Rosaline quickly dressed. However she could still feel a cooling sensation in her legs, a sign that Aristarkh’s cum was still dripping out of her.

Her face burned brighter at the thought as the illusion domain finally collapsed.

The distant soldiers came into view. They were no different from the illusion of before.

In fact, despite her cursed rank, Rosaline couldn’t tell the difference.

’How does he create such perfect illusions?’ she muttered inwardly.

Although she felt a trace of horror in her heart at the sight, she also felt a quiet relief that he was part of the Targaryen family, and possibly her man now.

Unaware of her thoughts, I greeted Rosaline goodbye before departing for my room. Today’s training and exercise were substantial, however it still didn’t bring me much thrill.

Knowing that I could easily defeat anyone at the same rank brought a sense of loneliness to my heart.

’It’s truly lonely to be invincible,’ I mused inwardly.

However, I knew this was only within the same cursed rank.

’I wonder what it would be like fighting my sister at a higher level of cultivation...’ I said to myself.

Lost in my thoughts, I walked back to my room.

...

Moments after sitting and contemplating nothing, a maid came and called me to the dining hall for the family dinner.

I let out a breath and left for the dining hall with brisk, light footsteps.

In no time, I arrived.

I instantly spotted the familiar seating arrangement.

Only, this time the air carried a slightly different atmosphere from before.

Initially, it had been cold. Now, there was a certain warmth to it.

Aristarkh’s presence in the family seemed to have brought some peace and warmth to the previously gloomy household.

I took my seat calmly, not saying a word.

The others were already present.

My father sat at the head of the table, his posture straight as always, his expression unreadable. My mother sat to his right, her elegance unchanged, though her eyes briefly flickered toward me the moment I arrived.

My sister was there too.

She didn’t look at me immediately.

But I could feel it.

Her awareness.

Sharp. Focused.

Watching.

I leaned back slightly in my chair, resting one arm against the table as servants began placing dishes one after another.

The aroma quickly filled the hall.

Rich meat. Fresh bread. Spiced broth.

Normal.

Too normal.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then,

"You seem to be in a good mood today."

My father’s voice broke the silence.

Calm. Controlled.

Directed at me.

I glanced at him briefly before replying.

"Do I?"

A faint smile touched my lips, but it didn’t reach my eyes.

He studied me for a second longer before letting out a quiet hum.

"You feel... different."

That made my sister finally look at me.

Our eyes met.

Only for a moment.

But it was enough.

There was no hostility.

No warmth either.

Just understanding.

She could tell.

Something had changed.

I didn’t respond.

Instead, I picked up the utensils and began eating.

The conversation slowly resumed after that.

Mostly small talk.

Territory matters. Minor clan movements. Resource allocations.

Things I had no real interest in.

But I listened anyway.

Because beneath the surface, there were always things worth noticing.

"...the northern sector has been unstable lately."

"...we might need to reinforce the border..."

"...there have been sightings again..."

I didn’t interrupt.

I just ate.

Until,

"What about you?"

My mother’s voice this time.

Gentle.

But intentional.

I paused slightly before looking at her.

"What about me?"

She smiled faintly.

"Your training. Has it been progressing well?"

A simple question.

But everyone at the table went quiet again.

Waiting.

I wiped my hands slowly before answering.

"It’s fine."

A vague response.

On purpose.

Her gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, as if trying to read something deeper.

But I gave her nothing.

After a few seconds, she nodded and returned to her meal.

The atmosphere didn’t tense.

But it shifted slightly.

I could feel it.

They were all aware.

Just not sure of what exactly.

The dinner continued in that strange, suspended rhythm.

Dishes came and went.

Servants moved silently.

And the family of the Targaryen household ate without truly speaking, the way powerful people do when they are each carrying something they have not yet decided to put on the table.

I was halfway through my meal when my father set down his cup.

The soft sound of ceramic on wood was quiet.

But it landed in the room like a stone dropped into still water.

Everyone felt the ripple.

"There’s something I need to address," he said. "All of you should hear it."

He wasn’t looking at any of us in particular.

His eyes were fixed at the center of the table, as though reading something written on the surface that only he could see.

My mother folded her hands in her lap.

My sister set her utensils down without being asked.

I didn’t move.

But I listened.

"The cursed gates," my father began, "have been appearing more frequently."

Silence.

He let it breathe for a moment before continuing.

"In the last three weeks alone, seven have manifested across our territories. Two in the outer sectors. Three along the northern stretch. And two..." He paused. "Two within the inner ring."

That last part changed the temperature of the room.

The inner ring.

That was close.

Closer than any gate had come in years.

"How are they being classified?" my sister asked.

Her voice was even. Measured.

The voice of someone who had trained herself not to show alarm.

My father glanced at her.

"Four of the seven are standard cursed class. Unstable, but containable. Our patrols have already begun suppression protocols on three of them." He reached for his cup again, but didn’t drink. "The remaining three are different."

Different.

That word lingered in the air.

My mother’s expression didn’t change.

But her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly against the fabric of her dress.

"Define different," I said.

My father looked at me.

A beat.

Then he set the cup down again.

"They are not responding to suppression. The cursed energy emanating from them is not of any rank our specialists have previously catalogued. The density is too high. The structure too deliberate." He exhaled slowly. "They are being classified as Aberrant-Grade."

Aberrant-Grade.

I had heard the term before.

In old texts. In the kind of records that weren’t meant for open reading, the ones stored behind seven seals in the clan’s restricted archives.

Aberrant-Grade gates were not natural formations.

They were not the result of accumulated cursed energy finding a weak point in the world’s membrane, the way standard gates were.

Aberrant-Grade meant something had opened them.

Something with intent.

"Their names?" my sister asked again.

She was the practical one in situations like this.

Always cutting to what mattered.

My father finally took a sip from his cup before answering.

"The first has been designated the Hollow Veil Gate." His voice remained steady. "It manifested three days ago at the edge of the Drenmoor Basin. Any cursed specialist sent to assess it returned..." He paused, choosing his next word carefully. "Altered."

"Altered how?" I asked.

"They came back functional. No visible injuries. But their cursed rank was gone." He looked at me directly. "Not suppressed. Not sealed. Gone. As though it had never existed."

The table was completely quiet now.

Even the servants near the walls had stilled.

A gate that stripped cursed rank from those who approached it.

That was not a natural phenomenon.

That was predation.

"The second," my father continued, "is called the Ashen Throat. It appeared in the northern stretch, near the Velkarrn Ridge. It doesn’t seem to attack anything directly. But everything within a two-kilometer radius of it withers." His expression didn’t flicker. "Plants. Animals. The soil itself. As though something inside the gate is consuming the vitality of the surrounding environment to sustain itself. Our border patrol lost four men, not to a fight, simply to proximity."

My mother finally spoke.

"And the third?"

Her voice was quieter than usual.

My father looked at her.

Something passed between them in that look.

Something that told me the third was the one he had been dreading saying aloud.

"The third," he said slowly, "has not been given an official designation yet. Our specialists refused to name it. They said..." He stopped. Started again. "They said that naming it might draw its attention."