Chapter 2 : The Blade and the Bond
The morning air was crisp, tinged with dew. Soft beams of light filtered through the high windows of the Elion estate, casting golden patterns on the training yard's stone tiles.
Roan stood barefoot on the polished courtyard, a wooden sword in his small hands. At five years old, he was lean, but his stance had the quiet precision of someone older—someone who had lived through something already.
Across from him stood his mother.
Lyria Elion, known once as the Moonshadow Blade of Caelaria, now wore a simple practice robe tied loosely at the waist. Her violet hair was bound back in a warrior's tail, and a wooden sword rested easily in her right hand. Even with no blade of steel, her presence radiated strength—elegant, poised, and commanding.
"Keep your knees bent, Roan," she said gently. "You want to flow like water, not stand like stone."
He adjusted his stance, mimicking her form. "Like this?"
Lyria stepped behind him, placing her hand on his back, correcting the arch in his spine.
"Perfect," she whispered.
She moved in front of him again and smiled—not the soft, nurturing smile he usually saw at bedtime, but something brighter. Sharper.
"Now," she said, raising her practice sword. "Show me what you've learned."
Roan inhaled deeply. The cool air filled his lungs as he stepped forward and swung.
It wasn't perfect. His footwork was a little uneven, his angle slightly off—but his form was solid. The wooden blade hissed through the air and struck hers with a satisfying thud.
She parried gracefully.
"Good," she said. "Again."
They moved like dancers—slow at first, then faster, falling into a rhythm. Roan's strikes came quicker now, more confident. Each time, Lyria blocked him with ease, but never mockingly. She watched him. She taught with her eyes as much as her words.
He stumbled once, and she caught him.
"Don't rush," she said softly. "Swordplay isn't about anger. It's control. Timing. Intention."
He looked up into her eyes and nodded. "I want to be strong."
Something flickered in her gaze—pride… and pain.
"You will be," she said, her voice quieter now. "But don't chase strength to escape fear. Chase it so you can protect what matters."
---
They continued until Roan's arms trembled with fatigue. Sweat ran down his brow. His wooden sword felt heavier now. His breathing was ragged.
But he didn't stop.
And Lyria didn't tell him to.
She only stepped back, lowered her sword, and nodded.
"That's enough for today."
Roan dropped to his knees, panting.
"You're pushing yourself hard," she said, walking over. "I admire that. But strength also needs rest."
He looked up. "But I want to catch up to Selene… and to you."
Lyria knelt beside him and took his hand. "You will. But you must grow like a tree, not a fire. Slowly. Deeply. With roots."
Roan blinked, confused by the metaphor, but he felt its truth. She smiled, then wiped the sweat from his brow with her sleeve and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.
"You're already stronger than you know."
---
Later that night, Roan lay beneath the stars on the estate's balcony. The twin moons of Elarion glowed high above, casting silver light over the world.
Lyria sat beside him on a low bench, sharpening her real sword—Moonfang, a slender, elegant blade with a violet sheen.
"Did Father teach you to fight?" Roan asked suddenly.
Lyria paused, then smiled without looking up.
"No. He was awful with a sword."
Roan giggled. "Really?"
She nodded. "But he was brave. Wild. He charged into everything with a smile. People loved him for it." Her smile faded a little. "He died before you were born. But he would've been proud of you."
"I want to be like him," Roan whispered.
Lyria finally looked at him. Her eyes softened.
"No," she said. "You'll be better. Because you'll be you."
Roan looked up at the sky, his body sore, but his heart full.
> [System Update]
Sword Path Activated
Style Acquired: Moonshadow Blade – Beginner Level
Affinity Rating: High
Progress: 7%
> Note: "Training under a master… bond detected: Maternal Strength."
---
He smiled.
In this world, he wasn't just surviving.
He was learning.
He was growing.
And for the first time, someone was helping him become something more.
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To Be Continued…