Chapter 36: Shadows of Blood and Light
Night blanketed the Luther Clan stronghold in obsidian silence.
The ancient fortress, carved into the cliffside of Mount Vortan, pulsed with the heavy breath of warriors—old and young—who dreamt only of swords and victory. Fires flickered in the training courts, casting long shadows against its walls. Somewhere deep within, steel sang and souls hardened.
Jean Luther stood before the great stone gates once more.
Two years had passed.
Two years of trials.
And now, she had returned.
But she was not the same girl who had left.
Her white hair now reached her back in a braid woven with light-forged silver. Her sword Solstice hummed at her side. Whitney, taller now, his fur glowing faintly with divine runes, walked beside her like a silent sentinel.
"Jean Luther has returned," a guard called out.
"Open the gates," came the order.
And the gates, for the first time in two years, groaned open for the Emissary of Light.
---
The Grand Hall of the Luther Clan was a temple of swords.
Banners of past Patriarchs lined the pillars—none more revered than the largest, hanging at the far end:
Martin Luther, the Absolute Master.
Beneath his banner stood Charles Luther, the Grand Patriarch.
Still towering. Still sharp-eyed. But older now.
Like an ancient blade that had tasted too much blood.
He said nothing as Jean approached. Neither did her siblings.
Adam Luther, tall, brutal, every inch a warrior, stood to Charles's right—his stare was molten steel.
Raven Luther, dark-haired and cold, leaned against a pillar, a smirk playing on her lips like a hidden dagger.
Silvia was not present. Of course not.
"Jean," Charles said, his voice low and full of weight, "you return as a Master."
Jean bowed.
"I return as a candidate," she said. "For the Patriarchy."
A beat of silence.
Then Adam laughed, low and contemptuous.
"You're two years late to die."
Jean did not blink. "I only need a moment to win."
---
Later that night, Jean stood on the balcony of her old chamber. The wind was colder here. The stars sharper. The familiar weight of the stronghold pressed on her shoulders like invisible chains.
Whitney lay beside her, watching the stars.
"Did you mean it?" he asked. "About the succession war?"
Jean closed her eyes.
"I did. If I run now, then everything I've done—all the people I've sworn to protect—means nothing."
Whitney said nothing for a while.
Then: "You'll have to fight Adam."
Jean nodded.
"And Raven," she added softly. "Maybe others."
"And what about Ryan's offer?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Then she whispered, "If I lose here, none of that will matter."
---
Meanwhile, in the shadowed halls of the Luther Archives, a figure moved through sealed corridors.
Raven Luther stood before an old, rusted vault—her black-gloved hand pressed against a blood-sigil.
The vault hissed open.
Inside, buried in runes and forbidden scrolls, pulsed a dark artifact: a Luther blade cast during the era of the First Dragons.
Her eyes gleamed.
"If the Light has returned," she whispered, "then I shall become the dark it must overcome."
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