Ether sat curled in the far corner of his bed, back pressed against the headboard, arms wrapped tightly around his knees. His forehead rested against them as though he were trying to hide from the world — from himself.
Eyrus stepped into the room quietly and stopped beside the bed. He observed the boy for a moment, taking in the way Ether's shoulders twitched with every silent breath.
Finally, he spoke in a calm, steady voice.
"Ether… how are you feeling?"
There was no response.
Ether didn't look up. He didn't speak. He didn't even flinch. He simply remained as he was — small, silent, and withdrawn into himself — as though even the weight of answering was too much to bear.
Ether sat curled in the far corner of his bed, back pressed against the headboard, arms wrapped tightly around his knees. His forehead rested against them as though he were trying to hide from the world — from himself.
Eyrus stepped into the room quietly and stopped beside the bed. He observed the boy for a moment, taking in the way Ether's shoulders twitched with every silent breath.
Finally, he spoke in a calm, steady voice.
"Ether… how are you feeling?"
There was no response.
Ether didn't look up. He didn't speak. He didn't even flinch. He simply remained as he was — small, silent, and withdrawn into himself — as though even the weight of answering was too much to bear.
Eyrus stood, brushing the dust from his knees, and walked toward the window. He looked out for a long moment at the bright Sephera sky, thinking carefully.
One last try, he told himself.
Without turning around, he spoke again — his voice steady, neither gentle nor harsh, simply honest.
"Ether… why not walk the path of the swordsman?"
He kept his gaze on the horizon as he continued.
"You don't need mana in the early stages. You can build your strength from the ground up — combine it with things like alchemy… mechanics… you can become strong in your own way."
…Silence.
No reply came, nor even a twitch of acknowledgment. Ether remained unmoving — trapped in a world of self-loathing so deep that even hope failed to reach him.
Eyrus exhaled heavily, his patience thinning. He walked back toward Ether with slow, deliberate steps.
For a brief moment, it looked as though he might offer a hand of comfort.
He did not.
Instead, he grabbed Ether by the hair and yanked his head upward, forcing the boy to look at him. Ether winced sharply, a gasp escaping his lips from the sudden sting.
Eyrus' eyes bore into his with merciless clarity.
"Do you think you have a choice, you little bastard?"
His voice thundered through the quiet room like a whip.
"Do you honestly believe you're special just because you're a duke's son? Let me make this clear — you are nothing," he snarled.
"You possess no mana. You will never be like your father. And whether you stay locked in this room or wither away into nothing, no one will care. Bit by bit, they'll forget your name — and you'll turn into dust while the world keeps moving without you."
Ether's jaw clenched from the sharp pain burning across his scalp under the man's iron grip.
Ether already knew.He knew all too well that he had become a disgrace — that he had let down everyone who believed in him. The insults didn't surprise him… they simply cut deeper into a wound that was already bleeding.
Eyrus released his grip and, with a sharp shove, sent Ether sprawling backward. The boy tumbled over the side of the bed and crashed onto the floor with a dull thud.
Ether didn't scream.
He curled slightly on the polished marble, pain blooming along his shoulder and back… yet he made no sound. His heart hurt far more than his body.
Still facing the doorway, Eyrus spoke again — this time in a softer, almost casual voice.
"You've only got one path left open to you, boy. Whether you take it now with me… or later from some nameless nobody… or never and die forgotten by the world — the truth remains the same."
He glanced back over his shoulder, his expression unreadable.
"This is the only path available to you now."
He walked slowly toward the exit, stopping just before he stepped out.
"If you decide to take it," he said lightly, "meet me tomorrow morning at the military training grounds. If you don't show up…"
A faint shrug.
"…I'll leave the estate, and this chance goes with me."
With that, he stepped out, leaving Ether alone with his pounding heart, throbbing scalp — and a choice.
Ether lay on the floor and didn't move. His head throbbed, but it was nothing compared to the storm raging inside his heart. Eyrus's words echoed over and over in his mind, tearing into him from every side.
