Ascension of the Forsaken

Sylas Aldreth.

That was his new name.

It had been spoken for the first time in an official ceremony when he was barely a few weeks old. His father, Duke Aldreth, had stood before the gathered nobles and declared it with the same indifference one might have when naming a new hunting hound.

For Sylas, it meant nothing—yet. A name did not define a person. Their actions did.

But to the rest of the world, his name placed him within the intricate web of noble politics, family hierarchy, and expectations he had yet to fully grasp. And in this world, even blood did not guarantee protection.

Until now, he had only referred to himself as Lucian—out of habit, perhaps. A remnant of his past life. But that name belonged to another world, another existence.

Here, he was Sylas Aldreth. And he would carve meaning into that name himself.

Of all the people in House Aldreth, the one who showed him warmth was his mother, Lady Evelyne.

She was a woman of elegance and quiet strength, a noble lady who knew how to navigate court politics while keeping a firm grip on her household.

Unlike his father, who saw him as another piece on a chessboard, and his brothers, who saw him as a future rival or a stepping stone, she saw him as her son.

She often held him close, whispering soft reassurances.

“My Sylas, you are strong in your own way. Strength does not always come first—it is built over time.”

He wasn’t sure if she truly believed that or if she was simply trying to comfort him.

But it didn’t matter. She was the only person he could trust—for now.

The Aldreth household was filled with competition.

His brothers—born to different mothers but sharing the same father—viewed each other not as family, but as rivals.

Some were indifferent, seeing him as too young to be worth their attention.

Others, however, were already waiting for an opportunity to eliminate the weak.

One of them, Rael Aldreth, was the worst.

At eight years old, he was already a prodigy. His cultivation had awakened early, and his affinity for fire energy made him a favorite among the younger generation.

But more than that—he was cruel.

One evening, as Sylas lay in his crib, barely a month old, Rael approached.

His brown eyes gleamed with amusement as he leaned over.

“You don’t belong here, little Sylas.”

His voice was soft, but there was an unmistakable sharpness behind it.

He reached out a hand, fingers hovering just above Sylas’s cheek.

And then—

A flicker of flame sparked at his fingertips. Small. Controlled. Intentional.

The heat brushed against Sylas’s skin, not enough to burn, but enough to warn.

A slow smirk spread across Rael’s face.

Then, a new voice cut in.

“Enough, Rael.”

His mother had entered the room, her gaze cold and unyielding.

Rael chuckled but extinguished the flame with a flick of his fingers. He obeyed—but not out of fear.

He was waiting.

Waiting for a time when no one would be there to stop him.

Lady Evelyne’s voice was calm but firm. “He is your brother, no matter what you think. Leave.”

Rael stepped back, his smirk never fading.

“Just saying hello to my little brother.”

As he walked away, he cast one last glance at Sylas—a silent message.

This was only the beginning.

Sylas understood something that day.

His brothers were not his allies.

His mother was his only support, but even she could only protect him so much.

She held status in the household, but Rael hadn’t feared her. He had only chosen patience over confrontation.

Sylas was still weak. Still helpless.

But not for long.

One year.

That was all the time he had to find a way to awaken his cultivation.

And when he did—

He would no longer be prey.