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Michael's First-Person POV
I adjusted the collar of my training clothes, the simple, durable fabric a welcome change from my formal clothes. In the corner of my room, Elara was dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief, making small, choked sounds. I was heading to the gardens to meet Mother, Acier, and Ignara for our first real training session, and a strange, unfamiliar feeling was bubbling in my chest. It felt like… excitement. This was the first time I was going to be doing something with friends.
"Oh, Young Master," Elara sniffled, looking at me with misty eyes. "You're finally going out to play with other children. I'm so proud. Now I can die peacefully, with no regrets."
I turned and gave her a look. "Really, Elara? You're being a little dramatic."
"Am I?" she countered, her sadness instantly replaced by a mischievous glint in her eye. "You spent four years treating the library as your only friend."
"I wasn't that much of a loner," I argued, though the words felt weak even to me.
"Yes," she said, nodding emphatically. "You 100% were."
I felt a phantom arrow of truth pierce my chest. A small, awkward cough escaped me. I turned away, straightening my sleeves for no reason. "We don't talk about that in this house."
That broke her. She let out a peal of genuine laughter, a sound that made the room feel warmer. I just huffed, unable to keep a small smile off my own face, and headed for the door.
As I walked out, she called after me. "Good luck with your training, Young Master! And have fun!"
"I will, Elara," I called back over my shoulder. "Thank you."
MC(Pic)
Third-Person POV
Michael reached the vast training gardens behind the main estate to find that he was the last to arrive. Acier and Ignara were already there, dressed in their own training gear. Acier in practical silver and white training gear, and Ignara in sturdy crimson gear. They were listening carefully as his mother, Seraphiel, explained something, her usual warm aura replaced with the focused energy of a Magic Knight Captain.
When Seraphiel saw him approach, a playful smile touched her lips. "Took your sweet time, didn't you, sunshine?" she teased.
"I'm on time," Michael replied without missing a beat. "You're all just early."
The lighthearted retort earned a laugh from everyone. Acier gave him a polite wave and a warm smile, while Ignara jogged over and gave him a solid fist bump. "Ready to get strong?" she asked, her eyes gleaming with competitive fire. To which, Michael gave a solid nod.
Acier(Pic)
Ignara(Pic)
After the greetings, Seraphiel clapped her hands, her expression turning serious. "Alright, listen up. Before we begin, there are rules."
She held up a finger. "One: You will only practice magic when I am here to supervise. No exceptions." She held up a second. "Two: if you wish to master a weapon, you will begin with a wooden one. No live steel until I say so." A third finger joined the first two. "Three: if you have a new idea for a spell or a technique, you will consult me before you try it. Do not execute it on your own."
She paused, her gaze sweeping over the three of them, making sure they understood. "And finally, the most important rule." Her eyes landed on the two girls. "Acier, Ignara. You will not, under any circumstances, engage Michael in a full-contact spar. Not until he has perfect control over his strength."
The air grew tense. The first three rules were standard, but the last one stung the most. It felt like a dismissal, as if she were saying they weren't strong enough to handle him. It stung Ignara most of all.
"You mean to say I'm weak?" she asked, her voice sharp.
Seraphiel offered a knowing smile, not unkindly. "Ignara, Acier. You both felt Michael's mana at the party, didn't you? You know it's immense."
Both girls nodded, the memory of that overwhelming presence still fresh in their minds.
"That's not the only thing that's unusually high for him," Seraphiel continued. "His physical strength is also far beyond that of a normal five-year-old. Far beyond that of a normal adult, in fact."
That shocked them. To have both endless mana and superhuman strength seemed fundamentally unfair.
"But I can control it," Michael interjected quickly. "I've been training my whole life to hold back."
Seraphiel's smile softened as she looked at her son. "And I am incredibly proud of you for that, Mich. But controlling your strength to carry an egg is one thing. Controlling it in the heat of combat, when your adrenaline is pumping and your instincts take over, is a completely different challenge. It requires a level of mastery you haven't achieved yet. This rule is not to protect you; it's to protect them."
The explanation settled over them, and the tension eased. Understanding dawned on the girls' faces. With everyone in agreement, the training began.
First, Seraphiel had them share their magical affinities. Acier explained that she had Metal Magic, capable of shaping and manipulating any metal. Ignara proudly declared she had Inferno Flame Magic, a rarer and more volatile version of standard flame magic. Finally, Michael explained his Radiance Magic. A higher form of light magic that was both powerfully destructive and capable of purification and healing.
"Excellent," Seraphiel said. "Now, for your first exercise. I want each of you to summon a small, stable sphere of your magic and hold it in the palm of your hand."
It sounded simple, but it was a foundational test of control. All three children had immense mana reserves, which made fine manipulation incredibly difficult. It was like trying to thread a needle with a thick, unwieldy rope.
