Five years had passed since the end of Vulcan's life and the beginning of Lux Windblade's. And though his body was small, his thoughts had grown steadily.
From the moment he could sit upright and watch the world unfold, Lux had done exactly that—watched. The Windblade household was never still, and neither was his mind.
"In my first life, I was forged in fire and loss. In this one… I've been bathed in warmth. It's strange how much you can learn by simply existing in peace."
He sat now beneath the veranda, a book he could not yet read resting in his lap. His eyes wandered—not over the text—but toward the heart of the estate.
The head maid, Lady Enna, was barking orders near the servants' quarters. She was tall, sharp-tongued, and efficient to the bone, yet she always brought Lux an extra blanket when the nights turned cold.
The Knight Captain, Sir Caldus, passed across the yard clad in worn leathers. He trained Ronan and the estate guard, but occasionally stopped to ruffle Lux's hair and say, "You'll be swinging steel before your voice even deepens, lad."
And then there was Mina, his personal maid. Young, shy, and endlessly worried, she trailed behind him like a second shadow. Her hands trembled when brushing his hair, yet her lullabies never faltered.
"These people aren't just roles in a household. They're pillars in a world I'm still building in my head."
From the training yard, the rhythmic clash of wooden swords echoed through the open air. Ronan's movements had sharpened with age—still imperfect, but full of promise. He moved with strength and purpose, sweat glinting along his brow.
A conversation drifted from the edge of the field. Miriel stood with Atheron, watching their son.
"He's improving," she said.
"He'll be ready by next spring," Atheron replied. "The academy waits for no one."
Lux's ears perked.
The academy—he had heard the word often. It was a place spoken of with both reverence and pressure. A place where those of age—eighteen and older—trained in either the path of Aura or Elements. A forge of noble sons and daughters.
Ronan would be going next year.
Aeris burst past the hedge, singing to herself. "The spirit frogs dance when the wind is strong!~"
She waved a handful of leaves toward the sky.
Miriel raised an eyebrow. "That's not how it works, dear."
Atheron said nothing but turned his gaze to Lux, who met his father's eyes with quiet resolve.
"You begin your own training next week," Atheron said simply. "We start with balance."
Lux blinked, then nodded. His chest tightened—not with fear, but anticipation.
"So it begins."
Dinner that evening was lighthearted.
Ronan devoured three helpings. Aeris tried to get Lux to talk more by dangling a sweetfruit in front of his mouth like a bribe. Mina almost spilled soup on a noble rug and turned red to the ears.
And through it all, Atheron and Miriel watched in silence—their eyes not cold, but weighted with quiet pride.
Aeris, between bites, suddenly blurted, "Mother says I might be good at spirit stuff! Like talking to trees and clouds!"
Miriel laughed gently. "Not exactly trees and clouds, but yes. I've seen signs of it in you."
Lux tilted his head.
"Spirit summoning…"
He had felt it once—on her fingertips. A gentle hum. A resonance. He remembered the way the wind shifted when she grew serious, how small crystals seemed to respond to her.
It made sense.
Ronan rolled his eyes. "Next you'll tell us frogs wear cloaks."
"I bet they do!" Aeris fired back.
Laughter danced along the walls.
Later that night, the family gathered in the study, firelight casting flickering shadows. Miriel closed a book and turned to her children.
"Tomorrow," she said, "we travel to the forest for Aeris's first summoning attempt. It may take time, but if the spirits answer, it will mark the beginning of her journey."
Aeris gasped and spun in place. "Will they sparkle? Will they talk? Will I get a wind spirit with wings?"
"You'll see," Miriel said, smiling.
Lux sat on the rug, legs crossed, hands folded.
His thoughts weren't loud. They were deep.
"She walks the path of elements. Ronan follows the way of the sword. And I… I'll forge a path of my own."
He looked out the window toward the woods beyond the hills.
And somewhere, far off, unseen to them all—the air shimmered faintly.