Nothing… forgotten… dust…
He knew it was true.
Even if he stood up and walked the path of a swordsman, what then? He had almost no mana — he could never become a true Sword Master. Even that road, at its end, would be closed to him.
And yet… it was the only path left.
All other dreams had already crumbled in front of him.
Morning arrived.
Eyrus stepped out of his guest room and headed straight for the military training grounds of the estate. He didn't rush — in his heart, he believed Ether's chances of showing up were slimmer than his own chances of one day finding a wife. And that, in Eyrus's opinion, was truly saying something.
He's just a child, Eyrus thought to himself. Barely old enough to understand life — let alone recover from being shattered by it.
Even so, there was another side of him. A harsher, prouder side.
He refused to teach someone who couldn't even stand up on the first day. If Ether didn't appear this morning... that was it. Eyrus would walk away without a shred of regret.
Because if there was one thing Eyrus had — besides skill with a sword — it was a dangerously stubborn ego.
As Eyrus stepped onto the military training grounds, he was surprised to find someone already there. Off in the far corner of the field, barely visible in the morning mist, a small figure lay curled up on the ground.
He walked closer — and halted.
It was Ether.
The boy was fast asleep on the dirt, his clothes slightly dusty, his breathing soft and even. Clutched tightly against his chest, as though it were a treasured possession, was a simple wooden practice sword.
Eyrus blinked once… then slowly cracked a smile he didn't realize he was holding back.
Eyrus stopped a few paces away, trying for a moment to figure out why the boy was sleeping on the cold ground. Then he shrugged to himself and muttered, "Screw it." He crouched down and nudged Ether roughly awake.
Ether stirred, yawned once, and blinked up at him. The moment he recognized Eyrus, he scrambled backward on instinct — remembering vividly how this man had grabbed him by the hair and thrown him like a rag doll. Fear flickered in his golden eyes.
Eyrus only smirked. "Relax. I'm not here to beat you… yet."
He eyed the boy strangely. "Why were you sleeping out here like a stray cat?"
Ether hesitated, then answered truthfully, his voice small but steady. "Since it was night… and everyone in the mansion was asleep… I thought I might not wake up in time. No one knew I needed to be here, so… I slept on the ground to make sure I wouldn't be late."
There was an awkward silence.
Eyrus blinked once, then — despite himself — let out a quiet, sharp laugh.
For a noble child… he's desperate enough to sleep on bare ground?
Eyrus studied him more closely. The boy's uniform was dusty, his fingernails scraped, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes.
It was obvious he hadn't truly slept at all—only waited, clutching that wooden sword through the night just so he wouldn't miss this chance.
What Eyrus wanted to do was knock the boy out on the spot — preferably with a fist straight to the stomach — and drag him back to bed. But his pride wouldn't allow him to show pity so openly… especially not to a noble brat.
Besides, he knew one thing clearly:If he told the boy to rest now without teaching him anything, that fragile determination might be crushed before it had a chance to grow.
So, instead of compassion, he chose the only language he truly believed in.
Without another word, Eyrus stepped forward and wrenched the wooden sword out of Ether's hands.
"Watch," he said flatly.
He walked a few paces ahead, lifted the simple wooden blade above his head with one arm — and, without any sign of effort, swung.
The dummy he aimed for sat nearly forty steps away.
In the blink of an eye, the wooden sword snapped in half from the sheer force of the strike — and a heartbeat later, the top half of the training dummy across the yard slipped off its post and thudded to the ground.
Ether froze.
He wasn't even sure he saw the arc of the strike — only the aftermath.
Ether stared wide-eyed at Eyrus — his posture, his stance, the fluid arc of that single swing. Everything was precise… perfectly balanced… terrifyingly beautiful.
He had watched royal knights train before, but this was different. This wasn't just technique — it was perfection.
Even if he didn't want to admit it, a thrill lit up in his chest.
Swordsmanship… might actually be badass.