The first true frost of winter had swept over Vinterheim during the night, turning the already snow-draped courtyards into glittering, crystalline fields.
Morning light streamed through the tall windows of the dining hall, casting silver gleams across the floor.
Servants moved quietly, tending to the hearths and preparing breakfast, but my eyes were drawn to the world beyond the glass—frost patterns curling like veins on stone, and snowflakes dancing in slow spirals.
I pressed a hand against the cold pane, feeling something stir beneath my skin again. Not quite magic, but… an awareness. A pull.
"Fascinating, isn't it?" Father's voice came from behind, smooth and calm as always.
I turned to find him already seated at the table, nursing a steaming mug. His silver-blonde hair was tousled from the early hour, though his sharp gaze betrayed none of it.
"Yes, Father. It's like the whole world is quiet," I said, still watching the frost. "Like it's listening."
"Winter always listens, Claude," he replied with a faint smile. "It hears what others ignore. It teaches patience... and silence. And when the time comes, it teaches strength."
Mother entered moments later, her steps light, wrapped in a pale gown trimmed with white fur. She placed a hand on my shoulder as she passed.
"Are you heading out with your tutor today?" she asked.
I nodded. "Ser Rowen said we'd practice channeling mana into objects. And… he promised to show me a Knight's Focus."
Father raised a brow. "Already? Hmph. He's trying to impress you."
I smiled. "It's working."
Their soft laughter echoed through the hall as we took our places.
"Claude," Mother said after a moment, her tone gentler, more serious. "You're progressing fast… but don't forget to enjoy this. These quiet days, the snow, the learning—they won't last forever."
"I know," I murmured, picking at my bread. "I just don't want to waste the time I have."
Father looked at me for a moment longer, then nodded, his voice a murmur. "That's something many older than you still struggle to understand. You have a good heart, my son."
---
After breakfast, I followed Thomas through the arched corridors of the palace. The weight of my name, my magic, my blood—all of it was still sinking in.
But out there, on the training grounds, with snow crunching underfoot and magic shimmering in the air, I could start to shape it. To shape myself.
And maybe, just maybe, I'd find the path that belonged to me alone.
Snow clung to the edges of the stone courtyard like lace, and my boots crunched softly against the frost-hardened ground as I followed Ser Rowen.
He walked ahead with the easy grace of a seasoned knight, his cloak trailing behind him like a banner in the cold wind.
The knights already training gave respectful bows as we passed, though their focus quickly returned to the rhythm of steel and spell.
I stopped short when I saw them again—men and women clad in enchanted plate, blades glowing faintly with elemental light, their movements sharp and deliberate as if the magic was part of their bodies.
Ser Rowen glanced over his shoulder. "Still amazed?"
I nodded. "They move like the magic is inside them."
"It is. Or rather, they've learned how to let it flow through them. It takes years to master." He paused, then turned to me fully. "But today, we'll take the first step."
He knelt and set down a small wooden box. When he opened it, inside was a smooth, rounded crystal about the size of an apple, mounted on a leather bracer. Pale lines of silver were etched into the surface.
"This," he said, lifting it carefully, "is a Knight's Focus."
I stared at it, awe prickling down my spine. The crystal pulsed faintly in his palm, a slow heartbeat of mana.
"They help us channel magic in combat. Control it. Guide it. Without this, even the best swordsman would find it nearly impossible to maintain spell-infused strikes."
He offered it to me.
My hands trembled a little as I took it, the weight surprisingly light. But the moment my skin touched the bracer, something shifted. The mana inside me stirred like snow catching on the wind.
"It's resonating," I whispered.
"It would," Ser Rowen said, watching me carefully. "With your bloodline, I'd expect nothing less."
I looked up at him. "Because of the Valerius and Vinterheim names?"
"Yes. Your father's line commands winter itself. Your mother's, the light of the Empire. You carry both." He stepped back, nodding to the training dummies arranged nearby. "Let's see how well you listen to them."
I stood before the dummy, the bracer affixed to my arm. My breath clouded in the air.
I reached inward, like I'd practiced. The thread of mana was waiting—thin, cold, and bright.
It pulsed through me, flowed into the crystal.
A shimmer of blue light danced along my arm. The air around the dummy dipped in temperature, tiny flakes of frost forming at the base of its wooden feet.
I raised my hand, focused, and pushed.
The magic lashed out in a flicker of pale blue—unrefined, unshaped, but real. The dummy's surface frosted over, frost blooming in jagged patterns across its chest.
I staggered a bit, blinking hard.
Ser Rowen let out a breath. "That… was better than I expected."
