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The carriage rolled through the grand gates of the Kira estate, the sound of its wheels on the gravel a familiar crunch. The rain had finally stopped, and the air smelled of wet earth and stone. As we came to a halt before the main entrance, the large oak doors swung open. My father, Lord Roderic Kira, was standing there waiting for us.
He was a man of sharp angles and a sharper intellect. While Mother was all warmth, my father was tall and lean, with a posture so perfect it seemed carved from marble. His hair was the color of jet, a stark contrast to his golden eyes, the same eyes that stared back at me from the mirror every morning.
He greeted my mother with a soft kiss, but his gaze immediately sharpened. He noticed the faint tension in her shoulders, the lingering coldness in her mana that I could still feel. "Sera," he said, his voice low and even. "What happened?"
Mother gave him a quick, edited version of the events, describing the family in the street and the arrogant noble. She mentioned she had "intervened" and "convinced" him to see reason. She neatly omitted the part where she severed his arm with a blade of pure light.
My father was not a fool. He was one of the kingdom's chief political strategists; he could read a person's intentions in the blink of an eye. He gave her the look, a single, slightly raised eyebrow that communicated an entire paragraph: I know you're leaving something out. Tell me everything.
Mother's commanding aura completely deflated. She suddenly looked like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar, a faint blush rising on her cheeks. She sighed and recounted the full story, including the arm cutting and the subtle threat of being labeled a Diamond Kingdom spy.
As she spoke, my father's expression hardened. The air around him grew heavy. When she finished, he was silent for a long moment. Then he spoke, his voice dangerously calm.
"If that little imbecile has the gall to bring this before the council," he said, each word precise and cold, "I swear on the Kira name, I will personally strip his family of every last yul(Black Clover currency) they possess. I will see to it they are begging for scraps on the very streets he so despises."
It wasn't a threat of violence. It was a promise of complete and total political and financial annihilation. That was how my father fought his battles. While Mother was a radiant sun, a shield for the innocent, my father was the shadow behind the throne, a dagger for his enemies. He presented himself as a proud, sometimes arrogant noble, but that was a mask for the world. For us, for his family, he was a fiercely protective fortress. He was obsessed with my mother in a quiet, profound way that he rarely showed with grand gestures. His stance on commoners was neutral; he didn't care about their station, only whether they were an asset or a threat to the kingdom and his family.
As my parents continued their quiet discussion, my mind drifted back to the street. To the little girl's wide, hopeful eyes. Power wasn't just for hurting or for locking away. It could be used to protect. It could be a shield for the weak. The thought felt less like an idea now and more like a purpose, a path taking shape in front of me. I had strength. I had mana. I had a duty to use them correctly.
I was pulled from my thoughts by the weird scene unfolding in front of me. My parents were no longer speaking aloud. They were having one of their silent conversations, a rapid-fire exchange of raised eyebrows, subtle frowns, and minute head tilts. It was like watching a high-speed duel where the weapons were facial expressions. Father would narrow his eyes, a clear sign of disapproval. Mother would respond with a soft but firm look, an undeniable counter-argument. It went on for nearly a full minute, a whole debate happening in complete silence.
Finally, my mother ended it. She gave my father a single, sharp nod. It wasn't a suggestion. It was an order. It was the silent, universal language for, You're going to do this, or you will be sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future.
My father's shoulders slumped in defeat.
Unable to contain my curiosity any longer, I finally asked, "What is going on?"
Both of them turned to me. My father sighed, knowing he had been assigned the task. He knelt down to my level, placing his hands on my shoulders. His golden eyes, usually so calculating, were soft.
"Mich," he said. "Do you know what day it is tomorrow?"
I frowned, my mind immediately running through possibilities. Was it the anniversary of a major battle? A political summit? I had no idea what he was talking about. I shook my head.
Seeing my confusion, both of my parents looked at me with the same sad expression. It was a look of pity and worry, and I hated it.
"Oh, sweetheart," my mother said softly. "You really need to make some friends."
"I have friends," I replied automatically. "I talk with Elara every day."
The sad looks intensified. "Elara is your caretaker, Mich. She's a wonderful woman, but she is not a friend your age," my father said gently. He sighed again. "Tomorrow is your fifth birthday."
I stared at him, waiting for the rest of the sentence. When nothing followed, I replied with a bland, "Okay. And?"
They both gave me that face again. The deep, parental sorrow. It was starting to get a little irritating.
My mother took over, her voice laced with a hopeful tone. "Mich, sunshine, can we ask you for a favor?"
"Of course, Mother," I said without hesitation.
"We've organized a party for you tomorrow," she announced. "A ceremony, really. To celebrate."
Of course. The fifth birthday. It was a big deal for noble children. From this age onward, we were officially permitted to begin formal magic training under a tutor. It was a rite of passage(A ceremony or event marking an important stage in someone's life). I should have seen something like this coming. I looked at my parents' worried faces, at the genuine concern in their eyes, and I understood. This wasn't just about a birthday. They were deeply worried about my isolation, about the fact that I spent my days training my strength or reading in the library instead of playing with other children. They were afraid I was growing up wrong.
I didn't want to worry them. Their happiness was important to me.
"Alright," I said. "I'll do it."
The relief that washed over them was immediate and palpable. My mother swept me up in one of her bone-crushing hugs, burying her face in my hair. My father then stepped forward and wrapped his long arms around both of us, creating a small, warm fortress of family.
After a moment, my mother suddenly pulled back, her eyes wide with excitement as if she'd just remembered something crucial.
"Oh! I almost forgot the best part!" she chirped. "There are going to be two other children there, right around your age. So you won't be alone!"
My internal reaction was a complicated sigh. Noble kids. They were almost universally not on my list of people I wanted to hang out with. They were loud, arrogant, and treated everyone with less status than them like dirt. They were exactly the type of people I tried to avoid.
My expression must have given me away, because my mother's smile softened knowingly.
"Don't you worry about a thing, sunshine," she said, tapping the tip of my nose. "These two aren't like those whiny brats you can't stand. They are my best friends' daughters. You're going to love them. They're much more mature, and I hear they're both very strong for their age." She leaned in conspiratorially, her voice dropping to a playful whisper. "And who knows? You might even get a girlfriend out of it! Or even better, two girlfriends!"
She winked, her excitement practically bubbling over. I couldn't help but smile back. Seeing her so happy made agreeing to this whole thing worth it. I decided to mentally file the 'girlfriend' comment away and never think about it again.
"I hope they are as you describe them, Mother," I said. "What are their names?"
Her face went blank for a second before she gasped, lightly smacking her own forehead. "How stupid of me, I completely forgot to tell you their names! Their names are Acier Silva and Ignara Vermilion."
I repeated the names in my head. Acier. Ignara. They sounded strong. Powerful.
I hope they are as Mother described them.
For the first time, a small, unfamiliar flicker of anticipation sparked within me. Maybe tomorrow wouldn't be so bad after all.
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