phoenix-kin, Lionborn, and Wyrm-marked alike—all crumbled under the pressure. Even their noble blood cowered before what they felt.
"Kneel."
The command struck like divine law. Reality itself bowed to her will.
Caldreon tried to resist. He truly did. But the weight of her Monarch Rank—and the ancient lineage roaring behind it—sank into his soul like chains made of cosmic fire.
His legs gave out. He slammed to both knees, hands braced on the marble floor, his head bowed instinctively.
Sylvara stepped forward, her voice low and crystalline.
"Only half of my strength is released."
The golden energy crackled as it danced across the courtyard, igniting the sigils in the stone, lacing every shadow with threads of light.
"If I unleash the rest," she said, her voice steady, "this estate will collapse under its own foundations. And your guards will not wake again."
Sylvara tilted her head. "You came to see the legitimacy of House Veyra. Now you've seen it."
With a final pulse of golden light, her aura recoiled like a silken tide retreating from the shore. Her beastified form faded—fox ears, claws, tails—all vanishing in a ripple of mist. Her presence, however, still lingered, like a phantom hand upon the throat of everyone nearby. Her aura withdrew, the ruptured space slowly knitting itself closed with whispers of light and lingering energy.
The world slowly steadied.
But no one moved.
Caldreon, still on one knee, finally lifted his gaze, his voice breathless.
"Queen Amariel was… wise to invite you. I will see to it personally that your house sigil is recorded under royal authority. And I will report to His Majesty that a bloodline as ancient as the old dynasties themselves now walks under the banner of Veyra."
Sylvara turned slightly, her golden eyes softening as she glanced back toward where Kitsaro had gone.
"I only care that my son has a place in this world," she murmured. "And no one—great house or royal blood—will strip that from him."
The envoy nodded, still shaken. "It will be done, Lady Sylvara. Two weeks from now, House Veyra shall be formally recognized in the presence of the Crown."
"Very well, regarding the sigil I want you to design according to this." Sylvara mentioned while giving the envoy a piece of paper.
"It shall be done as you require it to be lady Sylvara, we shall take our leave now." Finally ending the meeting with house Veyra, Caldreon left with the rest of the guards with him. His thoughts wondering on the a new rising power within the kingdom.