I turned to him, my pulse thudding. "I did it."
"You did," he said with a short nod. "Rough around the edges, but the foundation's solid. You're not just using mana—you're feeling it."
The praise swelled something in my chest. Not pride exactly. Just… relief.
He stepped forward, adjusting the bracer slightly. "Let's work on control next. You'll need more than a burst of ice if you want to stand in a real fight."
I grinned. "Then let's keep going."
Ser Rowen's voice was steady as he guided me through the next steps. "Channeling the magic in bursts is only the beginning. To truly control it, you must learn patience. Like a knight learns to wield his blade with precision, you must learn to wield magic with purpose."
I nodded, feeling the weight of his words settle in. We stood by the training dummies, the frosty air swirling around us as I gripped the Knight's Focus, the cool crystal now familiar against my skin.
"Try again, but this time," Ser Rowen instructed, "focus on the flow. Don't force the magic—let it come to you. The bracer will help direct it, but only if you guide it with your mind."
I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, letting my senses stretch outward. The world around me was so vivid—the chill in the air, the crunch of snow beneath my boots, the scent of winter in the wind. It was like I could hear the pulse of the magic, faint but insistent, humming beneath the surface of my skin.
I focused on the crystal. The mana was there, just waiting for me. Slowly, carefully, I reached for it, drawing it in.
The cold spread through me, sharp and tingling, but this time it wasn't a burst of ice—it was something smoother, something controlled. I guided the flow, coaxing it like water, letting it pool in my chest before directing it outward.
My fingers flicked, and with a steady push of concentration, I felt the ice form—a delicate, thin layer across the training dummy's chest. The frost was even this time, smooth, no jagged edges. It felt… right.
I let out a soft breath, opening my eyes to find Ser Rowen nodding, his expression more approving than before.
"Better," he said, stepping closer to examine the results. The ice shimmered faintly in the morning light. "Your control is improving. But remember, it's not just about how well you can channel it—it's about how you use it."
I frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Take a step back, Claude," he said, pointing to the dummy. "You've got a handle on basic manipulation. Now, think about how you would use this power in a fight. A strike of ice like that might freeze your opponent in place—but it won't win you the battle. It's about timing. About positioning."
I looked at the dummy again, feeling the pulse of the magic thrumming in my chest. I had the ability, but he was right—how I applied it was the key.
"Focus on a strike. A real one. Imagine the magic flowing through you, like the swing of a sword."
I raised my hand, and for a moment, I could almost see it—how the magic would flow, like a blade cutting through the air. With a deep breath, I steadied my hand and pushed forward, sending the ice out in a sharp arc.
The magic rippled through the air, creating a clean, cutting line of frost that sliced through the dummy's midsection.
The dummy didn't freeze, but the icy line was clear and precise, and it had a noticeable impact—frost had cracked into the wood, the edges of the damage sharp.
"That's the kind of control I mean," Ser Rowen said, his voice quieter now. "The magic should feel like an extension of yourself, like your sword. When you can think of it that way, it becomes more than just power—it becomes a tool."
I lowered my hand, breathing heavily but satisfied with the progress. "I understand. I've got to think about it like a weapon."
"Exactly," Ser Rowen affirmed, clapping me lightly on the shoulder. "You've got potential, Claude. Your heritage makes you capable of great things, but it also means you must take your training seriously."
I nodded, my thoughts racing. The weight of my name had been heavy at first, but now it felt more like a guide, something to push me forward rather than hold me back.
As the training session continued, I worked on refining my technique, learning to manipulate ice with more precision. Each movement felt like a small victory. And when Ser Rowen finally called it a day, I felt a quiet sense of pride, not in the power itself, but in the control I had learned to wield.
Later, as I made my way back to the main palace, I couldn't help but replay the training session in my mind. It wasn't just about learning magic—it was about learning how to think, how to act, and how to use the power that flowed through me.
When I returned to my chambers, Thomas was waiting. He raised an eyebrow as I walked in, my steps light from the satisfaction of a good day's training.
"Well?" he asked. "How did it go?"
"I think… I'm starting to understand it," I said, the words coming out almost as a question. "Not just how to use the magic, but how to think about it. It's like... it's part of me now."
Thomas gave me a rare smile. "That's the first step, Your Highness."
I nodded, though I felt the weight of the words again—Your Highness. It was strange. A title I was still learning to carry, even as I started to understand the power beneath it.
But in that moment, it didn't feel as heavy as before. I wasn't just Claude. I wasn't just a child learning to use magic. I was part of something bigger now.
And I was ready to take the next step.