The courtyard was chaos.Knights muttered in disbelief. Squires gawked. Even the wind seemed unsure whether to move again.
A four-year-old had stood toe-to-toe with one of the Light Empire's rising youths—and won.
Darren's POV
Darren Roux still hadn't moved.He stood there, sword tip buried in the dirt, eyes fixed on the faint blue sparks still fading from the younger boy's wooden blade. His pulse was hammering in his ears, not from pain, but from something colder.
I lost…?He blinked again, half expecting someone to shout that it was a trick.
The chatter from the crowd hit like distant waves.
"He's only four—did you see that movement?"
"He mimicked the Lightning Stance perfectly—without training!"
"Roux's boy couldn't even touch him—"
Darren's jaw tightened.He looked down at his sword—dull, wooden, unremarkable. He flexed his fingers, feeling the faint hum of Ether still circulating under his skin.
He could have used it.He should have used it.
[Inner Monologue]
If I'd used my Ether—if I'd drawn the steel flow—it would've been different.
Because Darren's element wasn't fire, nor stone, nor wind.It was something rarer—born from the earth line, but refined in density and precision.
Steelflow.
A trait of the Metal-borne: they didn't conjure metal; they became it. Their muscles could condense Ether like forged alloys—denser, faster-conducting, harder-hitting. It was a discipline that gave unparalleled weapon control… and terrifying stamina when mastered.
But he hadn't used it.Sir Arin had said "no elements"—just technique.And yet he'd lost, not because his power was sealed—but because that child read him.
He saw it, Darren realized. He saw my Ether before I moved.
He exhaled slowly, a bitter smile tugging at his mouth.Guess I learned something too.
Around him, the noise swelled again.Some knights were already making excuses for him:
"The boy's element wasn't allowed—"
"He held back out of respect—"
"Anyone would've hesitated facing the Lady's son—"
Darren lifted his sword, resting it across his shoulder.
"No," he said quietly, mostly to himself. "I didn't hesitate."
His eyes drifted toward the young master—now standing beside his mother, quiet again, almost blank, like none of it had even happened.
He just… saw more than I did.
Sirion Velen's laughter cut through the courtyard noise.
"I told you," she said to Arin Lys, grinning wide. "The kid doesn't fight like a mage or a knight. He fights like a mirror that's already ahead of you."
Arin didn't answer, but her eyes hadn't left the boy either.
And in that small circle of sand, where Ether still shimmered in the sunlight, pride cracked, curiosity grew, and the first rumors of the "Blue-Eyed Heir" began to take root among the knights of the Light Empire.