Athra gulped upon seeing his mother, the current ruler of the kingdom. He didn’t have a particularly great relationship with the woman considering he was not as promising as her other children; that was not a surprise as she had simply neglected his existence. Not that he was complaining, as that neglect had allowed him to develop his own way of garnering strength and even engage in experiments conducted on himself. Surely, if his mother cared about him more, he would not be allowed to continue with such risky research.

“What brings you here all of a sudden, Mother?” he asked with noticeable tension, despite his best efforts. After all, he was still not even considered a full-fledged adult by Ira standards.

“I just heard of your decision to come out of your century-long seclusion and wanted to see you. What mother would not rush over to see her child after not being able to see them for such a long time?” Alenea spoke with a gentle tone; her melodious voice would have people believe the woman was genuinely missing her child.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Mother, but I was about to request some leave time to come see you all in the manor regardless. You did not have to go through the trouble.” Athra could guess that rather than missing him, she just wanted to know why he was in isolation for so long. He was secretly hoping she hadn’t witnessed the duel that took place, as he really didn’t want to go through the trouble of trying to lie about why his mana reserves and casting speed now more closely resembled his siblings compared to before. He also suspected the woman could see through his lies anyway; such was the advantage of experience when it came to these matters.

Eldrinath, with an impatient look, spoke, “You presumed I’d give you permission to leave right after excusing you for not attending any of the mandatory courses for what amounts to basically all your time spent since enrollment? Now that, young man, is a bold assumption.” His still brown eyebrows furrowed; he found it disrespectful to the academy.

“Come now, Eldrinath, surely for my sake, you could let my son come home even if only for a few days.” The queen spoke; her voice carried unmistakable authority even the headmaster would not dare challenge. Had it been anyone else, he would have made them regret the faintly threatening tone, but she was beyond his grasp—a D’lora that was in her prime was not a power to be trifled with. He knew better than most, as he was there, albeit only a few hundred years old when the old queen made all Ira bow when she earned the name D’lora, meaning lord for herself and her descendants by making Alatrealis recognize her and bestow her the title Dajna, meaning female dragon, which became her name from then on. Yes, the daughter did not possess the mother’s might, but she still was above the limits of other Ira; her bloodline was simply superior for an unknown reason.

With an exasperated sigh, he said, “If the queen wills it, then I can only bow,” as he pulled out a paper and signed it, making the leave official. Perhaps if he was in his prime, he could spar with her and find out if she truly inherited her mother’s overwhelming prowess, but alas, he was in his twilight years, and while still impressive compared to almost all, he did not possess the strength he once did. All Ira had latent pride, and it was that pride that made him lament the fact that his prime years were spent when the person in charge simply wasn’t a power that could be challenged.

Athra was definitely not happy about the fact that he would be returning home under the watchful eyes of his mother. He had hoped that during his short stay, he perhaps could avoid her scrutiny and hide the things he had done to himself and only share what he deemed necessary with his siblings alone. They wouldn’t pry into his matters as long as he was fine; on the contrary, they would be happy about his increase in strength. But his mother was a different story. He knew there was a good chance he would be forced to explain what he had done and perhaps help her make herself even more powerful in the hopes of reaching the height her own ancestor once did.

“Come, son, we should take our leave. I am sure you have things to talk about with your siblings and me.” His mother’s voice dragged him back to reality and out of his own thoughts. He silently nodded and took a step towards the portal she formed with only her thoughts—an attestation to her ability as a spellcaster. Normally, such a spell would require both somatic and verbal components unless one wanted to use more mana than necessary. For such a high-level spell, only someone in a hurry or someone with practically unlimited mana pool showing off their superiority would do so.

As he stepped out of the portal, he saw the familiar grandiose entrance hall of the manor he was raised in. The black stone walls were elegantly adorned with different paintings and the banners of the kingdom. Deeper in, he could see the ever-watchful eyes of his grandmother’s painting that was hung over the staircase, an almost spitting image of his mother with their family’s signature black hair and eyes being even more prominent in the painting. What was most noticeable in the painting, though, was the enormous black dragon head which dwarfed the woman; it was, after all, a painting of the matriarch’s killing of the last black dragon. Moments later, his mother stepped out and commanded, “Let’s head upstairs; your siblings are waiting for us in the meeting room.” Without waiting for his input, she led the way; he had no option but to follow suit. Soon they were in front of the wooden door behind which he could sense his siblings waited. With mixed feelings of anxiety about needing to maneuver around revealing too much and anticipation of finally seeing his siblings, he watched his mother open the door, and finally, he stepped into the room.