"I wasn't testing whether you could learn magic," Mother continued, as if reading my thoughts. "Any Raven can learn magic. I was testing whether you could wield power without letting it destroy your mind."
She paused, and something dark flickered in her eyes.
"Your cousin, Malachar Raven, was a prodigy. He mastered necromancy at fourteen. Blood magic at fifteen. By sixteen, he could raise entire battlefields of corpses."
Cousin.
Malachar.
The Nightmare.
Oh FUCK.
"He was brilliant," Mother said quietly. "And he was utterly consumed by his power. He became unhinged. Corrupted. He lost the ability to distinguish between necessary cruelty and mindless destruction."
What happened to him?
Did he destroy himself?
Did the family—
"We had to put him down," Mother said, and her voice was cold. "Before he destroyed House Raven's reputation entirely."
They KILLED him.
They killed their own HEIR.
Because he couldn't control his power.
Because he became a LIABILITY.
Because he became the NIGHTMARE.
FUCK.
That's what this was about.
She was testing whether I'd become another Malachar.
Whether I'd lose myself to the magic.
Whether I'd become the version of me I just showed her.
"You maintained control," Mother said. "Under pressure. Under temptation. You chose precision over excess. Strategy over chaos."
She stepped closer, and I saw something in her expression I'd never seen before.
Approval.
Genuine, unqualified APPROVAL.
"And more importantly," Mother continued, "you showed me that you KNOW what you're capable of becoming. That illusion—the nightmare version of yourself—that wasn't just magic. That was AWARENESS."
She's right.
That WAS awareness.
I know what I could become.
I know the danger.
And I'm choosing NOT to go there.
I'm choosing CONTROL.
"You are ready," Mother said.
Ready.
Ready for WHAT?
Mother turned and gestured toward a door I hadn't noticed before—hidden in the shadows, carved with more runes.
"The grimoire chamber," she said. "House Raven's personal collection. You've earned access."
The grimoire chamber.
The PERSONAL collection.
Oh FUCK.
This is—
This is HUGE.
I followed Mother through the door into a room that made the library look like a joke.
Books.
EVERYWHERE.
Floor to ceiling.
Ancient, leather-bound, PULSING with magic.
This is—
This is a dark mage's DREAM.
"Choose one," Mother said. "A grimoire that matches your personality. Your power. Your purpose."
Choose ONE.
How am I supposed to choose ONE?
There are HUNDREDS.
I walked along the shelves, feeling the magic radiating from each book.
Too aggressive.
Too passive.
Too focused on necromancy.
Too focused on blood magic.
I need something that encompasses EVERYTHING.
Something that matches who I'm becoming.
Someone who understands CONTROL.
And then I saw it.
A grimoire bound in black leather with silver runes that seemed to shift and change as I looked at them.
That one.
That's the one.
I reached for it, and the moment my fingers touched the cover, I felt a surge of recognition.
This is MINE.
This was MADE for me.
I pulled it from the shelf and opened it.
The pages were filled with spells, rituals, theories—all written in a hand that looked almost... familiar.
Wait.
This handwriting.
I've seen this before.
"That grimoire," Mother said quietly, "belonged to the founder of House Raven. Nyx the Malevolent."
NYX.
My MIDDLE NAME.
The name I CHOSE when I was reborn.
This is—
This is FATE.
This is DESTINY.
This is Truck-kun's gift coming full circle.
"It's perfect," I said, and my voice cracked slightly.
Don't cry.
Don't you DARE cry.
Dark mages don't—
Mother smiled—a genuine, warm smile that transformed her entire face.
"I thought you'd choose that one," she said.
She reached into her robes and pulled out a small box.
Oh no.
What NOW?
She opened it, revealing a necklace—a silver raven with amethyst eyes, hanging from a delicate chain.
It's beautiful.
It's PERFECT.
"This is your inheritance," Mother said. "A symbol of your standing in House Raven. Wear it with pride."
