My eyelids flutter open to a soft glow.
I blink until the carved oak walls and tall tapestries come into focus, but my gaze settles on the gentle face above me.
Her hair flows like spun moonlight, soft and white, and her smile curves with warmth.
Selene Stormclaw rocks me in her arms as I latch on; the taste is sweet, and her heartbeat drums beneath my cheek.
Every part of me feels safe and new.
She lays me in a cradle—and in a flash of light, everything changes.
(Time skip: Seven years pass in an instant.)
Now, I stand in the grand hallway of the Stormclaw estate, my white hair brushing the silk of my noble robes.
I am Arin Stormclaw—once known as Riyu—and heir to one of Aetherael's ten great houses.
A maid appears at my door.
"Young Master Arin, Lady Selene requests your presence," she says with a respectful bow.
"I'll be right there," I reply, smoothing my sleeves.
I follow her down polished marble floors until she stops before a carved door.
She steps back and closes it behind me.
"Mother?" I push the door open and dip into a bow.
Selene looks up from her desk, her smile is as radiant as ever.
"Arin, your Magic Attribute Exams are in two years. Are you prepared?"
I straighten and meet her gaze. "Yes, Mother."
She stands and embraces me. "You've grown so much. I'm proud of you."
I step back. "I'll manage on my own—don't worry."
Her eyes twinkle as she releases me. "Then let's begin practice. Ready?"
"Mom, why magic instead of swordsmanship?" I ask, frowning.
"Our bloodline excels in light magic," she explains gently. "Swordsmanship isn't our strength unless one has another talent."
I nod, disappointment flickering in my chest. "Very well."
We walk to the training yard.
I take my stance under the open sky and summon a crackling bolt of lightning.
It arcs toward her, but Mother glides aside effortlessly.
She counters with a flurry of strikes, and I dodge each one—though not without scraping my arm.
My robes are damp with sweat and my muscles burn, but a fierce grin spreads across my face.
I drop to one knee, sweat beading on my brow as Mother's strikes fade into memory.
Around me, the training yard lies silent—rows of flowering cherry trees lining the polished stone. I tuck a strand of white hair behind my ear and flex my fingers, still tingling from that lightning bolt.
Master Loran steps onto the field, his dark robes billowing like storm clouds. "Impressive," he says, voice low and steady. "Show me the light weave you learned."
I inhale, recalling every lesson of the past four years. My accelerated learning hums in my mind—each theory and diagram etched clear as daylight. I draw a circle on the ground, tracing runes with a fingertip, and whisper the incantation.
A soft radiance blooms beneath my palm, swirling gold and silver into a hovering orb. It spins once, twice, then bursts into motes of light that drift skyward.
"Good," Loran nods. "Now control its ascent—don't let it dissipate."
I steady my breath and extend my will, slowing the particles until they form a spiral tower of shimmering warmth. Each mote pulses in time with my heartbeat.
When the orb finally dissolves into nothing, I feel its energy settle in my core—proof that my learning gift and magic bloodline are weaving together at last.
"Excellent progress," Loran says, handing me a water flask. "Rest now; more awaits."
As I drink, I glance toward the library archways beyond the courtyard. Ancient tomes call to me—whispers of fragments and forgotten magics.
I rise and follow Loran through the grand pillars.