In the days that followed, Elarion trained.
Secretly. Quietly. Each night, after the servants dimmed the lamps.
He sharpened his poison resistance. Strengthened his regeneration. Compressed divine energy into every joint, every breath.
No cries. No whines. No failure.
Just him. Alone. Forging strength in silence.
---
Then came the announcement.
The record.
The trial chamber had seen geniuses push themselves for years. The longest time spent inside was four hours and fifteen minutes. Most crumbled in two.
Rior had made it to four.
Cyrus, too.
And now—Elarion. Three months old.
Four hours. Thirty-one minutes.
The household shook.
---
Rior burst into his room like a thunderclap, his energy chaotic with joy.
> "YOU LITTLE MONSTER!" he bellowed, lifting Elarion like a doll. "Three months!? Do you even know what you just did!?"
Elarion squirmed with annoyance, his tiny fists pushing against Rior's face.
> "Nope. You're mine now," Rior grinned. "Sirus! Come look at this goblin!"
The elder brother entered calmly, his silver eyes measured as always. But even he cracked a rare grin.
He knelt and placed a hand on Elarion's soft head.
> "You'll protect yourself now, won't you?" Sirus said quietly. "We'll still protect you… but I'm proud of you."
Rior laughed. "You'll be terrifying when you grow up."
Elarion stared at them.
Expression unreadable.
But his eyes… softened, just slightly.
Not warmth. Not yet.
But recognition.
Maybe even… comfort.
---
Sirus lifted him into his arms. Elarion looked annoyed again—until something sparkled.
A brooch.
Gold, polished and glinting like a captured sun on Sirus's collar.
His eyes lit up.
He reached for it instinctively, tiny fingers curling toward the light.
Sirus didn't move. Just watched.
And smiled.
Rior leaned closer, grinning ear to ear. "He's just like before. Shiny things and sweets."
Both older brothers laughed.
Not at him.
With him.
---
Elarion didn't laugh back.
But his fingers curled around the brooch and held it like a secret.
Something warm flickered in his chest—something even divine energy couldn't touch.
---
The world saw a beautiful boy with mismatched eyes.
But those who looked longer saw something far more dangerous.
A crown in the making.
A storm behind a quiet smile.
And beneath it all—
A child with no memory,
Forging himself into a god.
----
The Next Morning:-
Elarion's room was blinding.
Boxes. Ribbons. Crystals. Coins. Golden instruments. Shimmering fabrics. Glass birds. Perfumed oils. Magical toys.
Everything glittered.
A child in Crimsonveil wasn't raised with comfort. They were forged. Hardened.
But Sirus and Rior had broken the rules.
They had spent their coin — their privilege as direct heirs of House Crimsonveil — on beauty. On joy. On Elarion.
He was sitting on his bed in the middle of it all. He crawled down. Silent.
There was no smile. But his fingers trailed across a jeweled dagger, glinting like moonlight, and paused.
He allowed the warmth to settle in his chest. Quiet. Unspoken.
One day, he would earn the middle name too.
But not because someone gave it.
Because he took it — with power no one could ever take from him again.
'They doesn't seem that annoying any more' he thoight with a satisfied grin after seeing all the beauty in the room again...
---