The next morning, Kael woke before the sun.
The air in his room was still, thick with that early-morning emptiness.
He dropped to the floor and started his push-ups.
It had become routine now.
Not for fitness.
Just... habit.
He would have missed home—if there had been anyone waiting for him there.
But there wasn't.
As he had been an orphan in his previous life.
Maybe a few friends from his past life would notice his Disc#rd going silent too long... then move on.
People always did.
So he didn't dwell on it.
He finished his set, stood up, and stretched his arms behind his back with a grunt.
His eyes wandered to the small ceramic vase on the table.
Moonblade.
His first spell.
A slow smirk crept across his face.
His gaze fell on the vase again.
In his head, it became a test dummy.
If the vase had sentience, it might've felt the danger.
It did not.
Kael raised his hand.
Still indoors. Still in his room. No hesitation. No second thoughts.
He whispered,
"Just a little. A little slice."
Mana bloomed on his palm.
A thin crescent of light hissed through the air.
The vase was split clean down the center—beautifully, elegantly.
Kael grinned.
Then his smile vanished.
Because the Moonblade didn't stop.
It kept going.
Across the room.
Toward the door.
"Shit," he muttered.
He still needed practice.
Clearly.
But it didn't matter.
Because the damn door opened at exactly the wrong time.
Selene entered with a silver tray, head slightly bowed.
"Master, your—"
She paused.
Her eyes locked onto the shimmering arc of light slicing through the air straight toward her.
Kael shouted, "Move!"
Inwardly, he thought,
...She's not going to make it.
But Selene did what any underfed, over-adaptable survivor would do.
She jumped.
Dodged like a ninja.
The Moonblade hissed past her, sliced through the door—then finally vanished.
The tray went flying.
Tea splattered.
Porcelain shattered.
And she landed—graceful, crouched, one knee bent—like she'd trained for it her whole life.
Kael blinked.
Then clapped.
Slowly.
"Impressive."
As she basked in her moment of glory, Kael's voice cut through it—low and dry.
"Now clean your mess."
Selene snapped her gaze to the floor, groaned at the spilled tea, and dropped to her knees to start cleaning.
But as she dabbed at the growing puddle, realization dawned.
The mess wasn't her fault.
It was his.
Her head turned slowly.
Kael was casually inching toward the window, as if planning a discreet exit from the crime scene.
"Master!" she shouted.
He froze mid-step, one leg half-raised like a caught cat burglar.
Then her eyes fell on the sliced vase.
Her brain connected the dots.
"Are you casting spells inside the house?!" she yelled, scandalized.
"What if a normal servant had walked in?!"
Kael raised an eyebrow.
"Who's going to walk in with that kind of timing?
It was an accident."
She stared at him, jaw tight.
Kael sighed.
"Okay. Sorry."
Selene narrowed her eyes—then, reluctantly, smiled.
"Don't do it again."
She turned back to cleaning, muttering under her breath.
Kael exhaled, dropped into his chair, and unfolded the morning newspaper like nothing had happened.
Another peaceful start to the day.
He flicked his finger across it and watched the day's headlines reveal themselves in glowing ink.
"Noble Claims His Dog Casts Fireball. Investigation Underway."
"Wandering Prophet Predicts the End of the Kingdom. Again."
"Local Villager Mistakes Illusion Spell for Wife. Asks for Divorce."
As usual, the headlines were a buffet of madness.
Suddenly, Kael's eyes caught a small article buried in the corner of the paper.
"Secret Realm Discovered in Mount Veilspire — Entry Allowed Only for Rank 2 or Rank 1 Magicians."
He nudged Selene.
"Hey, did you see this?"
She glanced over, then nodded thoughtfully.
"These kinds of inheritances pop up from time to time.
Usually left behind by lone Rank 4 magicians who want to continue their lineage after they're gone."
Kael frowned slightly, processing the weight of that.
Then Selene added, a slight smirk tugging at her lips,
"Actually, this might be good practice for you—to learn how to control your mana output faster."
He raised an eyebrow.
"How so?"
Selene smiled slightly.
"Mount Veilspire is crawling with low rank beasts.
You'll get real battle experience—and a better chance to win the duel."
She paused, then added,
"As you know, it's always the better and more efficient mana controller who wins battles between magicians."
Kael nodded thoughtfully.
"Alright, I'll bite. Besides, I could use some fresh air anyway."
***
Far away, a carriage rolled steadily along a forested path, its wheels humming with soft magical pulses.
Inside, a group of students sat cloaked in the distinguished uniforms of the Magic Academy—robes trimmed with silver thread, each bearing the sigils of ancient lineages and dead expectations.
Their instructor, a grim-faced mage with eyes like wet stone, broke the silence.
"You must obtain the cursed sword," he said, voice low and sharp enough to cut cloth.
A few heads turned.
One of them belonged to Princess Elara—the famed beauty of Velmora, though the only thing sharper than her cheekbones was her gaze.
She raised an eyebrow.
"What's so important about this sword?
We don't even know if it's actually there."
The instructor sighed.
The kind of sigh reserved for burnt-out men who've spent too many years pretending everything wasn't on fire.
"The sword itself is nothing special," he said.
"What's sealed inside it… is."
He paused, letting the weight settle like ash in the air.
"If it's released, it could shift power across the entire continent."
Silence followed.
Then Adam—heir to the Duke of the Northern Province—leaned forward, hands steepled. His voice was calm, too calm.
"Then why not inform the Emperor?"
The master's eyes narrowed.
"Because if this is real, it's our chance.
Our kingdom is dying—fractured and forgotten. But this…"
He made a vague, clutching gesture, like grabbing at the hem of fate.
"This could let us rise. Overthrow the others. Rewrite the map."
Elara's gaze drifted to the mountains beyond the trees—Veilspire, tall and veiled in legend.
Her face betrayed nothing.
But inside, her thoughts were sharp.
By Imperial law—laws carved into golden pillars and enforced with blood—any ancient cursed relic, especially one capable of shifting continental power, was to be reported immediately to the Emperor's Seers.
And yet, here they were... rattling toward the mountain like well-dressed thieves on a school field trip.
She exhaled slowly, remembering her father's last words to her before departure.
Not comforting. Not warm.
Only: Do not fail me.
The King had grown desperate.
Ambitious in a way that smelled like rot.
Ever since Velmora began crumbling under pressure from stronger neighbors, his eyes had turned toward the forbidden—toward the artifacts that history had buried for a reason.
And now, he was gambling with an entire generation of mages.
Elara included.
Just another piece on the board.
She hoped her square didn't end in fire.
###
Author's Note:
Just for clarity — the Kingdom of Velmora is ruled by its own king, whose daughter is Princess Elara.
However, Velmora is not fully independent; it is a vassal state under the larger Elion Empire, which is ruled by the Emperor of Elion.