Extra Chapter 26 – The Secret Tradition of the Vryndara Family(POV Rhydian)
The path to the lower chambers was steep and winding, carved into the very foundation of the palace. The torches lining the stone walls flickered as we descended, casting elongated shadows that danced in the dim glow. Luna walked beside me, our daughter wrapped securely against her chest, sleeping soundly despite the cool underground air.
She had been curious when I asked her to come with me tonight—curious, yet trusting.
That trust meant everything.
"This place feels... ancient," Luna murmured, her fingers trailing lightly along the stone wall. "How long has it been here?"
"Longer than the palace itself," I answered, guiding her carefully over the uneven ground. "This chamber was built by the first King of Vryndara, long before there were thrones or courts. It was meant to be a sanctuary—a place for family, not politics."
She looked up at me then, her golden eyes gleaming with interest. "And why are we here?"
I hesitated for a moment, gathering my thoughts.
"Because there is a tradition in my family," I finally said. "A ritual that every father has done for his child, passed down through generations. A secret, kept even from the court. Only those of our bloodline know of it."
Luna adjusted our daughter in her arms, curiosity and warmth flickering across her face. "And you want to share it with me?"
I reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from her cheek. "You are my family, Luna. My mate. There is nothing I would keep from you."
A slow, knowing smile touched her lips, but she didn't press me for more answers. She simply nodded, allowing me to lead her deeper into the chamber.
At the very end of the tunnel, the stone walls opened into a vast circular room. The ceiling stretched high, disappearing into the darkness, while the floor was covered in smooth slabs of obsidian.
And on every surface—walls, pillars, even the domed ceiling—there were carvings.
Names.
Words.
Messages from fathers to their children, etched into stone as a promise.
Luna inhaled sharply, taking it all in.
"This…" She turned in slow circles, eyes wide with awe. "This is incredible, Rhydian."
I stepped forward, running my fingers over the nearest inscription. The letters were worn, softened by time, but the words still held their meaning:
"To my son, may you carry the fire of our ancestors and the kindness of your mother."
It was my father's handwriting. His message to me.
Luna came closer, reading the inscription, then looked up at me. "Your father wrote this?"
I nodded. "The night I was born."
She glanced around at the thousands of other inscriptions. "Then all of these…"
"Yes." I gestured to the walls, the pillars, the ceiling. "Each father who came before me has written their hopes, their promises, their love for their children. This is our legacy—not crowns, not battles, but this."
A silence stretched between us, thick with something unspoken.
Then, Luna took my free hand and squeezed.
"You should write yours," she whispered.
I exhaled slowly, then nodded.
I moved to the center of the room, where a small stone pedestal stood, holding a ceremonial dagger. The blade had been passed down for centuries, its edge still impossibly sharp.
With careful precision, I pressed the tip to my palm, drawing a thin line of blood. A single drop fell onto the stone floor, sealing my right to carve my words into history.
Then, gripping the dagger, I turned to the nearest unmarked space and began to carve.
"To my child..."
I hesitated for only a moment before continuing, my strokes steady.
"May you grow with strength, not only in body but in heart. May you learn that power is nothing without kindness, that love is the greatest shield of all. You are the light of my soul, the blood of my blood. You are my greatest joy, my greatest vow."
I stepped back, breathing deeply. The words were simple, but they held everything I felt.
When I turned to Luna, I found her watching me with something unreadable in her expression.
Then she moved forward, pressing a kiss to my palm, just above the thin cut.
"She will love this," she whispered. "One day, when she is old enough to read it."
A lump formed in my throat. "I hope so."
Luna reached up, brushing her fingers against my cheek. "She doesn't need to read it to know. She will feel it, every day, just as I do."
I gathered her close, resting my forehead against hers, our daughter sleeping soundly between us.
Here, in the heart of our family's history, I made a silent vow.
No matter what came, no matter what trials we faced—I would protect them.
They were my legacy.
They were my forever.