Almost a year had passed.
What began as an awkward training partnership slowly turned into something resembling friendship. Luci still scolded me like she was a century older, always talking like she was some divine princess walking among mere mortals.
She once looked at me and said, "You should feel honored to even train beside someone like me."
"I find the maid prettier than you," I muttered without thinking.
Big mistake.
Before I could blink, her fist collided with my cheek, and the next thing I knew—I was unconscious. She called it a "gentle tap," but my swollen jaw disagreed. To her credit, she helped me recover. She even apologized, though in the most Luci-like way possible:
"You deserved it. But still… I didn't mean that hard."
Despite her pride and tantrums, Luci wasn't bad. In fact, over time, she started to grow on me. Her laughter, her fire, even her arrogance—it had a strange charm to it.
But eventually, the day came.
The day I had to leave.
My time with the old hag had ended. I was almost ten. Just four years left before I'd step into Zenon Academy.
The old hag stood by the gates, her hands behind her back, pretending not to care. But I could see the softness in her eyes.
"You've grown, boy," she said. "Both of you have. Remember what I told you. Aura, then your Heir. Stay focused."
Luci crossed her arms, her eyes narrowed like she was forcing herself not to cry.
"You better not get lazy, idiot. And don't forget, we'll meet again at Zenon. You owe me a duel—and I don't lose."
"I owe you nothing," I smirked. "Except maybe a thank-you for the punch."
"Tch… shut up."
She took a step forward, and to my surprise, hugged me quickly.
"Visit again. Promise."
"I will," I said quietly.
But deep inside, something twisted in me.
For all her pride, Luci was just like me—someone who knew the sting of loneliness. Someone who put up walls to protect herself.
And for the first time… I saw her. Not just as a rival, or a bratty noble girl.
But someone I might care about.
No, no, no. Don't get ahead of yourself, Ryan.
I shook the thought off. I had more important things to worry about.
Like… Nightveil.
Old Hag told me not to ask my mom. "For her sake," she had whispered.
But I couldn't keep waiting. I had to know. How would this name—this title—affect my life?
Returning Home
I arrived back at the place I hadn't seen in nearly a year. The house was quiet. A soft breeze swept through the open door. Everything looked the same, and yet… smaller. Like I had outgrown it.
"Mom?" I called out.
Silence.
"Mom!"
Panic started to rise in my chest. She was always here. Always.
I was about to search the rooms when—
Two arms wrapped around me from behind.
"You're back," she whispered softly. "My little prince."
Her voice—fragile and warm. I turned around and saw her eyes filled with tears.
"Mom…"
It felt like heaven. The world slowed down, and for a brief moment, everything felt okay again.
We sat down. I told her everything—about Luci, about the old hag, the training, and even Zenon Academy. Her eyes lit up with pride.
"You've grown so much," she said, brushing my hair back. "You're becoming stronger than I ever imagined."
I wanted to ask.
Right then, I wanted to ask about Nightveil.
But her smile was too bright. Too peaceful.
I couldn't break it.
I couldn't ruin her happiness.
So I said nothing.
The Years That Passed
That night, I dreamt of nothing. Again.
No visions, no answers. Just silence.
I trained harder from the next day. Every sunrise saw me stretching, running, pushing my limits. My instincts sharpened. My veins pulsed with potential.
Luci didn't visit.
At least, not at first.
Then, one afternoon, she showed up.
In a long coat, standing in front of my house like some noble general on inspection.
"You weren't going to visit me, were you?" she said with a smug grin.
"You hit me, remember?"
"I was gentle."
"Sure."
She visited often after that. Sometimes to spar, sometimes just to complain. I didn't mind. The more she visited, the more I found myself thinking about her even when she wasn't around.
Three Years Later…
I stood in front of the mirror.
I was nearly fourteen. Taller. Stronger. Sharper jawline, hardened arms, deeper voice.
The boy who had cried out for his mother years ago was now someone else.
I walked to her room and found her stitching something by the window.
"Mom."
She looked up, eyes filled with love. "Yes, Ryan?"
I didn't hesitate this time.
Not anymore.
"What is Nightveil?"