Veil of Inheritance

A King Among Mortals

The Grand Square hall buzzed with a cacophony of judgment. Each sneering whisper, each choked gasp, was a dagger aimed at Eleanor’s pride and Elle’s mortified heart. The elegant facade of the gala had shattered, replaced by a scene of utter social catastrophe. Eleanor, her face a mask of furious disbelief, stared at Lucas, her breath caught somewhere between a shriek and a sob. Elle, beside him, felt tears sting her eyes, her earlier radiance replaced by profound shame.

But Lucas stood there, completely unbothered by the storm of condemnation. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk played on his lips. His gaze swept over the shocked faces, from Frederick's gleeful malice to Eleanor's outraged despair. This was exactly what he wanted. For the Sinclairs, and for all of Spring Town's elite, to see him at his absolute lowest, a pathetic 'freeloader.' Grandpa Henry's words echoed in his mind: "The Veil is thinning... your secret protects the world. "A king must know how it feels to be dismissed, to be scorned, before he truly rises." This public humiliation was a necessary performance, a calculated plunge to the bottom before the true climb began. He recalled his foster father, the Priest. Not just a spiritual leader, but the powerful king of the six Dragon Clans, whose immense wealth from his businesses in the outside world had surpassed all others, fueling envy among his kin. The Priest had seen something in Lucas, a unique talent, a raw potential no one else possessed. Lucas, a mere mortal, had endured rigorous, grueling training under the Priest, pushing the boundaries of what was thought possible. He had become the first mortal in history to achieve dragon transformation. His powers were enormous, not just inherited, but forged. And his wealth, vast beyond their wildest dreams, was his strength, his true dragon hoard. Lucas mused internally, a flicker of amusement crossing his eyes at their petty outrage. Oh, if they only knew.

Eleanor finally found her voice, a strained, high-pitched demand. "Lucas! What is the meaning of this charade? "You disgrace me! "You disgrace this family!" Frederick, seizing his moment, stepped forward, his face contorted in a sneer that oozed satisfaction. "There it is, Mother! The truth about your precious son-in-law! A beggar, a leech! "He even ruined this magnificent hall, talking about lending him money for treatment!" He dramatically threw his hands up. "How will we ever recover from this shame? "The Sinclair name, dragged through the mud by him!" Elle, her voice choked with tears, whispered, "Lucas, please... stop this." Just then, Edward, Eleanor's eldest son, stepped forward, his jaw tight. "Elle," he said, his voice cold and firm, "I’ve asked you to divorce this good-for-nothing husband of yours countless times. Can't you see now? "He's a complete embarrassment!" The clamor intensified. Lucas simply held Eleanor’s gaze, while making Frederick almost froth at the mouth. He didn't offer a defense, just a silent, unnerving calm that unsettled everyone more than any outburst could have.

After Eleanor's birthday party was mercifully over, and they all returned home, the news of Lucas Hawthorne’s public begging exploded across Spring Town. Every social media platform, every gossip column, every whispered conversation revolved around the incredible scandal. "Lucas Hawthorne, Sinclair's son-in-law, begging for money on his mother-in-law's birthday!" people exclaimed, some with shock, others with cruel delight. His reputation as a 'freeloader' was solidified, cemented into a laughable, pitiful legend. The Sinclairs became the subject of pity and derision, their magnificent Grand Square gala overshadowed by the grotesque public humiliation of their kin. Frederick reveled in the gossip, certain Lucas was finally, irrevocably ruined. Edward continued to push Elle for a divorce, his disdain for Lucas now absolute.

Meanwhile, in a place unseen by mortal eyes, the Dragon Kingdom was shrouded in an unusual quiet. The Dragon Palace, a majestic structure carved from obsidian and pulsating with ancient magic, felt almost deserted. It had been a long time since Lucas had walked its hallowed halls. The last time he was there, grief had hung heavy in the air, during the solemn burial of the Priest, the late Dragon King. The Dragon Kingdom was fundamentally divided into two major clans: the proud, ambitious Northern Clan and the more traditionally grounded Southern Clan, to which Lucas, as the current King, belonged. The Northern Clan, led by its strongest warrior, Kelvin, had long coveted the throne. Kelvin was a formidable, ruthless dragon, constantly seeking a way to usurp the kingship. For years, he had been looking for any weakness, any opportunity, to know who the Dragon King was, so he could challenge him in a fight contest—a brutal tradition that would grant him the throne if he won. He deeply resented the Priest, not just for his power, but for the immense wealth he accumulated from the outside world, which dwarfed all other clans and made the Dragon Kingdom even more formidable. Lucas, despite inheriting the throne, had been kept away from the palace, protected and hidden because he was considered too young, too newly transformed, to fully embody his role. His unique origin—a mortal chosen and trained by the Priest, becoming the first of his kind to achieve true dragon transformation—made him an anomaly, a secret the Priest had carefully guarded. But the time for staying hidden was drawing to a close.

Lucas, having handled the human world's chaos, knew it was time to address the stirring currents in his true home. He moved with a purpose, traversing the mystical pathways that led directly to the Dragon Palace. His mortal form was cloaked in simple, casual clothes, a deliberate choice. He needed to observe, to understand the shifting dynamics of his kingdom before fully revealing himself. As he approached the grand entrance of the palace, he saw a powerful, broad-shouldered figure storming out. It was Kelvin, his face contorted in a furious scowl, his dragon eyes still simmering with frustration. Kelvin had just left Grandpa Henry, having failed to extract any information about the hidden King, despite trying every trick, even attempting to subtly intoxicate the wise elder. He muttered curses under his breath, completely oblivious to the seemingly unassuming young man walking towards him. Kelvin's eyes, blazing with an impatient, arrogant fire, barely registered Lucas. He merely glanced at Lucas's casual attire, saw nothing that signified power or status in the young man's mortal form, and dismissed him with a contemptuous snort. "Out of my way, boy!" Kelvin growled, shoving past Lucas without a second thought, his powerful frame brushing roughly against the King he so desperately sought to find and kill. Lucas, undisturbed by the shove, simply watched Kelvin's retreating back, a knowing glint in his eyes. Kelvin hadn't noticed him. Not truly. He had dismissed him as a mere nobody. Perfect, Lucas thought. The Dragon King, walking unrecognized in his own palace, while his greatest rival fumed, blind to the power he'd just brushed past.