-----
As the sun began to set, a festive mood started to envelop the Dawnblades.
The courtyard—once filled with bloodthirsty warriors—was now crowded with tables overflowing with food, alcohol, and laughter.
Some were singing off to the side, others locked in a drinking competition. One bold soul had even climbed onto a wooden table, dramatically recounting the events of the battlefield.
Victory against a demigod! The weight of that achievement couldn't be summed up with a few simple words.
Even though he was a fallen demigod, the outcome of the fight was impressive nonetheless.
At the same time, they celebrated to forget all they had lost along the way.
Behind the estate, the city of Sunvale shimmered in all its glory.
In truth, the few houses that stood between the Dawnblade estate and the forest the group'd passed through earlier were just a small part of the entire clan's holdings.
This section was closest to the forest—and therefore the most dangerous.
Many of those homes had been destroyed and rebuilt over the years, which made people wary. Still, the cheaper prices kept attracting buyers.
A pair of guards stood atop the wall, gazing down at the city where thousands of lights stretched across the land like scattered stars.
"Today's fight was really something to see."
The guard beside him laughed heartily, his voice full of excitement.
"Did you see the commander fall on his sword like a shooting star? I swear, I was holding my breath the whole time!"
"Hmph, the real star today was definitely the Ice Witch. Her contribution was on a whole other level—no one else comes close," the first guard replied with a snicker.
"Yselda?" The other raised an eyebrow, his face twisting into a teasing grin.
"Did you not see that rank 7 spell? Are your eyes still working?" he said, jabbing playfully.
"Ah, you mean the outsider? Let me tell you, I heard—"
Tap.
The soft sound of metal hitting the stone reached their ears.
They turned to see another pair of guards approaching, chatting casually as they walked.
One carried a spear, tapping it against the ground like a walking stick, while the other had a sheathed blade resting on his hip.
As they drew closer, one of them called out.
"Good work, we'll take it from here. Anything to report?"
The two guards who'd been on duty gave each other a flat look.
"Kyle, did you eat something weird? What's with the formal tone?" one said, smirking.
"Needing a cane at your age—life's really been rough, huh?" the other added, raising a hand to pat the spear-holder's shoulder.
All four of them burst into laughter, their duties briefly forgotten.
---
While the estate was alive with celebration, the closed training hall echoed with the sound of wood striking wood.
Swoosh!
A wooden blade sliced through the air, striking the right shoulder of a training dummy with a solid thud.
A drop of sweat fell from her chin, landing in a small puddle—ripples expanding outward.
Golden hair tied in a bun. Bright blue eyes, glinting like polished gems.
Aurelia.
Her sleeves were rolled to her elbows, her breathing shallow. Her shirt had become damp, making the outline of her undergarment slightly visible on her chest.
The wooden sword in her hand was slick with sweat.
"Why? Even after so long!" she shouted, frustration breaking through her control.
Storm, lounging nearby, raised his head. With slow steps, the great beast walked over, brushing gently against her side.
She sighed and looked up at the ceiling, shoulders trembling with each breath.
As she reached out to touch Storm's fur, a pair of deep blue eyes—mirroring her own—flashed in her mind.
Anger surged.
Without a second thought, she twisted her waist and hurled the practice sword across the room. It clattered against the stone floor and slid to a stop several meters away.
"Brother..." she muttered to herself.
Tears welled in her eyes but stubbornly clung to her lashes, refusing to fall.
"You think I want to be a troublemaker?" she whispered through ragged breaths.
Creak.
The great doors opened with a quiet groan.
Storm didn't turn. He had already sensed who it was. As a beast from the [Forest], both his senses as well as his intelligence were extraordinary.
Aurelia turned her head, guarded. Light footsteps, unhurried and silent, approached.
Kael.
He entered the training hall with his usual blank expression, eyes scanning—not out of concern or interest, but simply... seeing.
His bare feet touched against the cold ground, each step soundless.
Storm padded back to his resting spot, next to the training dummy and laid down.
Aurelia blinked. Her teary, blurry vision was clearing, and she noticed.
His arm was missing.
She had only heard scattered reports of the battle. Vek was injured. No casualties were mentioned. But that's all she knew.
"Greetings, Sir Kael," she said hesitantly, wiping at her face-both sweat and tears-with the back of her hand.
Kael said nothing. He stepped closer and bent to pick up the discarded wooden sword.
It was light. Dull. Useless in a real fight.
Still, as he turned it in his hand, a faint smile tugged at his lips—soft, almost nostalgic.
"You are working hard," he finally said.
Aurelia glanced at Storm, then the sword in Kael's hand. At last, she met his eyes.
"What's the use of working hard if you've got no talent?" she muttered, voice tinged with helplessness. "I'm just wasting time."
Then came that smile—her usual one. A carefully practiced habit.
