The eastern corridor of the Rathsture estate was quiet that morning.

The air still carried the chill of dew, and sunlight streamed through the tall windows, painting golden lines across the polished stone floor. The walls were lined with portraits of Rathsture ancestors and solemn family emblems, their painted eyes watching in silence as generations came and went.

Four sets of footsteps echoed softly, steady and rhythmic.

At the front, Lyanna led the way with poised precision, her movements elegant and exact. Her dark-blue gown barely creased as she walked, and the folded fan tied neatly at her waist swayed with each graceful step. The low ponytail of her blonde hair caught the morning light, framing a calm face that betrayed only a flicker of tension in her eyes.

She glanced back.

Just a second—no more. Yet it was enough for her brow to furrow again.

That girl… Melly.

The small, bright-eyed girl with a messy head of hair and a sleepy smile. She was no noble. No heir of any great bloodline. Just the daughter of a commoner.

And yet the image from yesterday still burned in Lyanna’s mind.

Three affinities. Or at least that’s what she saw.

Her lips tightened. That number was not mere chance, it was a phenomenon. A threat, or perhaps a miracle.

In other words, Melly carried three Laws within her. The Laws that shaped reality itself. The Laws only touched by those known as Lawbearers. Which meant that child was now an Seeker.

And her brother…

Lyanna’s gaze shifted toward the man walking beside Melly—Riven.

His face was unremarkable, his clothes plain, nothing that suggested noble heritage. Yet beside him walked Ashtoria Iskandrite, the Queen of the Realm, the purest heir of aristocratic blood. A woman meant to remain untouchable.

But her hand—cold, elegant, and utterly composed—was wrapped around his. Naturally. As if it had always been that way.

Lyanna looked at them for a moment, then turned away with something that felt uncomfortably close to frustration. Beneath her calm exterior, a faint pulse of anger and confusion stirred.

Who are they really?

Behind her, Ashtoria’s hand still held Riven’s without the slightest hesitation. Her grip was light yet firm, her fingers warm despite her outward stillness.

Riven, on the other hand, looked far less composed. His shoulders were stiff, and his eyes flicked repeatedly toward their joined hands. He didn’t blush, but his awkwardness was painfully obvious.

Ashtoria noticed.

“I haven’t explained it to you, have I?” she said softly, her tone level, her gaze still forward. “About the ranks of talent and cultivation for a Lawbearer.”

Riven turned slightly, glancing at her profile. “Not yet.”

“Then listen carefully.”

Their footsteps echoed down the long eastern hall. On the left, tall windows revealed a fog-covered garden, faintly silver under the still-weak morning sun.

Ashtoria’s hand never left his. Her voice carried easily through the corridor, steady and deliberate.

“Once a person discovers their affinity,” she said, her tone calm but cutting, “they automatically become a Seeker. That is the first stage and from that point on, they are officially recognized as a Lawbearer.”

Riven nodded, his expression serious. Beside him, Melly leaned forward slightly, her eyes wide and curious, absorbing every word like a child listening to a bedtime tale.

“Above the Seeker is the Adept, sometimes called the Marked Soul,” Ashtoria continued. “Beyond that lies the Master, or Runed Core, followed by the Saint. And at the peak stands the Lawborne Sovereign, the highest realm a human can ever reach.”

Riven and Melly exchanged a quick glance. Their faces were tense but focused, both silently committing every term to memory.

Ashtoria’s tone softened slightly. “As I told you before, to become a Lawbearer, one must first discover their affinity, or more precisely, the Law that resonates within them.”

She looked briefly at Melly.

Her gaze wasn’t sharp, but it carried a quiet intensity that made most people uneasy.

“And even to find that Law,” she continued, “requires something that cannot be taught, talent.”

Her voice returned to its usual calm, each word deliberate. “That is why a tool was created to measure talent. From it, one’s rank is determined long before they ever touch the power of the world.”

Melly nodded faintly. Riven frowned slightly, his mind working to keep up.

“The lowest rank is F-Rank, known as the Dull,” Ashtoria explained. “People with this rank are rare, but not in a good way. Their bodies are misaligned with the Laws of the world. They are often sickly, and few live long. Cultivation for them is impossible.”

Riven’s brows knit.

“Above that is E-Rank, called Flicker. The most common. Ordinary citizens. They can live peacefully and even awaken their power through effort, but going beyond that is nearly impossible.”

Ashtoria glanced back, just for a moment, and Riven caught the cold fire glowing faintly in her crimson eyes.

“Next is D-Rank, the Kindled. This is the minimum threshold to be considered a true Lawbearer. Most will reach only the Marked Soul stage.”

Melly tilted her head slightly. “And then?” she asked softly, curiosity lighting her voice.

A faint smile touched Ashtoria’s lips. “Then comes C-Rank, the Attuned. A level of genuine talent. They can reach the Runed Core, though most never go further.”

Their steps continued echoing through the corridor.

“For context,” she added, “even elite knights of the realm rarely possess C-Rank talent. It is not easily attained.”

Riven nodded slowly.

“After that comes B-Rank, the Resonant. People of this caliber are rare, even among the nobility. With effort, they might reach the Reality Binder stage—but only with luck, lineage, or something beyond either.”

At that moment, Riven’s eyes flicked instinctively toward Lyanna Rathsture, who walked ahead of them.

The memory of their first meeting flashed in his mind: the sharp disdain in her gaze, the way she had looked him up and down like he was unworthy to stand in the same room as the Queen.

And now?

That same woman was leading the way.

The Queen herself was holding his hand.

And together, they were walking toward a test that could rewrite their fate.

Riven’s eyes narrowed slightly. A quiet question stirred in his chest.

What is my rank? What is Melly’s? Where do we stand in this world’s hierarchy?

Ashtoria, as if sensing his thoughts, tightened her hold on his hand just a little and kept walking.

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