The Arkanveil estate hummed with life.
Mana-charged wind rustled the training banners. Wooden swords clashed in rhythmic dances. Laughter rang from the garden hedges where two small figures darted past a startled servant. The scent of roasted meat wafted from the west kitchens, where the cooks bickered like brothers in battle.
To the average eye, this was simply noble life in motion.
To Lucien Arkanveil, it was something far more precious—a world he refused to lose.
He watched his siblings with the quiet intensity of a scholar and the protectiveness of an old soul reborn. They were more than family. They were the foundation of his second life. In his past life, he'd outlived those he loved. Not again.
---
Aleron, the eldest, was sixteen and already a rising star within the Arkanveil military command. His swordplay had evolved beyond mortal drills. His blade carried not just skill—but purpose.
Lucien often watched him train from behind marble pillars, mimicking every form in silence once night fell.
Purpose sharpens technique like whetstone to edge, Lucien mused, eyes glinting.
Aleron's system must've already unlocked rare-grade Traits—perhaps "Battle Will" or even "Blade Resonance." He moved as though steel obeyed him, not the other way around.
---
Then there was Seris.
Seris, with her auburn hair and fire-wreathed fingertips. She was fourteen and as unpredictable as wildfire. Her elemental affinity wasn't just a product of lineage—it was pure, primal spirit. She sang to the flames when she thought no one listened, coaxing them into shapes—a phoenix, a whip, a blade.
Lucien once overheard two elders whispering, "She doesn't control fire. It follows her."
He believed it.
She once found him sitting alone under the old maple near the east wing. Without a word, she plopped down beside him and offered him a berry tart, still warm.
"You're always quiet, little fox," she teased, tapping his nose.
He blinked, smiled shyly, and took the tart.
He didn't tell her that in his past life, he had razed cities with fire—and yet hers, innocent and wild, scared him more.
---
Caelum was eight and a menace. A lovable one, but a menace nonetheless.
Lucien found him one morning halfway inside the engine casing of a servant automaton, giggling as sparks burst from the confused construct's ears.
"Fixed it," Caelum said proudly. "Also made it sing."
It did. For the next three hours.
Caelum's mind operated differently. His mana didn't flow like a warrior's or a mage's. It pulsed in mechanical bursts, like cogs turning in the void. Lucien suspected a Trait tied to invention or augmentation. Maybe Runesmith, or if the gods were particularly mischievous, Tinker Lord.
Either way, his potential was vast—and dangerous, if left unguided.
Lucien began leaving small notes in Caelum's workshop, disguised as scribbles, nudging his experiments toward safer paths.
"Too much mana leads to backfire."
"Heat compression can stabilize miniature cores."
"Don't. Use. Slime fluid."
Caelum never asked who left the notes.
But he stopped using slime fluid.
---
And then there was Lyria.
Sweet, gentle Lyria. Just four years old. Bright golden curls. Eyes the color of dawn.
She couldn't control her magic yet, not fully, but the light listened to her. It danced when she clapped. It glowed when she giggled. She'd healed a bird's broken wing once—by accident.
Lucien knew her potential surpassed even Seris's.
But light was fragile.
And light, in this world, attracted darkness.
He watched her more than the others.
---
He played the role of loving younger brother flawlessly. He let Caelum use him in experiments (as long as they were safe). He let Seris braid his hair and call him "sunbeam." He clung to Aleron's legs when he returned from missions. He let Lyria fall asleep in his lap during storytime.
But his mind never rested.
He tracked their growth, estimated their Trait awakenings, plotted what resources each would need to rise unhindered. When he sparred with Aleron, he deliberately lost in ways that taught him Aleron's blind spots. When Seris practiced flame weaving, he watched the fluctuations in her mana thread. When Caelum built new gadgets, he quietly enhanced the mana cores with his own breath of stabilization magic.
And when Lyria played in the garden, he kept one hand close to his belt—where a charm of protective runes lay hidden, just in case.
---
> [Observation Lv 5 (1865/2000)]
[Family Analysis - New Skill Acquired!]
[Family Analysis Lv 1 (13/100)]
[Protective Instinct Lv 2 (399/1000)]
---
He wasn't just training himself.
He was building a fortress around his family.
The story he'd once read had been clear: the Arkanveil family fell because it was divided. The original Lucien's jealousy had festered. His siblings had scattered. Aleron died on the battlefield. Seris vanished. Caelum was abducted. Lyria… Lyria was never even mentioned again.
Not this time.
This time, they would thrive.
---
At dinner, their mother watched him with gentle curiosity.
"You've become quite the observer, little one," she said, offering him an extra piece of honey-roasted duck.
Lucien smiled, biting into it with visible joy.
But behind his eyes, calculations spun.
They thought he was just quiet.
They thought he was simply gifted.
But he was watching.
Preparing.
The world would not take his family again.
Not without going through him first.
---
> [Family Bond Strengthened: +5% EXP gain to Family Analysis when near siblings.]
[Hidden Trait Potential Detected: Caelum Arkanveil – Trait Bloom in 3 years (Tinker Lord?)]
[Protective Instinct evolved → Guardian's Seed (Dormant)]
Lucien closed his panel.
Then looked across the table—at Aleron's calm smile, Seris's firelit gaze, Caelum's grease-stained hands, and Lyria's frosting-covered cheeks.
"I'll protect you all," he whispered.
And nobody heard.
But the world would feel it soon enough.