The gates of House Valenheart shimmered open as Lucien stepped through, only to be immediately snatched by the collar and tossed—quite literally—into a golden-ringed training dome. His body sailed through the air before crashing unceremoniously onto the polished crystal floor.
"Welcome to hellfire, sweetheart," said Lady Seraphina Valenheart with a radiant smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Her silver hair was now tied in a severe bun, and she'd exchanged her formal council robes for a battle uniform trimmed with lunar silver. "Let's awaken your maternal blood properly."
Lucien barely had time to regain his footing before a blinding flash of light erupted around him. The air itself seemed to ignite, golden flames licking at his skin without actually burning it—yet.
"Grandmother, I thought we might discuss the training plan first—" he began diplomatically.
A concentrated beam of light struck the floor inches from his feet, cutting his words short.
"Discussion?" Seraphina's laughter rang through the dome like crystal bells. "Your mother had the same naive notion when she began. The Valenheart way isn't taught through words, boy. It's inscribed through experience."
Her hands flowed through a series of elegant gestures, and suddenly the dome filled with hundreds of hovering orbs of light, each pulsing with different intensities.
"Dodge the white ones, catch the gold ones, absorb the silver ones," she instructed casually. "The red ones will knock you unconscious for three days. I wouldn't touch those if I were you."
Before Lucien could even process these instructions, the orbs launched toward him from all directions.
What followed could only be described as divine torment.
---
## The Year of Radiance
Lucien spent the next year under the brutal care of his grandmother—quickly earning her the nickname "Radiant Tyrant" in his mind, though he dared not say it aloud. Days began with divine flame resistance drills at dawn, when the first light crested the mountains and was channeled through the crystalline spires of Lunar Haven to create concentrated beams that would have incinerated a normal human.
"The Valenheart gift is twofold," Seraphina explained during a rare break. They sat at the edge of a mountain cliff, overlooking clouds that swirled thousands of feet below.
She created a small sun in her palm, its surface churning with solar flares. "Your Arkanveil blood gives you fire. Your Valenheart blood gives you light. Together, they should allow you to manipulate the fundamental building blocks of the universe."
Mid-mornings were devoted to light-speed mana weaving—a technique that required Lucien to thread his mana through crystalline matrices at speeds approaching that of light itself. Each failure resulted in painful feedback that left his nerves singing and his mind reeling.
"Too slow!" Seraphina would shout. "Light doesn't hesitate; neither should you. Again!"
Afternoons involved practical applications—creating light-based weapons, defensive barriers, and illumination techniques that could pierce any darkness. These sessions left him mentally exhausted, his mana reserves constantly drained to their limits.
But evenings were the worst—meditation inside solar flares. Seraphina would create a controlled solar environment within a specialized chamber, and Lucien would be required to sit motionless at its center, allowing the plasma to wash over him while maintaining perfect mental clarity.
"Your body must learn that light is not just power, but information," Seraphina instructed. "Every photon carries data from across the universe. Learn to read it, and nothing will ever truly surprise you."
Whenever he tried to complain, she tossed holy fireballs at him—for motivation, she claimed, though Lucien suspected she simply enjoyed watching him scramble.
The servants of Lunar Haven whispered among themselves. They had seen other potential disciples come and go—some lasting days, others weeks. None had endured Seraphina's training for months as Lucien had.
"He has her stubbornness," one elderly maid noted with a knowing smile. "Just like his mother."
Yet despite the agony, the results were undeniable. Lucien's system tracked his progress meticulously:
```
[SKILL PROGRESS]
Radiant Mana Control Lv 7 → Lv 10 → Advanced Light Weaving unlocked
Solar Flame Resistance Lv 5 → Lv 10 → Passive Trait: Inner Furnace (Minor) unlocked
Divine Warding Magic Lv 2 → Lv 8
Affinity with Light Magic increased by 47%
Control over internal mana circuits refined by 38.4%
[NEW SKILLS ACQUIRED]
Photonic Step Lv 3 - Short-range light-speed movement
Prism Breaking Lv 2 - The ability to shatter light-based illusions
Solar Reading Lv 1 - Extracting information from light that has touched distant objects
```
By day, Lucien was his grandmother's punching bag. But by night, he discovered an unexpected ally.
He also secretly trained with his grandfather, Faelor Valenheart—the "Sighing Sage"—in the dead of night. Where Seraphina was all blazing intensity and merciless demands, Faelor was calm waters and patient instruction.
