Soon after, Martins wore a warm smile on his face.
"You don't need to worry so much, my son. I will have Alfred gather another set of Mysteros for you tomorrow."
"I'm sorry, Father, but I don't want another one," Sylus spoke back, his attention on the ground. "I know what it feels like to live a life you don't want and see people doing better. I don't want her to feel the same when I have the power to change that."
"Are you implying your role as the third prince is too much for you?"
Sylus's eyes widened a bit; he hadn't realized what he said until the words left his mouth.
"No, Father, that's not what—"
"You are an Astrodial. With that name itself comes responsibility, a responsibility I need you to hold up high, no matter the circumstances you find yourself in. Sentiment holds nothing if there are no results. Do you understand me, Sylus?"
Martins made sure to lean closer, just to be sure Sylus was listening to him.
At this point, Sylus knew convincing his father was not going to get him anywhere, so he already planned on using his mother later on.
As such, he nodded his head in compliance.
"That's my son. Now, the reason I called you here is quite simple, actually. I did the same for your brother, and my father did the same for me, and so did his father, the father after him."
Sylus watched as his father stood up from the chair and began to walk toward the bookshelf while still talking.
"The Adon Vale trial is something that has been practiced for generations to come. Because of this practice, we have always dominated the entire world, standing to be one of the best kingdoms.
My generation was unlucky, as before I could perform the trial, all three of my siblings died. It was quite tragic. Perhaps that is why I am not near what my father was."
Martins pulled out a chest box from the shelves and began heading back to the bed.
"Even though I didn't partake in the ritual, I was still taught the process in order to teach my children the same thing."
Now, Martins had placed the chest on the table.
'I see, so it's about to happen.'
Sylus tried his best to remain calm, but since he knew what was coming, it was quite hard to do.
After placing the box on the table, Martins took a few steps back, his arms behind him.
"Listen to me very well, Sylus. Inside this box is the creature of the west, a powerful snake that feeds on fear and devours anything it is fed."
Sylus gulped down his saliva.
"... Without fear, it is mainly a pet, tamed and willing to serve. As an Astrodial, it's important that you tame it, adding your blood to the list of heirs within our lineage. If you pass, the creature will know you as an Astrodial, but if you fail, you will die and no longer be a part of this family."
'I wasn't joking when I said this family was beyond normal.'
Sylus had already read it in the Astrodial records.
Regardless of the circumstances, the Astrodials only cared about results and retained their family traditions of only birthing capable heirs.
The first generation of kings had an average of 20 children, having them all participate in the tradition. Of all 20, only 3 were likely to survive to the very end.
With time, the newer generations were more impressive than the last, making it less imperative that they gave birth to more children.
Still, Sylus found their tradition weird.
Martins clapped his hands, the sharp sound cutting through the heavy air of the room like a blade.
The ornate wooden chest on the table pulsed in response, its intricate carvings—spirals and runes etched by ancient hands—glowing with an eerie blue light that cast flickering shadows across the stone walls.
"I wish you good luck, my son," Martins said, his voice steady but laced with a weight that pressed against Sylus's chest.
'Dude…' Sylus's small hands gripped the arms of the carved oak chair, his knuckles whitening as he fought to steady his racing heart.
The room felt smaller now, the air thick with an unseen force that prickled his skin.
'You're no longer poor. You're no longer poor. You're no longer poor.'
He chanted the mantra silently, each repetition a tether to keep his fear at bay.
The words grounded him, a reminder of the life he'd left behind—a life of hunger and despair that had forged an iron will beneath his fragile, five-year-old frame.
The chest creaked open, its hinges groaning like a distant storm.
A faint mist spilled out, curling like ghostly fingers across the polished floor, carrying the sharp scent of damp earth and something metallic, like blood left to rust.
From the steaming depths of the box, a low, guttural hiss slithered into the air, coiling around Sylus's senses.
His breath caught as the creature emerged, its massive form unfurling with deliberate menace.
The Snake of the West was a nightmare made flesh, its sixteen-foot body a sinuous mass of black scales that shimmered like polished obsidian under the flickering blue light.
Each scale seemed to pulse with a life of its own, reflecting the glow in a way that made the serpent appear both solid and ethereal, as if it could dissolve into the shadows at will. A dark fog clung to its form, swirling like a storm cloud, obscuring its edges and lending it an otherworldly aura.
Its eyes, twin orbs of molten gold, locked onto Sylus with an intensity that felt like a physical weight, boring into his soul. Its forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air, each movement sharp and deliberate, as if savoring the scent of his fear.
The snake reared up, its head swaying inches from Sylus's face, close enough for him to feel the heat of its breath, a dry, acrid gust that carried the faint tang of decay.
Then, impossibly, it spoke, its voice a chilling echo that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"Born a failure in this life too, darling?"
Sylus's eyes widened, his composure fracturing for a heartbeat.
The voice was achingly familiar—his mother Elizabeth's, but twisted, dripping with venom and scorn.
The snake's head shimmered, its features warping like molten wax. Scales melted away to reveal Elizabeth's face, her delicate features contorted in a grotesque mask of rage.
Blood oozed from her eyes and mouth, streaking down her chin in crimson rivulets, staining the golden embroidery of her imagined dress.
Her lips curled into a sneer, each word a dagger aimed at his heart.
"Why did I have to give birth to such a worthless son? I wish you were dead."
The air grew colder, the mist thickening until it felt like it was seeping into Sylus's lungs, heavy and suffocating. His heart pounded, a frantic drumbeat against his ribs, but he forced his gaze to meet the creature's.
'This is what it does,' he thought, grounding himself in the knowledge he'd gleaned from the Astrodial records.
The snake peered into the deepest corners of one's soul, unearthing fears buried beneath layers of resolve. It wove them into a tapestry of terror, designed to break even the strongest will.
But Sylus was no stranger to despair. In his past life as Alex, every day had been a battle against hunger, rejection, and the crushing weight of a world that saw him as nothing.
The snake's taunts, though cloaked in his mother's voice, were echoes of the self-doubt he'd faced countless times—words he'd whispered to himself in the dark alleys of Jesian. 'You're nothing. You'll always be nothing.' He'd survived those words before, and he would survive them now.
The snake lunged closer, its bloodied parody of Elizabeth's face inches from his own, its tongue flicking against his cheek, cold and slick.
"You'll fail this family, just as you failed your last life," it hissed, its voice now a blend of Elizabeth's and something ancient, guttural, like stones grinding in the depths of a cavern.
The fog around it pulsed, forming fleeting images—Sylus alone, cast out, starving in the streets once more. His small hands trembled, but he clenched them tighter, nails biting into his palms.
'No'.
He forced the word through his mind, a shield against the snake's assault. He'd been homeless, yes, but that life had forged him.
Every rejection, every night spent shivering under a starless sky, had built a resilience the snake couldn't shatter. The fear it sought to exploit was no longer a chain—it was a scar, proof of what he'd endured.
The snake's movements grew frantic, its body coiling and uncoiling, scales scraping the floor with a sound like a blade on stone.
Its golden eyes narrowed, searching for a crack in Sylus's resolve, but he held firm, his expression a mask of calm defiance.
Finally, the system interface flickered to life before him, golden runes glowing in the air like embers.
[You have tamed the Snake of the West.]
The creature froze, its grotesque mimicry of Elizabeth's face dissolving back into its serpentine form. The blood and fog vanished, leaving only the snake's sleek, black body. It lowered its head, scales glinting as it bowed in submission, its golden eyes now soft, almost reverent.
With a final hiss, softer and devoid of malice, it slithered back into the chest, the mist trailing behind like a fading dream.
The lid creaked shut.