CHAPTER 466: MAGNUS FAMILY II

"The Velmir family," Asher continued quietly, his tone calm but laced with a faint edge of sadness. "They were soul cultivators—artists of the spirit. But they crossed paths with a sect that desired their techniques. When the Velmirs refused to submit, that sect cursed them instead of killing them outright. Madness took root in their souls, and they turned on one another until none remained."

The room fell silent. Even the soft hum of the chandeliers above seemed to fade.

Selene’s brows furrowed, her voice lowering. "And their souls?"

Asher’s gaze shifted to the far wall where faint runes glowed dimly, like veins of red light trapped beneath stone. "They lingered here," he said. "Bound by their own despair. But I’ve freed them. The curse is gone now. Their spirits have already passed on."

Arnold’s expression softened with respect. "You performed a soul cleansing that powerful? That’s not an easy task, boy."

Asher gave a small shrug. "It wasn’t difficult—just... unpleasant. The curse was woven from both divine and demonic origins. I had to merge purifying flames to unmake it completely." His fingers twitched slightly, and for a brief moment, golden-red fire flickered between them before fading into mist.

Emily, seated near the end of the table, smiled gently. "Still, you did it. You gave peace to those who never had any. That’s more than most cultivators in this realm would bother with."

Asher’s lips curved faintly. "Perhaps. But this world is sick enough without more souls left screaming in its cracks."

Arnold chuckled, shaking his head. "You’ve grown into something far beyond what I ever imagined. To think, my grandson would purify a cursed house in the higher realm like it was nothing."

Asher gave a faint laugh. "You’ve always underestimated me, old man."

The table erupted into light laughter, breaking the tension. Plates were filled, cups raised, and warmth replaced the lingering echoes of the past. The firelight from the great hearth cast a golden sheen across the hall, reflecting in Asher’s eyes as he watched his family laugh and talk freely.

For the first time in a long while, the manor felt alive—not with ghosts or curses, but with life, sound, and soul.

Selene leaned toward him as servants—manifested by Asher’s soul energy—brought more dishes. "So this is the higher realm," she said softly. "I can feel the difference in every breath. It’s... sharper. The air itself carries power."

Asher nodded. "The energy density here is nearly hundred times that of the lower realms. Every inch of this world is alive with intent. But that also means the dangers are tenfold. Be cautious, all of you. Not everything here will respect your existence."

Maxwell leaned back in his chair. "Good thing we’ve got you, cousin. With you around, even the heavens might think twice."

Arnold smirked. "Ha! That’s the spirit. But remember—power draws envy faster than gold."

Asher’s smile thinned slightly. "I’m counting on it," he said quietly. "Let them come if they wish. I’ve dealt with worse."

The old man gave a knowing look. "Always confident. Just like your father."

At that, the laughter softened into a more reflective silence. Asher looked down for a moment before answering, his tone low. "Maybe. But I intend to finish what he couldn’t."

Arnold nodded slowly, understanding in his eyes. "Then this house will be our start—a foundation for the Magnus line to rise again."

Asher raised his glass. "To the Magnus Family," he said.

Everyone followed, glasses clinking together as the sound echoed through the hall. "To the Magnus Family."

Outside, the restored manor glowed faintly against the night—its runes pulsing softly like a living heart. Above it, the higher realm’s twin moons rose in tandem, their light washing over the estate in hues of silver and crimson.

***

As the feast ended and everyone retired to their rooms, Asher remained with his girls—Freya, Catherine, Veyra, Valeris, and Marina.

They were all in his chamber, gathered close, each of them quietly yearning for his presence after such a long separation. The room was softly lit by the gentle glow of soul-lamps embedded in the walls, their light shifting like the rhythm of a calm heartbeat. Outside the tall windows, the night stretched across the plains, silver clouds drifting lazily beneath the moon.

For a long while, no one spoke. The silence wasn’t heavy—it was warm, restful, like the quiet that follows a long journey finally ended.

Catherine leaned against his shoulder first, her voice barely above a whisper. "It still feels unreal... that we’re here, together again."

Freya smiled faintly, sitting across from them, her fingers tracing the edge of a nearby table. "I almost forgot what peace felt like."

Veyra, her crimson eyes reflecting the lamplight, nodded. "We’ve been fighting for so long... it’s strange to stop moving."

Valeris stood near the balcony, the cool wind brushing through her silver hair. "Strange—but not unwelcome," she murmured, glancing back with a rare, soft smile.

Marina was the quietest of them all. She simply sat beside Asher, her hand resting gently over his. The look in her eyes said everything words couldn’t—that sense of belonging, of finally breathing without the weight of battle pressing down.

Asher looked around at them, the corners of his lips lifting slightly. "You’ve all earned this peace," he said quietly. "For once, no enemies, no missions... just rest."

Freya chuckled lightly. "Rest. You make it sound so easy."

He gave her a playful look. "For tonight, it should be."

They laughed softly together, and the tension that had clung to them for weeks slowly melted away. Freya poured tea from a silver pot she had brought, the faint aroma of moonflower and spice filling the room. They talked—about small things, about nothing in particular—letting time drift gently past.

Before long, one by one, they grew quiet again. Veyra curled up on the couch near the hearth, her breathing steady. Catherine and Marina rested on the bed beside Asher, while Valeris leaned against the balcony door, watching the night fade into the first trace of dawn.