The hearth in the Arkanveil estate's west wing never went cold. It was where his mother liked to sit in the evenings, the firelight catching in her silver-blonde hair like stardust. Lucien often found her there, fingers dipped in magical ink, sketching out arcane equations on parchment that glowed faintly in her lap.
She looked like a goddess, not a war veteran. But Lucien knew better.
She had once stood atop burning mountains, sealing rift gates with a single hand. She had held command over a regiment of S-ranked mages and earned the title "Silver Moon of the East." Now, she braided her son's hair with the same hands that had once conjured lightning storms.
"Mana is a song," she said one night, her fingers weaving through his golden locks. "It listens, but only when you stop trying to command it."
Lucien closed his eyes and listened—not to her words, but to the mana around her. It pulsed and shimmered like a gentle tide. His own mana stirred in response.
> [Mana Sense Lv 5 (1450/3000)]
[Mana Synchronization Lv 1 Acquired]
He let out a small gasp, playing it off as childish wonder. His mother smiled warmly, cupping his cheek.
"You feel the mana like it's breath," she whispered, awe creeping into her voice. "Like you were born for it."
He met her gaze, red eyes wide and soft, and nodded. "It tickles," he said innocently.
She laughed, the kind of laugh only family can pull from a soul worn by war. "One day, little moon, you'll outshine all of us."
One day, Mother, he thought. But only because you lit the path first.
---
If his mother was moonlight, his father was stone and steel. Lord Arkanveil did not warm easily, but he burned quietly—with discipline, foresight, and a mind sharper than any blade.
He observed Lucien's swordplay and mana training with folded arms and a face unreadable as the walls he governed from. When he finally spoke, it was never praise. Only truth.
"You lack aggression," he said one morning, after watching Lucien guide a simulation of soldiers through a battlefield map. "But you have vision."
Lucien bowed his head, pretending to be ashamed.
"Vision commands the field," his father continued, placing a hand on the map. "But aggression conquers it. You will need both."
So the lessons changed.
Toys were replaced with puzzle-box traps and sliding rune locks. Dolls gave way to carved figurines—troops, terrain, enemy lords. Each night before bed, Lucien played war.
He learned how to split forces for a flank, how to bait a siege, how to mask a retreat as a victory. His father taught him the cruel grace of leadership. The fine line between sacrifice and slaughter. And how to make peace feel like a sword against the throat.
> [Tactical Acumen Lv 3 (800/2000)]
[Leadership Insight Lv 2 (300/1500)]
[Simulation Memory Activated: Battle of Blackwall (Projected Success: 78%)]
Lucien soaked it all in. He wasn't just building strength. He was crafting the mind to use it.
And with every lesson, his father watched him with less reservation, more respect.
"You'll carry the name well," he said once, almost too low for Lucien to hear. "You already do."
Lucien didn't smile. Not outwardly.
But inside, something stirred.
Is this what pride feels like? he wondered. Not arrogance. Not the cold thirst for superiority the original villain had. But pride… earned through bonds?
He hadn't expected this.
---
One evening, as winter wind howled beyond the estate walls, Lucien sat nestled between both parents, his head resting on his mother's lap, a thick book on mana ecosystems open before him.
"Tell me something," his father said abruptly, not looking up from the military report in his hand. "Why do you try so hard?"
Lucien blinked. That wasn't a question a three-year-old was supposed to answer with anything deeper than "Because I want to be strong."
So he said that. "I wanna protect everyone."
His mother smiled and stroked his hair.
But his father's gaze didn't waver.
"From what?" he asked.
Lucien paused. Then quietly, "From what's coming."
The fire cracked. For a long moment, nobody spoke.
Then Lord Arkanveil closed his file. "You see farther than most," he said, not quite impressed, not quite surprised. "I hope you're wrong."
Lucien didn't answer.
He hoped he was wrong, too.
But the memories of the book—the plagues, the wars, the deaths—burned too vivid behind his eyes. His family, in that world, had fallen one by one. Not because they were weak, but because they were unprepared.
He wouldn't let history write that tragedy again.
---
That night, after everyone had retired, Lucien sat on the balcony outside his room, staring at the stars. The cold didn't bother him.
For a long time, he had thought love was something to be feared. Something that tied you down, made you weak. In his past life, it had been a luxury—a fleeting warmth in a ruthless climb.
But now…
Now he felt it in the quiet care of his mother's spells. In the silence of his father's nods. In the way Lyria clung to his leg, or Caelum dragged him into messy experiments, or Seris demanded to duel him again.
This life had given him something he hadn't dared want.
A home.
And for the first time, the man who had lived a hundred lives allowed himself something dangerous.
Hope.
---
> [New Trait Potential Detected: "Heartbound"]
[Hidden Milestone Reached: "Touched by True Hearth"]
[Passive Bonus: +10% EXP when training with family]
Lucien smiled faintly at the glowing panel, and for once, didn't try to hide it.
Tomorrow, he would train again.
But tonight, he simply watched the stars… and dreamed.