The faint blue glow of the pre-dawn sky leaked through the curtains of Nerion's room as he stirred awake, shaking off the last remnants of sleep. His mind, still foggy, instinctively reached for the System—to check for other rewards, maybe even the soul cards.
But he paused.
"Don't rush into power like a fool chasing light with closed eyes," his grandfather's words from last night echoed in his mind. He exhaled slowly and let go of the urge.
He swung his legs over the bed, padding across the cool stone floor. A splash of water on his face grounded him further, the chill biting just enough to clear the last of his drowsiness. He threw on a simple training shirt and shorts, glanced at the rune-etched alarm crystal beside his window.
5:00 a.m. sharp.
Good.
Nerion stepped into the courtyard alone. The silence was calming—sacred, even. He began his morning routine with calm focus, every movement echoing discipline ingrained over the years, reinforced by memories of sore limbs and his grandfather's iron gaze.
When he was younger, skipping this routine had seemed harmless. But House Ophirein had its watchers—his grandfather's "spies" among the servants always knew. And when they did, his punishments were swift, and unforgettable.
No skipping today.
10 km Run: The steady rhythm of his feet pounding against the earth, breath controlled. It was a silent meditative practice as much as a workout. The path was familiar, winding through the grounds of the estate, every step strengthening both body and mind.
100 Push-ups: Steady form. A pause every twenty for a ten-second hold, arms trembling by the end.
100 Sit-ups: Arms crossed, feet locked under a rune-weighted plank.
100 Pull-ups: He struggled on the last thirty, needing to channel breath rhythm to finish.
100 Squats: Blade held across his shoulders, each dip slow and deep. Balance, posture, resolve.
By the time he finished, the sun had begun to rise. Sweat clung to his skin. Muscles ached, but his mind was sharper than ever.
He smiled faintly, breath heavy.
A strong morning. The day had just begun.
After completing his morning routine, Nerion strolls through the estate, feeling the rhythm of his training still pulsing through his body. He passes a few servants who nod in respect, but his mind is already shifting toward the day ahead.
As he walks down the hall, he notices that his older siblings—Riven, Aelric, and Seraphine—are still not at the house, likely out on their own business. It's not unusual for them to be out early, and Nerion finds himself walking toward the common room in search of something to pass the time.
Entering the room, he finds his younger siblings, Finn and Lysa, sitting together on the couch, their faces illuminated by the flickering light of the Rune-TV. The soft hum of the magical screen fills the room, and the two of them are engrossed in a show. Lysa is sitting next to Finn, her small hands clutching her favorite stuffed toy, while Finn, at ten years old, is more focused on the story playing out in front of them.
For a moment, Nerion simply watches them, feeling a sense of nostalgia. He recalls the days when their parents would return from the city with Rune-Cassettes—magical recordings that brought different shows from far-off places. Riven, Aelric, and even Seraphine had always been eager to watch the latest episode. It was a time of relaxation and fun, a way to bond as siblings despite their busy lives.
But as he stands there now, Nerion can't help but feel that the kids are getting too comfortable in front of the screen.
"Finn, Lysa," Nerion calls out gently, breaking their concentration. "What are you two doing up so early watching this?"
Finn looks up, surprised at first, and Lysa turns her head with a giggle, unaware of the tension building.
"We're watching the show," Finn says, his voice a little defensive. "It's just a bit of fun."
Nerion walks into the room and sits down next to them, his tone lighter than usual. "I get that, but it's already 7 in the morning. I know you both love the shows, but don't you think it's time to do something else? It's important to balance relaxation with discipline."
Lysa tilts her head, looking up at him with wide eyes. "I like the show," she says, squeezing her stuffed toy.
Nerion smiles at his little sister, his voice softening. "I know, Lysa. The show's fun, but you know, there's more to life than just sitting around. You need to learn new things too, and maybe even play outside for a bit. You're still growing, so you should keep moving."