The old man would appear at Lucien's quarters just after midnight, tapping softly on the door before leading him to a hidden study filled with ancient scrolls and artifacts.
"Don't tell her," Faelor whispered the first night, handing Lucien a sealing scroll covered in intricate runes that seemed to shift and move in the dim light. "Or she'll roast me in my own barrier. Again."
Lucien raised an eyebrow. "Again?"
Faelor sighed deeply—his signature response to most questions. "Your mother's training. I taught her a few... shortcuts. Seraphina found out." He rubbed his shoulder as if recalling an old injury. "She has a very direct way of expressing disappointment."
From Faelor, Lucien learned the subtler arts of the Valenheart legacy:
```
[SKILLS ACQUIRED FROM FAELOR]
Runic Sealing Techniques Lv 4 - The art of binding energy within symbolic patterns
Dimensional Anchoring Basics Lv 3 - Creating fixed points in space-time
Soul Sigil Crafting (Beginner) Lv 2 - Inscribing one's spiritual essence into physical objects
```
"Your grandmother teaches power," Faelor explained one night as they worked on a particularly complex seal. "I teach control. She shows you how to create a sun; I show you how to capture it in a bottle."
"Why do you let her push everyone so hard?" Lucien asked, curious about their dynamic.
Faelor's eyes grew distant. "Because she's right, more often than not. The world is cruel to those who hesitate." He looked directly at Lucien. "And because beneath that terrifying exterior beats a heart that has bled for this family more times than you know."
During these midnight sessions, Lucien also learned more about his mother's history—how she had been the pride of House Valenheart before falling in love with his father and choosing to join the Arkanveil family against her parents' wishes.
"She was stronger than both of us in her own way," Faelor confided. "She knew what she wanted and stood firm against the storm. Even Seraphina's fury couldn't sway her."
The midnight training with Faelor complemented the daytime brutality with Seraphina. Where she forced his limits, Faelor taught him finesse. Where she demanded power, he encouraged precision.
Lunar Haven itself seemed to respond to Lucien's growing abilities. The crystalline paths would gleam brighter as he passed, the ancient ward trees would rustle their silver leaves in acknowledgment, and the sacred lunar pools would ripple when he approached.
By the end of the year, Lucien was no longer just the Arkanveil heir—he was also the budding Radiant Scion of the Valenheart line. His once purely crimson aura now held threads of silver that wove through his power like moonlight through storm clouds.
---
## Meanwhile… At the Edge of the World
Far from civilization, Ignis Vaelthorn—his purple eyes dimmed, his pride torn—stood bruised and bleeding in the frostbitten cliffs of the northernmost frontier. His once immaculate crimson robes were now tattered and stained, his legendary sword chipped along its edge.
He had taken leave to train and venture alone after the council meeting, determined to surpass Lucien and restore his family's honor. But someone else had plans.
The first attack came three months into his journey, while he slept at an inn in a border town. Six masked assailants, each bearing the mark of the Liberation Organization—a radical group that opposed the Nine Families' rule. He'd dispatched them with ease but found a disturbing message among their possessions:
"Retrieve the seed within the boy."
More attacks followed. City after city, wildland after wildland. The Liberation Organization's assassins hunted him with increasing desperation. They wanted something.
Or someone.
With each battle, Ignis felt a strange resonance within himself—a power that wasn't his own, responding to the conflict. Sometimes he would black out during combat, only to awaken surrounded by bodies and destruction he couldn't remember causing.
"What's happening to me?" he had whispered to his reflection in a mountain pool, noticing with horror how his purple eyes occasionally flashed with an alien silver light.
The attacks intensified. Higher-ranked assassins. More coordinated strikes. His grandfather had sent search teams, but the Liberation Organization's information network helped Ignis stay one step ahead of both his pursuers and his would-be rescuers.
Until now.
Desperate, cornered at the edge of the abyss—the forbidden void left behind by the vanished Panchmukhi Mountain—Ignis faced an impossible choice: surrender to the organization that hunted him or leap into the unknown darkness that had swallowed a mountain whole.
"Come quietly, Sword Prince," the leader of the assassination squad called out, his voice distorted by a mask crafted from what appeared to be human bone. "We need only what you carry, not your life."
"What I carry?" Ignis snarled, blood dripping from a wound above his eye. "I carry nothing but my family's blade and honor."
The masked leader laughed. "You carry a seed of the world beyond, boy. A fragment embedded in your soul since birth. Did you never wonder why your eyes are purple when all Vaelthorns before you bore eyes of amber?"
