The Windblade estate stirred with the first crack of dawn. Servants moved swiftly across the halls, the clang of wooden swords echoed from the training yard, and the scent of morning dew clung to stone and steel.
Lux was nestled comfortably in Miriel's arms as she stepped onto the balcony overlooking the yard. From this quiet perch, the world seemed distant. Yet Lux's sharp violet eyes were fixed on the figures moving below.
His brother, Ronan, was mid-swing, blade arcing through the air with clean, practiced precision. Sweat ran down his brow, and his chest rose and fell with steady rhythm. He moved well—confident, focused—but still raw.
Lux watched in silence.
"In my past life, I fought to live. Here, they train to grow. To become more than weapons."
Aeris was nearby, pretending to duel a flower bush with a stick. Her giggles filled the garden as she declared herself a Knight Princess for the hundredth time that week.
Miriel chuckled softly beside him. "She says she'll protect you forever, you know."
Down in the yard, Ronan's foot slipped. His eyes briefly flicked upward—drawn, perhaps, by a glint of violet from the balcony.
He missed the incoming swing.
The wooden blade from his sparring partner struck his side with a sharp crack. Ronan yelped, stumbling back and grabbing his ribs.
Lux tensed in Miriel's arms.
She was already moving.
By the time they reached the yard, Ronan was sitting on a bench, wincing but trying to mask the pain. Atheron stood nearby, arms crossed, gaze unreadable.
Miriel knelt beside her son, one hand already glowing with a soft, pale light. Her voice was gentle but firm.
"Hold still, Ronan."
From her fingertips bloomed threads of shimmering energy—like threads of wind laced with light. They wrapped around the bruised spot, soothing the injury in moments.
Ronan muttered, "It's fine, I just got distracted..."
"You looked at him again, didn't you?" she teased gently, nodding toward Lux.
A faint blush rose to Ronan's cheeks. "His eyes are weird."
Lux blinked. He'd been blamed for worse.
As the light faded, the narration drifted through his mind like an echo of a world he was just beginning to understand:
"This world is shaped by two forces. Aura—the internal energy harnessed by warriors, sharpening their bodies and senses into weapons. And Elements—the natural forces guided by spirit contractors and elementalists like Mother. A person can walk only one path. Never both."
Ronan, even at his age, had begun walking the path of Aura. His strikes were rough, but every day they were sharper. His instincts stronger.
And Miriel… hers was the gentler path. She did not wield a sword, but Lux could see the power in her hands—soft and luminous.
Atheron, silent as ever, gave Ronan a nod. "Lesson learned. Focus, always."
Ronan groaned but nodded back.
As the family returned inside, Lux lay once again in his cradle, gaze unfocused but mind awake.
He stared at his own tiny fingers.
"I can't walk. I can't speak. But I see. I learn. I will grow."
That evening, the golden light of sunset painted the room in long shadows. Ronan practiced in the yard again, slower this time, more deliberate.
Lux watched him through the window.
He clenched his small fist, the motion awkward but full of silent promise.
"Not yet... but soon. I'll stand among them—not as Vulcan, but as Lux Windblade."