"I'd rather play outside with Storm, but... I'm a little scared after the battle," she added, ending with a nervous laugh.
Kael waited in silence.
He looked at her—not her posture, not her expression—but something deeper. Something internal.
Aurelia shifted, suddenly uneasy under his gaze. She looked down at Storm, who yawned wide and loud, unimpressed.
"The problem you're facing isn't your talent," Kael said. "Nor the amount of training you've done."
She hesitated. What could this stranger possibly know?
"Then?" Her tone was casual, but her eyes betrayed her curiosity.
Kael was an anomaly.
Her mother treated him with reverence. Yselda, too.
He was young, gravely wounded, yet bore himself like a man far more old—aloof, distant, untouchable. Almost arrogant.
Aurelia wasn't ignorant. She could see how strange it all was.
But with her limited experience, her thoughts remained simple. And above all else—she wasn't curious enough to ask.
Not after what she felt in that phenomenon in the forest.
Not after he appeared.
What she'd felt walking beside him back then wasn't warmth—it was obligation. And fear.
She had answered his unending questions with a smile on her face out of necessity, not kindness.
("I was sealed inside.") Kael's words during the elder's meeting had never left her.
Sealed in that forest? Why? For how long?
Even if she knew nothing about him she was sure about one thing; he was undoubtedly strong.
Kael held the sword vertically, resting his hand atop its handle.
"You're injured," he said plainly.
Aurelia furrowed her brows. She knew her own body. She wasn't hurt.
She'd already accepted the truth—it was affinity. Or the lack thereof.
Some, like Vek, were born with strong affinity to a single mana type. For him, it was light mana. Others, like Yselda, defied normal standards, wielding multiple elements with ease.
She? She had none.
No matter the test, no matter the teacher—even Yselda—none found any sign of affinity.
Yet Kael continued, before she could voice her thoughts.
"Not physically. Spiritually. Your will—it's fractured."
'Will.' A term chosen for her sake. One she could understand.
He wasn't looking at her with regular eyes.
In Kael's vision, there were no objects. No ground, no sword under his grasp. He saw a different scene altogether.
Where her heart beat, he saw a golden sphere, glowing brightly. A mana vessel. From it, her mana channels flowed to every corner of her body. These channels resembled strands of golden hair but flowed in a stream, like a river's.
He saw Storm, too. A pure white sphere resting in his head, with mana flowing steadily to the rest of his body.
Everything seemed normal.
But Kael saw deeper.
There was an imbalance.
"What's the simplest spell you can cast?" he asked.
"The simplest?" Aurelia repeated, nervous. "Light Wisp. It was the first one I learned."
"Could you show me?" Kael smiled—gently, this time.
She hesitated.
Her perception had always been sharp. She could feel mana with ease. But manipulating it? That was where she faltered.
Even Light Wisp—a beginner's spell—was inconsistent.
Each failure felt like a knife to the gut.
She had failed to perform it many times and the incomparable shame from failing a child's test was gnawing at her.
She said nothing, simply nodded, then clenched her jaw and lifted her hand.
Kael watched the flow.
It was erratic—sometimes too fast, sometimes too slow. At times it would spill from the channels, leaking out and dispersing.
This wasn't uncommon. New mages often faced this.
But her case was different.
The irregularity wasn't chaotic. It was consistent.
A flawed pattern—repeating, unchanging.
A wound, not a mistake.
She raised her hand in front of her chest and closed her eyes.
A tiny orb of light flickered to life in her palm. No bigger than a fingernail. Its glow didn't even reach her face, only the base of her palm.
But it was there.
Her eyes lit up. A faint blush crept into her cheeks.
"I did it," she whispered, elated.
Kael nodded.
The spell wasn't stable, but it was consistent.
In one instant it became dimmer, the next it glowed normally. Then, it was dim again.
When beginners failed, their flow stuttered, uncertain. It might grow too bright, then too dim, then disappear entirely.
Hers did not. Like a damaged pump always releasing too much—or too little—it followed its broken rhythm.
There were only two reasons such a pattern would persist.
One, was deliberate intention.
And the second, a wounded soul.
In this case, it was the latter.
"That's enough," Kael said, smiling again.
The light faded and vanished.
"Your mana flow is erratic... but not uncontrolled."
He stepped closer, lifting the wooden blade slightly.
"Like a loose valve. Mana is leaking—slow, uneven. But still flowing properly."
Aurelia frowned.
She already knew this. Others had checked her. Healers. Alchemists. Her parents spared no effort.
The reason as to why there was such a consistency in her flawed mana channels? Almost everyone who tested her had attributed it to her great perception of mana.
A hidden talent of sorts, that was bound to be wasted on a low ranked mage.
"Then... can it be healed?" she asked, suspicious.
Kael nodded lightly. "There are a few ways to heal from such injuries."
He paused, gaze sharpening.
"But I'm more interested in how you were hurt in the first place."
-----