Arthur had always been lonely, burdened with a legacy he never understood, yet was forced to carry.

He was a Dragon Slayer, a lineage etched into his blood long before he was born… a lineage older than some kingdoms within the human empire…

a lineage forged in an era when humanity suffered under the dragon domination.

The Drakenhearts were created to save humans.

To fight for them.

To die for them.

And when they finally succeeded, when humanity rose, formed alliances with the very Dragons they once feared, they conveniently forgot every atrocity committed by those same Dragons…

…and erased the entire Drakenheart family.

All their sacrifices, victories and bloodshed were forgotten and discarded.

Only a small fragment of their bloodline was spared,

kept alive in secret… So those hypocrites could cry for help again when dragons inevitably turned on them.

Arthur was the heir to that dying bloodline and currently, one of the last ones who still carried the Drakenheart curse.

Their family was kept imprisoned in a forgotten corner of the empire, a whole city turned into a breeding cage used only to produce a "suitable heir" before every other Drakenheart was executed like livestock.

And the day Arthur turned ten… even that ended.

He still remembered vividly, the screams, the blood and the sound of armored boots echoing through the stone hall as imperial officers came with their cold smiles and colder orders.

He remembered his mother crying and begging on her knees, clutching his little siblings as she begged them to spare the younger two.

He remembered thrashing at the soldiers with everything a ten-year-old body could muster.

It didn't matter.

They weren't there to listen.

They were there to kill everyone except him and his sister.

Because only his twin-sister had awakened the "purest" Draconic lineage, the perfect tool for the empire to twist into their loyal officer.

All the "impure" ones, his brother, his baby sister, every cousin, every uncle were slaughtered on the spot to make space for the next few generations.

And Arthur was spared not out of mercy or pity but only to produce the next generation of slaves for the empire.

The continuation of a bloodline designed to serve… and then be culled again.

But his father had foreseen this future long before it happened and in one final, desperate attempt to save his children, he used the last bit of his power to cast a teleportation spell, an unstable rift meant to take them away from the slaughter.

But the spell was rushed and his little brother and baby sister… they didn't make it in time.

Only Arthur was pulled through.

He could still see it, the way the world twisted into blinding light and the way his siblings' outstretched hands faded from view right before the rift snapped shut.

They died in front of him.

Everyone died in front of him.

He lived.

Not because fate was kind…

…but because fate had decided to torture him longer.

After that, he wandered across the Human Empire alone, starving and barely alive. Eventually, he collapsed in some forgotten alley and was taken in by an orphanage.

The Empire never came looking for him.

They didn't even notice his escape or if they did, they didn't care.

And that's how he ended up in this academy.

Because out of hundreds of other orphans within the tens of orphanages in his area, he alone was chosen to be sent here randomly.

Still, he didn't care.

He never expected anything from the world to begin with.

But then…

When he saw that boy, the human successor of the Demon King surrounded by demons, radiating a strange aura.

Something inside him reacted.

Something he couldn't explain.

Why does he feel so… familiar?

Arthur couldn't understand it.

It wasn't recognition or anything like that… It was more like their blood resonated as if something ancient inside him responded instinctively.

As if… they shared a similar bloodline.

But that made no sense.

Everyone from his lineage should be dead except his sister.

There shouldn't be anyone left carrying even a drop of Drakenheart blood besides himself.

So then…

Why?

The more he looked at Rael… the more another face began overlapping with his.

His little brother's.

Ragon.

He remembered the stupid pranks Ragon used to pull on him.

Those memories hit him all at once and before Arthur even realized it…

A smile appeared on his face.

A real smile he himself hadn't noticed.

A smile he had forgotten how to make a long, long time ago.

Just then, Rael's eyes landed on him. He paused, his expression brightening with an easy, confident smile and then as if they actually knew each other, he lifted his hand and casually waved at Arthur.

—

[Rael's POV]

Honestly, I had no idea what the hell was wrong with that guy Arthur or why he was smiling at me like that.

But… he was useful.

And if he had some curiosity toward me,

then sure, I was more than happy to use it as long as it wasn't that type of curiosity.

Just then, an immense aura slammed into the orientation hall.

Every bit of chatter died instantly.

I even heard a few chairs crash to the floor, probably some poor idiots fainting because their tiny bodies couldn't handle the spiritual pressure.

Typical.

This was exactly how that bastard Azriel liked to greet his students.

I lifted my head just in time to see him stride in, abyss-black hair and eyes, wearing an all black outfit with a matching cloak, walking embodiment of edginess.

Azriel.

The Homeroom Professor of my class.

His gaze shifted across the entire hall, cold and calculating and as he reached the center platform…

He opened his mouth to speak.

"Good morning, students of Noxvalen."

Azriel's voice echoed through the hall without any emotion.

"Orientation shall begin now."

His gaze swept across the room again.

But this time… it paused on me just for a split second but enough for me to feel the pressure tighten around my body and enough to see that familiar emotions in his eyes.

Anger.

Actual anger.

Before he calmly moved on like nothing happened.

…What the hell?

What did I do to piss him off this time?

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