Turning to Finn, Nerion's smile fades a little but remains warm. "Finn, I know you're still young, but you should start training your body too. You're not a baby anymore."
Finn squirms a bit under his brother's gaze but then shrugs. "Yeah, I know… I was just thinking it wouldn't hurt to relax a bit before starting the day."
Nerion chuckles softly, reaching over and lightly ruffling Finn's hair. "It's fine to relax, but don't make it a habit. There's time for everything—fun, training, and work. It's all about balance, alright?"
Finn nods reluctantly but doesn't argue. Lysa, still clutching her toy, looks back at the Rune-TV. Nerion gives her a playful wink. "Alright, alright, you can finish watching this, but after that, I'm sending you both outside to play or train, depending on your mood."
Lysa claps her hands in excitement. "Outside!" she exclaims, her eyes lighting up.
Finn stands up, stretching with a sigh. "Guess I'll go get my gear on. I can't train if I don't get ready."
As his younger siblings move off to get ready, Nerion watches them with a fond smile. They may have a lot to learn, but he knows they'll get there—no need to be too harsh on them now. It's a gradual process.
After this Nerion goes to his room ,
Nerion steps into the bath, letting the warm water wash over him. As the steam rises, he closes his eyes, lost in thought. The challenges ahead weigh on him—his awakening, the Royal Academy, and the expectations from his family and the kingdom. Despite the pressure, a flicker of hope stirs within him. His journey is just beginning, and he's determined to carve his own path.
Once finished, he dries off and heads to the breakfast table, ready to face the day ahead.
The scent of fresh bread and spiced eggs greeted Nerion as he entered the dining hall. Only his grandfather and younger siblings, Finn and Lysa, were seated. A pair of servants moved quietly, placing dishes on the long wooden table.
Lysa beamed up at him, cheeks stuffed, while Finn between bites. Nerion gave them a soft smile before sliding into his seat.
Caldus sat at the end, silent and composed. Even after all these years—limbs gone, eyes burned—his presence was unshakable.
Nerion ate quietly for a moment, then asked, "Grandpa… about my skills. I don't really understand them yet. Could you help?"
Caldus didn't look up, but his voice came steady. "You've awakened. But meaning comes through time—and battle. Your father's the one who can guide you now. I am no shape to help you."
Nerion nodded slowly. "Alright. I'll talk to him."
Caldus hummed faintly, something like approval in the sound. Lysa spilled her juice a moment later, and Finn groaned dramatically, breaking the quiet with childhood chaos. Nerion smiled, but his mind was already elsewhere—on what came next.
After breakfast, Nerion made his way toward the council chamber. The muffled sound of discussion filtered through the hallway, sharp and deliberate. As he neared the open doors, he spotted his father inside—Count Alaric—surrounded by knights and senior retainers, all gathered around a large map marked with glowing rune-stones.
At the far end stood his mother, Lady Evelyne, arms crossed, her fiery red hair tied back. She was listening intently, occasionally pointing out something on the map. Her presence added a quiet intensity to the room.
Nerion stepped into the doorway, hesitant. "Father… can I have a moment?"
Count Alaric looked up briefly. His eyes softened for a heartbeat but then returned to steel. "Not now, Nerion. There are matters that cannot wait."
Lady Evelyne turned toward him and offered a small, apologetic smile. "Give us a little time, dear. Your father's been up all night over this border dispute. We'll find you after this."
Nerion nodded, forcing a smile. "Alright. I'll wait."
He stepped back quietly, closing the doors behind him. The warmth in his mother's voice eased the sting of dismissal, but the weight of the moment still pressed on him. For now, he'd have to wait—and prepare.
As Nerion turned from the council chamber, still half-lost in thought, a pair of strong arms suddenly hooked under his armpits and lifted him off the ground.
"Got him!"
"Quick, before he runs back to beg for politics!"
Riven and Aelric—his twin older brothers—burst out laughing as they hauled him down the corridor like a sack of grain. Nerion yelped, struggling, half-laughing, half-protesting.
