I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon
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Chapter Forty-One: A Name Like Thunder
I sat on the edge of Richard's old bed, the creak of the worn mattress beneath me grounding me just enough to stay still. In my hands, I held the sealed envelope he'd left behind—small, innocuous, but heavy in a way that paper had no right to be. I cradled it like it was something fragile, sacred, volatile. Like it might disappear if I moved wrong. Or worse—detonate with the truth inside it.
There was something electric humming just under the surface of my skin, like a static charge building, warning me that once I opened this, everything would change. A strange, wary energy that made my fingers hesitate just inches from the seal.
I stopped myself. Something felt… off. Faintly magical. Familiar, but not safe.
"There's a sigil on this," I murmured aloud, eyes narrowing.
From across the room, Emily turned. She had been gently combing through some of Richard's old gear. When she heard the edge in my voice, she left whatever she was handling behind and crossed over to me, her curiosity sharpening.
"Let me see," she said, her tone calm but alert.
I handed the envelope to her carefully, as though it might shatter in the transfer. She took it with both hands, like she knew the weight it carried wasn't just physical. Muttering something soft and low in the old tongue, she let her magic flicker through her eyes—faint green light dancing across her irises as she scanned the envelope.
After a moment, she exhaled and nodded. "You're right. There's a ward on it. It's beautifully done—very subtle. A sigil keyed to a specific password or phrase. If you open it without saying the right word… it burns. Everything inside, gone."
I let out a quiet breath. Of course. That was exactly the kind of thing Richard would do. Careful. Precise. Trusting, yes, but never reckless. He protected what mattered—even from me, maybe especially for me.
I took the envelope back and stared at the seal again. It shimmered faintly now, like it was waiting for something. I knew what to say.
"Aster," I whispered.
The moment the word passed my lips, the envelope responded. It warmed in my hands—not burning, just… alive. I felt the sigil unravel like threads loosening, silk sliding free. No flash. No noise. Just a quiet exhale of magic. A soft permission.
I broke the seal and unfolded the envelope.
Inside, there was only a single piece of parchment, neatly folded. No long, tearful goodbye. No cryptic riddles or dramatic declarations. Just Richard. Direct. Clear. Clean.
You've always been more than the world knew what to do with.
I spent years looking. Digging through forgotten histories, pulling truth from the margins of books no one reads anymore, stealing whispers from those who'd rather the past stay buried.
The name they tried to erase. The bloodline they feared enough to eradicate.
You are a Astratides.
No one can take that from you now.
In the suitcase are your emancipation papers, legal documentation, everything you'll need to stand on your own—even if it's a little earlier than I'd hoped.
There's also a bit of gold in there. Call it the last lesson in practicality.
But above all, remember this:
Never forget who you are—not just what you are.
When I reached the end of the letter, I realized I hadn't breathed the entire time. My lungs burned a little, like I'd come up from deep underwater.
Emily was still beside me, watching carefully, her expression soft with something I couldn't quite name.
"What does it say?" she asked gently.
I didn't answer right away. I folded the letter slowly, reverently, as if I were handling something holy. In a way, I was.
"You remember the old bloodline?" I said eventually, my voice low. "The lightning werewolves. The ones whose name and existence was wiped from every record, every history book?"
Emily's eyes widened just a little, and she nodded.
"Richard found the name," I said. "And he gave it to me. Everything I need—my emancipation papers, a new identity. He left it all for me in the suitcase."
She placed a hand lightly on my shoulder. "What name?"
I looked up at her, my voice just above a whisper.
Her breath left her like a weight had been lifted from her chest. And then, without hesitation, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me.
The hug was solid. Warm. Real. Like a shelter I hadn't known I needed. She didn't speak right away—didn't need to. The silence between us held everything.
Then, still holding me, she murmured, "He knew. Even though you never talked about it, he knew. That it bothered you. Not having a name. Not having something that made you feel like the rest of us."
She was right. I hadn't admitted it, not even to myself. But it had eaten at me for years—quietly, relentlessly. That ache to belong. To be someone. To have a name that meant something. A truth I could hold onto.
I didn't answer her with words. I couldn't. I just nodded, barely, and stayed still in her arms.
And then, as if it had served its purpose, the letter in my hand began to curl inward, edges blackening into soft, silent ash. It disintegrated before my eyes—clean, painless. Like the closing of a chapter. Like a signature fading from the page.
Next, I turned my attention to the suitcase. It was an old, sturdy thing—dull leather and reinforced corners, the kind of container that could hold something valuable without calling attention to itself.
I rested my hand on the top and whispered again, "Aster."
There was a quiet click, followed by a mechanical hiss as the locks released. The lid opened smoothly.
Inside, everything was precise. Orderly. A stack of legal documents—my new identity. Clean paperwork, every form stamped and notarized. My name, my birthright, sealed in ink and approval. I recognized Richard's handwriting on the margins, his practiced forgery of my signature already filling half the blanks. Thoughtful. Prepared.
Beneath the papers, nestled in a hidden compartment, were three thick gold bars. Heavy. Real. Generational wealth packed away like an afterthought.
I couldn't help a small, hollow laugh. Of course. Leave it to Richard to squirrel away a fortune and treat it like spare change.
I turned each paper over carefully, scanning the seals and crests—every one of them confirming what I had never dared believe: I existed. I belonged.
When I was finished, I placed everything back in the suitcase, gently and with purpose. Then I closed it.
And though I didn't say it out loud, I heard the name echo inside my chest—deep and thunderous.
It rolled through me like a storm—sharp, cleansing, powerful.
And for the first time in longer than I could remember…I felt whole.