Chapter 440 Symbol

When Michael stepped into his modest living room, the first thing he saw was a slender, middle-aged man seated calmly on the couch.

The man immediately rose to his feet upon seeing him, his posture impeccable and his manner refined. He wore a formal dark tunic lined with silver threading—simple, but of unmistakably high quality. His greying hair was slicked back.

The man bowed slightly.

"Viscount Mic," he greeted with a courteous smile. "It is an honor. I’ve been sent by His Grace to assist with the design of your house symbol."

Michael studied him briefly. The man’s words were respectful, but not obsequious. He carried himself with the air of someone used to dealing with nobility—but not one who bowed too deeply.

A professional.

Michael inclined his head slightly. "You may rise. What should I call you?"

"Lucien, my lord," the man replied.

Michael stepped further into the room, motioning for Lucien to sit as he took the opposite chair.

"Let’s get started then," he said simply. "Time’s already moving too fast."

Lucien nodded, pulling out a thin black leather folder and opening it with practiced ease. Inside were sketches, sample sigils, and a blank crest outline waiting to be filled.

"Do you have a theme in mind, my lord?" Lucien asked, setting the materials on the table between them. "The symbol should reflect your ideals.... Some prefer animals. Others, weapons or elements. And some... something entirely unique."

Michael’s gaze dropped to the blank parchment. His fingers tapped slowly against the armrest as his thoughts wandered.

A house symbol.

It felt strange, almost surreal. Two months ago, he had no land. No territory. No need for a crest that would fly above gates or be etched into armor. And now here he was, being asked what image would represent not just him—but everything tied to his name.

Lucien waited patiently, unmoving. There was no pressure, just quiet expectation.

Michael’s eyes narrowed slightly.

A beast?

A weapon? That had some appeal. But swords and spears seemed overused.

A skull? Fitting, but too blatant. It might invite scrutiny. His power over death was better left understated for now.

Still, he couldn’t shake the thought of what truly defined him.

Lucien watched him for a moment longer, then gave a polite smile. "My lord, if I may?"

Michael gestured for him to continue.

"Many find themselves overwhelmed when choosing a symbol," Lucien began smoothly, his voice calm and measured. "It is not uncommon. A crest is more than decoration."

He leaned slightly forward, folding his hands atop the folder.

"Some choose beasts—majestic creatures they admire, or ones that reflect their nature. The lion for courage. The owl for wisdom. The serpent for cunning. Others choose weapons—a blade to represent strength or a bow to signify precision and patience."

Lucien’s gaze flicked up, briefly meeting Michael’s.

"There are even those who choose abstract designs. Symbols tied to faith, to old stories, or to personal memory. And some... simply choose what calls to them. What feels right."

He paused, letting the silence settle before asking, "Do any of these speak to you, my lord? When you picture yourself—your future—what image lingers in your mind? A beast? A blade? A flame? Or perhaps something more... personal?"

Michael remained silent, his mind turning.

A beast? He had a growing army of them. Spartan. Wisdom. The others.

A weapon? He had a spear.

Or perhaps... both?

Lucien continued, voice still gentle. "It doesn’t have to be final. Symbols evolve, just as people do. But starting with something that resonates with you... often leads to the strongest choices."

Michael’s eyes dropped again to the blank parchment.

A symbol that defined him.

And just like that, an idea began to form.

Something primal. Something layered.

Not just power... but control.

Something that whispered what he was, not screamed it.

He looked up slowly, eyes meeting Lucien’s once more.

"I think... I have a rough idea," he said.

Lucien smiled with practiced ease. "Then let us give it form, my lord."

Michael leaned forward, his voice calm but certain. "A cauldron," he said.

Lucien blinked once, then nodded, already reaching for a fresh sheet of parchment. "A bold centerpiece," he said neutrally. "Cauldrons are often used to symbolize transformation, alchemy, hidden potential..."

Michael didn’t elaborate.

He didn’t need to.

The cauldron wasn’t for public meaning. Not really. To others, it might represent mysticism or transmutation. To him, it was a quiet nod to the talent that had shaped everything he had.

It was the origin of all his power.

"My lord," Lucien continued, still sketching, "any additions to support the theme? Surrounding motifs?"

Michael’s gaze drifted toward the window, thoughts momentarily far away. Then, slowly, he said, "Two wolves. One on each side."

Lucien looked up again but didn’t ask why.

Michael appreciated that.

To most, wolves would be taken as a symbol of loyalty, of hunting prowess, of pack hierarchy. But to Michael, they meant something far more specific.

Lucky and Prince.

Two of his first undead.

His companions from the very beginning.

He didn’t care what form the final crest took—whether it made others think of nobility, ferocity, or even wilderness. The meaning was for him alone.

"I’ll draft something balanced," Lucien said, already sketching with swift, steady strokes. "The wolves can be either standing or crouched, flanking the cauldron. Would you prefer them symmetrical? Facing outward or inward?"

"Inward," Michael said after a pause. "But they don’t need to be identical."

Lucien gave a small approving nod. "Understood. A mirrored pose would imply duality, while variations in their posture... that suggests personality. Individual significance."

Exactly.

Lucky and Prince were both wolves. Both undead.

But they were not the same.

Lucien didn’t question further. His hands moved with practiced ease as he worked. Michael watched the lines take shape—first the round base of the cauldron, then the rising curve of its rim. Flames licked around the edges, subtle but present. The wolves followed soon after, one sleek and low-slung, the other broader, more upright, as if mid-growl.

Minutes passed in focused silence.

When Lucien finally turned the sheet toward him, Michael took it in with a steady gaze.

It wasn’t finished yet. It wasn’t perfect.

But it felt right.

Lucien leaned back slightly. "I’ll begin refining the lines, adding depth and detail. Once the final version is done, I’ll send the drafts to the engravers. This symbol will be recorded in the noble registry and appear on your seal, banners, and any official documents."

Michael gave a small nod, his expression unreadable. "Good."

"If anything comes to mind before then—adjustments or revisions—just send word. It’s your crest, after all."

Michael didn’t answer immediately.

Then finally, he said, "This will do."

Lucien smiled politely and began packing up. "I’ll have the first full render ready before you leave for your territory. You’ll receive a carved seal alongside the banners and personal sigil mark."

Michael stood, signaling the meeting was over.

As Lucien bowed and turned to leave, Michael thought more of the sketch..

He didn’t know what others would see when they looked at that symbol—but that didn’t matter.

The only person it needed to mean something to... was him.

"This somehow feels like I’m starting again. Like a new Chapter in my life."