The wind carried the scent of spring—fresh earth, budding leaves, and distant blossoms. For most, it was just another day in the quiet village of Elaren.
But not for Aeron.
He stood near the worn wooden fence that bordered their little cottage, eyes wide, heart thudding with excitement. The path beyond the hills shimmered in the morning light, and somewhere far beyond that horizon lay the royal capital—Caelgard.
The city of banners and towers.
Of academies and magic halls.
Of stories waiting to be written.
> "Finally," Aeron muttered under his breath, fingers twitching as if they already felt the stone roads of the capital. "It begins."
The past three years had been transformative.
Since the day his system awakened, Aeron had grown in silence. He had mastered the flow of mana with a precision far beyond his age, pushing his body and mind in secret, always under the cover of innocence.
He had learned to hide his power well.
To everyone else—including Lyra and his parents—he was just a clever boy with curious eyes.
But beneath the surface…
He was preparing.
And now, the journey to Caelgard would give him what he needed: opportunity.
—
Inside their home, preparations were in full swing.
Woven bags of dried herbs, bolts of dyed cloth, and crates of preserved fruits lined the main room. His mother, Alina, packed each item with swift, practiced hands. His father, Renan, checked the straps on their cart while muttering about the weather.
Lyra, now eleven and nearly as tall as their mother, peeked her head around the corner.
"Aeron! You packed your things, right?"
"Yes," Aeron said with a grin, holding up a small satchel. "Two books, charcoal ink, spare clothes… and snacks."
She laughed, ruffling his hair. "You're more prepared than me."
> "Of course," he replied with a smirk. "It's the capital."
There was a lightness in the air, a quiet joy. This wasn't just a business trip—it was a chance for their family to reconnect with relatives, trade at the grand market, and for Aeron… to see the heart of Caeloria.
> "I want to see the spires," he told Lyra over breakfast.
"The what?"
"The spires of the old Arcanum Tower. They say they glow at night. Like stars on the ground."
"Nerd," she teased, but her smile was soft.
Their parents exchanged amused glances. They were glad Aeron had grown so eager for the world.
They had no idea that their son was already preparing to walk paths far beyond anything they could imagine.
—
That afternoon, Aeron sat under the shade of the sycamore tree near their garden. He closed his eyes, feeling the mana in the air—soft and lazy, drifting with the breeze.
He willed it to his fingers, then released it gently, shaping it into a thin shimmer that danced in the sunlight like a dragonfly's wing.
> "No need to rush," he whispered to himself. "Once we reach Caelgard… the real work begins."
He had questions.
About the system.
About his past life.
And about the strange dreams that still echoed now and then—of a blade buried in obsidian, of a throne beneath a dead sky.
The capital held answers. He could feel it.
And maybe… something was waiting for him there.
—
As dusk approached, the cart was loaded, the horses fed, and the last of the farewells said.
Villagers waved as Renan checked the wheels one last time. Alina made sure Lyra had packed her comb. Aeron sat beside a bundle of rolled maps, legs swinging excitedly.
The road shimmered before them, golden in the light of the setting sun.
He turned back, taking one last look at the cottage—the sycamore, the garden, the warmth of home.
Then he faced forward, eyes filled with wonder.
> "Let's go," he said, barely able to contain his grin.
And the cart began to roll.
Down the path.
Past the hills.
Toward the city of banners.
—
Chapter 12 End