Ignis faltered. It was true—his eyes had always marked him as different. His parents had called it a blessing, a sign of his unique destiny. But now...
"The void calls to what belongs to it," the leader continued, stepping closer. "Let us extract it properly, or it will tear its way out eventually."
Ignis looked over his shoulder at the absolute darkness of the void. Then back at his pursuers.
With a final defiant smile, he leapt backwards into the unknown.
The moment he entered the void, he felt something wrench from his very soul—a sensation like a hook catching on his heart and pulling. Pain unlike anything he'd ever experienced tore through him.
"No… what… what did I just lose?" he gasped into the nothingness.
But there was no time for answers.
In a blinding surge of spatial chaos, Ignis was flung through what felt like layers of reality—images flickering past too quickly to comprehend. Landscapes, civilizations, beings that defied description.
And then, sudden impact.
He crashed onto hard earth, the taste of iron and dirt in his mouth. When he managed to lift his head, he found himself in a remote land of red soil and strange, gnarled trees that resembled no flora he had ever seen.
This was the very land where, in the original novel, his true journey began—though Lucien alone would recognize this fact. In the story, Ignis had ventured here by choice, seeking ancient techniques. In reality, fate had forced his hand.
The Vaelthorn Homecoming Arc... had begun.
---
## One Year Later – Training Grounds, House Valenheart
Lucien stepped out of the crystal gates marking the boundary of the highest training ground, his body radiating calm heat and his eyes sharper than ever. The once impossible challenge—surviving in the heart of a focused sunbeam for an entire day—had become merely difficult.
He'd grown taller, stronger—wiser. Where once there had been a calculating boy with dreams of power, now stood a young man with the bearing of one who had been tested by fire and light.
He'd been forged.
The silver threads in his aura had stabilized, no longer flickering but flowing steadily alongside his inherent crimson power. His once purely analytical gaze now carried a hint of his grandmother's intensity.
Waiting outside, Faelor gave him a quiet smile and handed him a shimmering pendant—a small crystal that seemed to contain a miniature galaxy within its depths.
"A little upgrade to your soulbound artifact. Made with... love. And dread." The old man's typical sigh followed. "Your grandmother will notice eventually, of course, but by then you'll be gone."
Lucien bowed slightly. "Thank you, grandfather."
"Don't thank me yet," Faelor replied. "That pendant will allow you to store light energy from any source and convert it to pure mana. Very useful for someone with your... unique affinities. But it has a price. It draws from your own life force when activated. Use it sparingly."
As Lucien walked toward the Valenheart manor gate, preparing for his imminent return to Arkanveil territory, he overheard two mages gossiping near the messenger tower.
"Did you hear? The Vaelthorn heir—Ignis—has gone missing."
"For months now. Disappeared into the void at Panchmukhi. No one knows where he is. Might be dead."
"The Vaelthorn family is in chaos. Lord Marcellus has deployed every resource to find him."
"Some say the Liberation Organization was involved."
Lucien paused mid-step, processing this information.
His lips curled into a knowing smirk. So it begins.
In his previous life, he had read this very plot point in the novel—Ignis vanishing for a time, only to return transformed, bearing new powers and a deeper understanding of the world's true nature. It was one of the turning points that had made the character so compelling.
"Vaelthorn Homecoming Arc... initiated," Lucien murmured to himself.
He continued walking, mind racing with implications. If the story was proceeding along its original path despite his interference, what did that mean? Was fate immutable? Or was something—or someone—working to keep events on track?
```
As he reached the main gates where Seraphina waited to bid him farewell, he compartmentalized these thoughts. For now, he would return to his grandfather Dorian, continue his training, and prepare for the academy trials.
But one thing was certain—the board had changed. Pieces were moving in unexpected ways.
And Lucien intended to be the player, not the piece.
"Saying goodbye to my humble abode?" Seraphina asked, arms crossed as she assessed him with critical eyes. "I suppose you'll do. For now."
"Thank you for your guidance, Grandmother," Lucien said with genuine respect. Despite her methods, he couldn't deny the results.
"The light never abandons its own," she replied, the closest thing to affection she'd shown all year. "Remember what I taught you: to control light is to control reality itself."
Lucien nodded as a spatial gate opened before him, revealing the familiar territories of House Arkanveil.
As he stepped through, one thought dominated his mind: if Ignis, the original protagonist, was following his destined path despite everything, what did that mean for Lucien's own fate?
Only time would tell. And time, like light, was something he was learning to bend to his will.