She was forced to flee Tarkington, to seek refuge in a foreign land. She changed her name, hid her identity, and raised you as a commoner, all to protect you from those who would harm you."Damon stared at Farid, his mind reeling. He remembered his mother, her quiet strength, her unwavering love. He remembered the stories she used to tell him, of faraway lands and brave knights. He had always assumed they were just fairy tales. But now…"She never told me anything about this," Damon said, his voice barely a whisper."She couldn't," Farid said. "It was too dangerous. She knew that if anyone discovered your true identity, you would both be in danger.""But... why didn't my father come for us?" Damon asked, his voice filled with pain. "Why did he let us live in poverty, without him?""He didn't know where you were," Farid said. "Your mother disappeared without a trace. He searched for her for years, but he could never find her. He believed that she was dead, that you were dead.""And now

The royal soldiers led Damon and Farid through a seemingly endless maze of corridors. The palace was a labyrinth of marble and gold, with towering ceilings and intricate carvings. Banners bearing the royal crest hung from the walls, depicting a stylized griffin, its eyes sharp and predatory."Impressive, isn't it?" Farid said, his voice low. "But don't let the grandeur fool you. This place is full of snakes."Damon nodded, his senses on high alert. He could feel the weight of the gazes upon him, the silent judgment of the unseen eyes. The air was thick with tension, a palpable sense of malice that made his skin crawl.They finally arrived at a large antechamber, where a group of people were gathered. They were all dressed in elaborate robes and jewels, their faces haughty and disdainful. These were Damon's half-siblings, the children of King Tarkon."Ah, the bastard of the West has arrived," a voice sneered.Damon turned to see a young man, tall and slender, with piercing blue eyes an

But then, something unexpected happened. Farid stepped forward, his face pale but determined."I object!" he said, his voice ringing through the hall.The room fell silent, all eyes turning to Farid. The herald looked at him, his face stern."You dare interrupt the king's proclamation?" he said. "Know your place, servant!""I am not a servant," Farid said, his voice firm. "I am a friend. And I will not stand by and watch while my friend is unjustly excluded.""Unjustly?" the herald said, his eyebrows raised. "The rules are clear. Only those with a System may compete.""And what if," Farid said, his voice trembling slightly, "what if someone were willing to… to transfer their System to Damon?"A gasp rippled through the room. The siblings exchanged shocked glances, their faces a mixture of disbelief and outrage."Transfer a System?" Theron exclaimed. "That's impossible! It's unheard of!""It is possible," Farid said. "I have a System. And I am willing to give it to Damon."The room eru

The Grand Hall of the palace buzzed with anticipation. Nobles in their finest attire filled the tiered seating, their murmurs echoing through the vast space. Banners bearing the royal crest hung from the walls, and the air crackled with an almost palpable tension. This was it: the first trial of the Succession Contest, the Test of Mind.Damon stood on the raised platform at the center of the hall, alongside his siblings, Theron and Lyra. He felt a knot of anxiety in his stomach, but he tried to project an air of calm confidence. He knew that this trial was designed to test their strategic thinking, their knowledge, and their ability to reason under pressure.Before them sat a panel of royal scholars, their faces stern and unreadable. They were the judges of this contest, the arbiters of wit and wisdom. At the center of the panel sat the Head Scholar, a wizened old man with piercing eyes and a long, white beard.The Head Scholar rose to his feet, his voice booming through the hall. "We

The morning of the second trial dawned bright and clear, a stark contrast to the nervous energy thrumming through the palace. The Gladiatorial Arena, a massive structure of stone and sand, buzzed with anticipation. Today, the heirs would prove their mettle in combat, either by choosing a skilled warrior to represent them or by stepping into the arena themselves.Damon paced in his small chamber, his mind racing. He ran a hand over the worn leather of his training gloves. He'd spent the last few days honing his skills, practicing maneuvers, and studying combat strategies. But he knew that he was still at a disadvantage. He didn't have the years of training that the other heirs had, nor did he have access to the best weapons and armor.Aria entered, her face etched with concern. "Damon, are you sure about this? You don't have to fight yourself. You could choose a champion."Damon stopped pacing and looked at her. "I know, Aria. But I can't. This trial is about more than just strength. I