"Put me down, you lunatics! I just had breakfast!"
"Oh no," Aelric grinned, "you don't get to slack off just because you've awakened, baby brother."
"Yeah," Riven added, throwing him over his shoulder now like a true prize, "you made a mana circle and a circuit while we were stuck nearly getting our faces chewed off in some cursed place in the Tower."
"You what?" Nerion's voice cracked with disbelief.
"Time moves different in the Tower," Aelric said with mock seriousness, adjusting his collar like a scholar. "While you were eating warm bread we were almost getting turned into soul-fodder.,We departed shortly after you ran off, right after your awakening."
"Do you know how annoying it is to come back half-dead only to hear 'Oh, Nerion awakened fully! He's some prodigy now!'" Riven teased, giving him a light jab in the ribs.
"We had to see if it's true or just Rune-TV hype," Aelric said, smirking. "So. Surprise training."
Still dangling, Nerion groaned. "I was going to study my skillset."
"Too bad," both said in unison. "We're going to test if those powers are just for show."
"Get ready to cry, boy," Riven grinned.
"Only a little," Aelric added, chuckling. "Mother would scold us if we broke you too badly."
Their laughter echoed through the estate as they carried Nerion off toward the training grounds. Despite the noise, Nerion felt a grin tug at the corner of his lips. This was their way—rough, ridiculous, and real. And maybe, just maybe, he'd surprise them too.
The morning breeze stirred the grass as Riven and Aelric led Nerion down to the family's training grounds. The twins walked a step ahead, quiet for once. When they reached the center of the field, they turned to face him.
Nerion crossed his arms. "So? What now?"
Riven looked at him with a faint smile. "We heard you awakened. Fully."
Nerion scratched the back of his neck, suddenly unsure how to respond.
Riven stepped closer, reaching for a wooden practice sword from the rack nearby. "Father must've given you your starting skills by now."
Nerion said, "But I haven't activated them. I don't even know how."
"Then that's why we're here," Aelric said simply. "You don't need to figure it out alone."
Nerion stayed quiet as Riven stepped into the open ring.
Riven inhaled—and the world shifted.
It was subtle at first. The light caught him differently, as if the sun had found him alone. Gold began to flicker along the edges of his skin, like something inside was leaking out—his mana, not wild or uncontrolled, but focused. Intentional. Owned.
Nerion felt it before he could name it.
A thrumming in the air, like standing too close to a forge. Not dangerous, but alive. His brother didn't glow like some mage channeling from a book—this was personal, raw. As if the mana responded to his body the way breath responded to lungs.
Riven's stance shifted. His sword lifted—not dramatically, but with the precision of a man who had swung it a thousand times. And then—
He moved.
Fangcoil Doctrine.
Each step was measured, each slash folding into the next like flowing water over stone. The golden traces of mana clung to his form, curving and snapping like arcs of serpent fangs, coiling in the air before fading. His body didn't overpower the wooden sword—he guided it, like it was an extension of breath.
"You see it?" Aelric said beside Nerion, voice softer now. "That's not spellcasting. That's mana coming inside of his body, anchored to skill. Not everyone does it like this. But this is how we fight."
Riven stepped again—and vanished.
For a breath, Nerion's eyes widened. It wasn't teleportation, not really. But it was like Riven had slipped behind a veil of heat and light.
Ashstep Mirage.
Golden afterimages shimmered in his wake, dancing like ash stirred by wind. Riven reappeared a few paces behind him, the sword resting across his back, breathing steady.
"It's not about speed," Riven said quietly. "It's about presence. Mana listens when you move with purpose. The body leads. The soul follows."
He turned, and for a moment, the gold faded, like embers cooling.
"You'll feel it soon," he added
This wasn't just training.
It was the first time he saw what mana could truly be—not a tool, but a language. Not a weapon, but a pulse.
Riven nodded once. "Let's begin."