Jude asked his father innocently, "What does it mean… to be a God's contractor?"
The moment the words left his mouth, the air in the chamber shifted slightly, as though the very walls were adjusting to the weight of the question. The Patriarch, who had remained seated behind his heavy desk of blackwood, slowly rose to his feet.
His presence filled the room without any need for expression or pressure. His sharp eyes were locked on the faint residue of energy still clinging around Jude's fingers. He could feel it clearly.
This was not mana. It was not sword essence. It was not a cultivated force belonging to mortals. It carried a strange depth, a heavy silence, like standing at the edge of an endless abyss.
It was shadow.
The Patriarch stepped closer, his boots echoing faintly against the stone floor as he studied Jude more closely.
"And your contractor…" he said slowly, his voice far calmer than his heart, "…is it Morthos, God of Shadow and Death?"
Jude nodded.
His voice remained steady when he replied, "Yes. He appeared before me… and chose me to be his contractor." For a long moment, silence swallowed the chamber.
The Patriarch's expression didn't change outwardly, but inside his mind, something shifted. A deep, ancient realization struck him like a slow-moving storm. House Avernus carried a hidden name among the masses — The Lost from Divinity.
It was a stain and a mystery that had followed their bloodline for generations, because throughout their hundreds of years of existence, no god had ever answered them, no divine being had ever acknowledged them with a contract.
While other noble houses boasted divine descendants and blessed heirs, Avernus remained bound only to steel and flesh. And yet… Morthos had chosen this child.
The Patriarch's eyes sharpened further as he stared at Jude. There exist countless gods across the realms, beings who govern concepts, elements, domains, and laws beyond mortal comprehension. Some were worshipped openly, others had long faded into myths, and some were remembered only in forbidden scriptures.
Morthos, however, belonged to the upper hierarchy of divinity.
A God of Shadow and Death, an existence who ruled over the boundary between endings and silence. Among gods, his name was not spoken lightly.
The Patriarch had only ever read fragments about him in ancient records preserved deep within House Avernus' sealed archives, texts that even most heirs were never allowed to see. He slowly spoke, his voice carrying the weight of that knowledge.
"There exist different kinds of Gods, Jude… and Morthos is not a low one. He is a being of true divinity. Even among other Gods, he is highly respected.
The chances of being chosen by any God at all are slim… extremely slim. Only a handful of people across generations ever experience such a thing, and most die never even knowing divine attention exists.
But Morthos…" His gaze hardened again.
"According to all known history, he has never formed a contract with a human before." The Patriarch paused, then continued, his voice lowering. "And yet… he chose you, my son.
What makes you special?"
Jude remained silent for a moment. He looked at his father, not with arrogance, nor pride, just quiet honesty.
"I don't know, father… he just did."
As he spoke, the faint shadow flame he had formed earlier slowly dissipated, dissolving into the air like smoke returning to nothing.
The unnatural presence faded from the room, leaving behind only the heavy stillness of stone and wood.
The Patriarch observed him for several seconds longer, searching for hesitation, fear, or deception, but Jude's expression remained firm and steady, showing no signs of cowardice or falsehood.
Finally, the Patriarch spoke again. "For now, you will keep this a secret. No one in the estate, not even your siblings, must know about this. Not yet." His voice carried authority, but also a rare trace of calculated concern.
A divine contractor within House Avernus could either become their greatest strength or their greatest disaster if discovered too early. Jude bowed without protest. "Yes, father." With that, he turned and left the chamber.
His footsteps echoed along the vast halls of the estate, long corridors lined with stone pillars and banners bearing the sigil of House Avernus. Only after he had walked a good distance from the Patriarch's door did his body finally loosen.
A slow breath escaped his lips. His chest felt lighter, though his mind still churned with thoughts. "It went better than I thought…" he muttered quietly to himself. "He knows everything now… and he still supports me."
For a brief moment, a strange feeling rose in his chest. In his previous life, his father had been nothing more than a distant figure of authority, cold and unreachable, but now… something had changed, even if only slightly.
As Jude continued walking down the stone corridor, a familiar presence approached from ahead. He stopped when a figure blocked his path.
Gale.
His brother stood casually with his arms crossed, his expression relaxed but his eyes sharp. Without any hostility, Gale stepped forward and placed a hand on Jude's head, lightly patting it, an action that still felt unnatural within the brutal hierarchy of House Avernus.
"Little brother… you were impressive out there today," Gale said, his voice calm but sincere. "You even got yourself a private conversation with father."
Jude remained silent, watching him cautiously. In his mind, House Avernus followed only one rule — the strong survive, the weak are crushed. Sibling relationships were nothing more than quiet rivalries awaiting bloodshed.
He had expected Gale to sneer at him, or warn him, or try to assert dominance. Instead, Gale simply smiled faintly. "Don't look so tense," he added, reading Jude's eyes.
"I didn't come to put you in your place.
I just came to say… make sure you grow strong. And fast." His tone carried weight, not like a joke, but like a warning wrapped in encouragement. Then he withdrew his hand and walked past Jude, his steps slow and unbothered, disappearing down the corridor.
Jude watched his back for a moment. In his past life, Gale had not been as overwhelming as the two eldest, but no one had ever considered him weak. Far from it.
He had later earned the name Demon of the South, a title that spread across regions stained in blood, after he single-handedly crushed the southern rebellion. Entire forces had fallen at his hands. He had left no survivors. No witnesses. Only silence and aftermath.
Thinking about that future version of him now, Jude felt something once again settle deep in his core. This family wasn't just full of talent — it was full of future monsters.
Jude finally turned away and returned to his room. The moment he entered, the tension he had been holding onto since the morning slowly melted away.
His body felt heavy, not just from training and exhaustion, but from the weight of information, confrontation, and fate that had all unfolded within a single day.
He sat down on the edge of his bed, staring at the ceiling quietly.
The battle with Vex, the wager in the hall, the conversation with the Patriarch, his divine secret, Gale's unexpected words… everything replayed in his mind slowly, like waves hitting the shore over and over again.
He exhaled deeply and then finally laid down, closing his eyes. His breathing slowed, his heartbeat calmed, and the darkness gently took him. Once again, his consciousness slipped from the physical world, sinking into that familiar endless void… the Shadow Realm, where only silence, shadow, and the presence of his unseen contractor awaited him.