Acier went first, her brow furrowed in concentration. Silver light flickered in her palm, sputtering and dying out several times before finally coalescing into a small, shimmering ball of liquid metal. It wobbled, but it held.
Ignara followed, gritting her teeth. A wild burst of flame erupted from her hand, forcing her to yelp and shake it out. She tried again, this time with more focus, and a small, intensely hot sphere of crimson fire appeared, crackling with barely contained energy.
Michael took a deep breath and extended his hand. He reached for his mana, but it was like opening a floodgate. A blinding wave of golden light pulsed from his hand, warm but overwhelming. He tried again, focusing on drawing just a tiny sliver of power. The light was smaller this time, but it refused to take a shape, remaining a formless, radiant cloud.
Soon, Seraphiel gave Acier and Ignara their next task: to move their spheres around without the magic breaking or exploding. The rest of the afternoon passed with the two girls painstakingly practicing their control, while Michael remained stuck on the first step.
As the sun began to set, Seraphiel called an end to the training. Acier and Ignara were exhausted but pleased with their progress. Michael, however, was in a sour mood, his frustration a heavy cloud around him. He had failed, over and over, for hours.
"This isn't working for me," he complained to his mother, kicking at a loose stone on the ground. "It won't listen. It's too much."
Seraphiel's expression, which had been patient and encouraging all day, suddenly turned serious. "Michael. Tell me, what is your dream? The goal you spoke of."
He looked up, surprised by her tone, but answered. "To be a shield for the weak. To have the power to protect everyone."
"To do that," she said, her voice firm, "you won't just have to be strong. You will have to be the strongest. And with an attitude that gives up at the first sign of difficulty, you will never achieve it."
The words hit him like a physical blow. In his entire life, with his immense talent, he had never truly failed at anything. And he had never, ever had someone, least of all his mother, tell him he might not be able to do something. The sting of failure mixed with the shock of her words was too much. His eyes welled up with frustration, and he turned and ran, away from the garden, away from his failure.
Acier and Ignara exchanged worried glances before running after him.
Seraphiel watched him go, a pained expression on her face. It is important for him to learn this now, she thought to herself. He must learn that talent is not a substitute for hard work. He has to know the sting of failure to appreciate the value of perseverance. Forgive me, my son. Mom had to do this.
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Michael stood on the high balcony of his tower, the same place he always went to think. He leaned on the railing, his mother's words echoing in his mind. He knew she hadn't said them to be cruel. He knew there was a lesson there. But it still hurt.
He heard soft footsteps behind him. "Michael?" Acier's voice was gentle.
He didn't turn around. Ignara came to stand on his other side.
"We saw what happened," Acier said softly. "It's okay. Magic is hard."
"She's right," Ignara added, her usual boisterous tone subdued. "It took me weeks to stop setting my own hair on fire."
That drew a small, watery chuckle from him.
"You'll get it," Acier continued, her voice full of a conviction that surprised him. "I know you will. We'll all practice together. We'll be there for you. Forever. I'll always believe in you."
Ignara slapped him on the back, a gesture meant to be encouraging but delivered with enough force to have sent any other child flying. Michael didn't even move. She clicked her tongue in annoyance. "Tch. So what if you're behind right now?" she said gruffly. "So what if you fail? Everyone fails. When you do, I'll be there to punch you out of your depression and drag you back to your feet. That's what friends do, right?"
Their words, so different in delivery but identical in their support, broke through the wall of his frustration. He turned, his eyes widening as he saw them both offering him beautiful, genuine smiles. For the first time since he was a toddler, hot tears rolled freely down his cheeks. He stepped forward and wrapped an arm around each of them, pulling them into a tight hug.
"Thank you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I won't let you down. I'll always be there for you, too."
While Michael was overwhelmed with gratitude and a renewed sense of motivation, the two girls were caught completely off guard. They stood stiffly in his embrace, a fierce blush creeping up both of their necks as they exchanged a wide-eyed, flustered look over his shoulder.
From a distant window, Seraphiel and Roderic watched the scene unfold.
"Aww, look at them, Roddy," Seraphiel cooed, dabbing at a happy tear. "They're already acting like a little family. And it seems those girls have taken quite a liking to our Mich. He's already got two potential future wives! Oh, my little sunshine has grown up so fast!"
Roderic remained silent, his expression thoughtful and concerned. He was already years ahead in his mind, mapping out the political landscape.
"If both girls fall for him and wish to marry him," he mused aloud, "it could create... complications. The Vermillions would be manageable; Ignatius values his daughter's happiness above all else. But Acier's father... Lord Silva is a traditionalist. He will not take kindly to sharing a royal marriage alliance. Hmm. I may need to start looking for leverage on him, just in case. Something to ensure he does not interfere with Michael's future happiness."
Seraphiel looked at her husband, a knowing smile on her face. She knew exactly where his mind went in moments like this. "Already have a plan, dear?"
Roderic gave her a rare, confident smile. "Always, my love. You know me."
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