She fastened it around my neck, and I felt the weight of it settle against my chest.
I'm official.
I'm a TRUE heir of House Raven.
I'm—
The tears came before I could stop them.
FUCK.
I'm CRYING.
I'm crying in front of MOTHER.
But she didn't mock me. She didn't pull away.
She just stood there, one hand still on my shoulder, and let me have the moment.
This is—
This is what I never had.
In my old life.
Approval. Pride. ACCEPTANCE.
Someone who sees what I'm capable of and isn't AFRAID.
Someone who sees the Nightmare and says 'I trust you not to become that.'
I wiped my eyes quickly, trying to salvage some dignity.
"Thank you, Mother," I said.
She nodded. "You have power now. Magical power. Political allies. Recognition from rivals."
Allies.
Elara. Celeste.
Recognition.
Riku.
Oh FUCK.
Riku.
"Speaking of rivals," Mother said, and there was something almost... amused in her tone. "The Valdris prince."
She KNOWS.
She knows about the dinner.
She knows I was FLUSTERED.
She knows EVERYTHING.
I'm going to DIE.
"He's interesting," Mother said. "Intelligent. Powerful. And he challenges the status quo."
She paused.
"Use that."
Use that.
She's telling me to USE him.
Not avoid him.
Not be embarrassed.
USE him as an ASSET.
That's—
That's actually brilliant.
That's EXACTLY what Machiavelli would say.
Build alliances with people who share your vision.
Use their strength to reinforce your own.
Don't rely on borrowed power, but don't reject useful allies either.
"I understand, Mother," I said.
And I did.
Riku isn't a distraction.
He's an OPPORTUNITY.
A potential ally in a kingdom that might become an enemy.
A connection to Valdris.
A strategic ASSET.
I can work with that.
I can USE that.
Mother nodded. "Good. Now go. Rest. You've earned it."
I left the grimoire chamber, clutching Nyx the Malevolent's grimoire to my chest, feeling the weight of the silver raven necklace.
I did it.
I ACTUALLY did it.
I passed Mother's test.
I have access to the grimoire chamber.
I have my inheritance.
I have EVERYTHING.
Nyx stirred on my shoulders. "You're smiling."
"I'm WINNING," I said.
"You're terrifying," Nyx corrected. "That illusion—the nightmare version—that was genuinely disturbing. I'm impressed. And slightly concerned."
Good.
EXCELLENT.
That's exactly what I should be.
I walked back through the manor, past the skeleton servants, past the portraits of dead Raven ancestors, feeling more confident than I had since I woke up in this body.
Back in my room, I set the grimoire on my desk and stared at it.
This is just the beginning.
The foundation.
Now comes the REAL work.
The crimes.
The infamy.
The LEGEND.
But also—
Also, I need to remember the Nightmare.
I need to remember what I could BECOME.
I need to remember that power without control is just CHAOS.
That's what separates me from Malachar.
That's what makes me DANGEROUS instead of just destructive.
I'm not going to lose myself to the power.
I'm going to MASTER it.
And then I'm going to use it to reshape this entire kingdom.
But I'm going to do it with CONTROL.
With STRATEGY.
With PURPOSE.
Nyx slithered onto the desk beside the grimoire. "So. What's next?"
I opened the grimoire and began reading. Nyx the Malevolent's personal notes. Spells. Rituals. Philosophy. Everything I need to become what I'm meant to be.
And on the first page, written in that familiar handwriting, was a single line:
"Power is not given. It is taken. And those who take it without apology become legends."
I smiled—that sharp, dangerous smile.
Perfect.
ABSOLUTELY perfect.
I looked at the silver raven necklace in the mirror, feeling its weight.
Isabel Nyx Raven.
Heir of House Raven.
Dark mage.
Future legend.
Someone who knows what she could become.
And chooses CONTROL instead.
Let's BEGIN.
Nyx laughed. "This is going to be entertaining."
"Shut up," I said, but I was grinning.
This is going to be LEGENDARY.