The Hero's Descendant is the Reincarnation of an Infamous Fey Lord

The morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows of the Dubhan mansion's dining hall, illuminating the elaborate carvings on the wooden table. Breakfast had just been served, and the scent of freshly baked bread mingled with the delicate aroma of herbal tea. Despite the pleasant setting, tension hung heavy in the air.

Eogan sat near the middle of the table, his silver hair catching the light as he quietly spread butter over a slice of bread. Across from him, Lady Dubhan—with her impeccably styled auburn hair and an air of cold elegance—sipped her tea deliberately. To her right, Aine fidgeted in her seat, attempting to keep the mood light by humming a cheerful tune under her breath.

At the far end of the table sat Lady Chulainn, Eogan's mother. Her onyx-black eyes were calm but watchful. Dressed in a modest yet regal gown, she carried an air of quiet strength, her mere presence a subtle challenge to Lady Dubhan's authority.

Lady Dubhan's icy gaze lingered on Eogan. "It's quite impressive," she began, her tone laced with sarcasm, "how some manage to avoid even the simplest responsibilities. Aine, dear, do not follow in your brother's footsteps."

Aine's cheeks flushed, and she opened her mouth to respond, but Eogan spoke first. His voice was steady, though his grip on the bread tightened. "I wasn't aware my interests in literature and nature were a detriment to the family's honor."

Lady Dubhan's lips curved into a faint smile. "Of course, you'd see it that way."

Lady Chulainn set down her teacup with a quiet clink. "Eogan has his own path to follow, and his interests will serve him well in time. It's unwise to dismiss what we don't understand." Her voice was calm but carried a subtle edge.

Lady Dubhan's composure faltered for a fraction of a second, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Understanding," she repeated. "I'm quite aware of what he represents. Aine, perhaps you should spend more time with the knights. They're excellent role models."

"I like spending time with Eogan," Aine said firmly, her voice small but determined. "He tells me stories and shows me flowers. He's kind."

Lady Dubhan's gaze darkened. "Kindness is not enough to shape a future. You'll learn that in time."

Eogan's chair scraped against the floor as he stood abruptly. "If you have something to say to me, Lady Dubhan, say it plainly. There's no need to veil your insults in lectures."

"Eogan," Lady Chulainn said, her tone low but firm. "That's enough."

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. Lady Dubhan's expression was victorious, while Aine looked on the verge of tears. Eogan took a deep breath, pushing down the anger bubbling within him. "Excuse me," he muttered, leaving the table without another word.

Outside the mansion, Eogan walked briskly toward the grove beyond the estate grounds. Leanan appeared on his shoulder, her delicate form invisible to anyone else. "That was intense," she said softly. "You were holding back, weren't you?"

Eogan didn't answer immediately, his jaw clenched. "I can't lose control. Not there."

Leanan sighed. "Still, you didn't need to take her bait."

He gave a faint smile. "You sound like my mother."

When they reached the grove, Eogan exhaled deeply and stretched his arms, letting the quiet hum of nature calm his nerves. The grove was peaceful, filled with ancient oaks and vibrant wildflowers. He felt an odd familiarity here as if the land itself recognized him.

Closing his eyes, Eogan extended his hands. "Let's try this again," he murmured.

He focused on the memory of the wind—how it felt against his skin, how it moved the trees and carried the scents of flowers. Slowly, a faint breeze stirred around him, rustling the leaves. Encouraged, he directed his attention to a cluster of wilting daisies nearby, envisioning them blooming anew. The petals twitched but remained closed.

"Concentrate," Leanan urged. "Feel the flow of mana, not just from yourself, but from the earth."

Eogan nodded, his brow furrowing. He reached deeper, sensing the faint pulse of energy beneath his feet. This time, the daisies responded, their petals unfurling in vibrant white and yellow. He smiled triumphantly but staggered, his legs giving way as dizziness overtook him.

"You're pushing too hard," Leanan said, fluttering to his side. "Your human body isn't ready for this level of strain."

"I have to keep trying," Eogan insisted, though his voice was weak. "I need to understand who I am."

A vision overtook him as he sat against an oak tree, catching his breath. The grove faded, replaced by a battlefield. His past self, Fergus Mor, stood at the forefront of a fey army, his silver hair billowing like a storm cloud. He wielded a staff that radiated power, commanding the elements with ease.

The scene shifted. Human soldiers clashed with the fey, their metal weapons cutting through magic and nature alike. Fergus's face was stern, his voice carrying over the din of battle as he ordered his forces forward. The destruction was immense, and the cost was precise—both sides suffered heavy losses. The vision ended with Fergus standing alone amidst the ruins, his expression a mix of triumph and regret.

Eogan's eyes snapped open, his chest heaving. "Was that me?" he whispered.

Leanan hovered near him, her expression somber. "It's a memory, but you must decide what to take from it."

Eogan remained silent, the weight of the vision pressing heavily on him.

Later that afternoon, Eogan returned to the mansion. His steps were slow, and his thoughts weighed heavily on his mind. As he entered the training courtyard, Lord Dubhan awaited him, sword in hand.

"You're late," Lord Dubhan said, his tone sharp. "And you look like you haven't slept. Do you think this is acceptable?"

Eogan straightened, meeting his father's gaze. "No, sir."

Lord Dubhan handed him a wooden sword. "Then focus. You'll never amount to anything if you don't put in the effort."

As Eogan assumed his stance, his mind lingered on the vision. For the first time, he questioned not just Fergus Mor's actions but his potential to walk a different path. Could he wield power without succumbing to ambition? Could he balance his human and fey identities?

The clash of wood on wood echoed through the courtyard, but in Eogan's mind, the battle was far from over.