As dawn broke, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink, a young figure moved rhythmically in the secluded training ground nestled within the heart of the Steelhart estate. Thirteen-year-old Lucius Steelhart, his eyes narrowed in intense concentration, executed a solid—but slightly ragged—series of sword slashes, his arms shaking just as he finished the third swing. Each movement spoke of his stubborn determination—though by the fifth cut his forearms were burning, and he fought not to let the sweat make his grip slip.
His twin brother, Caelum, watched with a playful grin, coaxing a small breeze with an experimental wave of his hand. The wind swirled, deviating Lucius's sword just enough to miss the straw dummy.
"Really, Cael? Again?" Lucius exhaled, sweeping a lock of hair from his sweat-drenched forehead. He couldn't help but admire the effortless way his brother manipulated the wind, a stark contrast to his own meticulous swordsmanship.
"What can I say? A gentle breeze can refresh the mind," Caelum chuckled, his eyes gleaming like the evening's first stars.
Lucius cracked a half-smile. "Right. Refreshing enough to trip me up."
He set his jaw, stepping into a combat stance. "Fine, if it's a challenge you want, it's a challenge you'll get."
The twins circled each other, the air crackling with anticipation. Lucius's grip tightened around his blade, his green eyes locking onto Caelum's. Across from him, Caelum's fingers wove faint trails of shimmering energy, his smirk unshaken.
"Ready to admit defeat, Lucius?" Caelum's voice danced on the breeze.
"In your dreams, Cael," Lucius retorted.
He lunged—half-wondering if he was too slow—then forced himself forward. His mind, however, flickered beyond the training ground—to the looming Awakening.
In Aetheris, every child's thirteenth birthday is sacred. It is on that day they undergo the Awakening, when their latent Mana stirs to life.
Commoners journey to grand cathedrals in every major city to stand beneath the vaulted arches of the Draconic Order—who teach that the first spark of power is a gift from the mighty dragons of old.
No one knows if the dragons truly guide human blood, but their legends fuel pageantry and faith.
What if he failed? Would he shame the Steelhart name?
Caelum conjured a puddle beneath Lucius's foot. "Too slow!" he teased.
Lucius skidded, but instead of faltering, he used the momentum to tackle Caelum. They tumbled, Lucius's knee jarring against the stone; he sucked in a quick breath before rolling aside just in time as a barrier spell crashed where he had been.
Caelum winced, pushing himself up. "That one's going to bruise," he muttered with a grin.
Lucius offered a hand. "Aim better next time."
Back on his feet, Caelum dusted himself off. "I always aim to please," he smirked.
They resumed their spar, blades clashing, spells flashing. Their spar felt half training, half friendly scuffle—interrupted by bursts of laughter when a spell fizzled or a blade clipped a pant cuff.
Caelum sidestepped Lucius's feint with a chuckle. "Always too serious."
"And you're always too reckless," Lucius shot back, parrying a gust of wind.
A nearby dummy exploded into straw and wood from a stray spell. Lucius flinched. Caelum gave a sheepish shrug.
"Do you always have to go overboard?"
"Hey, better the dummy than your face," Caelum grinned.
Lucius sighed but couldn't help smiling. Despite their constant sparring, there was a rhythm to it—a familiarity that spoke of years fighting side by side.
As they paused for breath, Lucius glanced toward the castle spires. He blew out a nervous breath, tugging at his collar. "One day left," he murmured.
Caelum flopped onto the grass, arms spread. "You worry too much. The Awakening will reveal what it will. Can't change fate by overthinking it."
Lucius sat beside him. "You don't get it. Father—he expects..."
"Perfection? Yeah, I noticed." Caelum picked a blade of grass and twirled it with mana, making it glow softly. "But that doesn't mean we have to lose ourselves chasing it."
Lucius watched the glow. "Mana's everything in Aetheris. Even farmers use it. If the Awakening doesn't grant me something strong..."
Caelum blew the glowing blade into the air. "Then we deal with it. Like we always do."
Their laughter drifted into the air again, but the weight between them never quite lifted.
Suddenly, the clack of boots echoed across the courtyard.
Lord Dominus Steelhart approached, his dark uniform crisp, silver trim gleaming. His presence brought with it a tension that silenced even Caelum.
"Father," the twins said, straightening instantly.
Dominus's steely gaze swept over them. "Enough. You've trained well today. The Awakening approaches."
Lucius swallowed hard. "Yes, Father."
Dominus turned, but paused briefly. "Lucius, your form has improved. Caelum, your creativity remains unchecked."
There was no smile, no warmth, but the words held weight.
Lucius stood stiffly as Dominus strode away, his boots echoing like a closing verdict. That had been praise—however slight—from a man who rarely wasted words.
And praise from him meant something.
Not every child in Aetheris got to Awaken in the grandeur of their own estate. Only the wealthiest or most powerful—like the Ducal Houses—could summon the Order's highest priests for a private rite. It was supposed to be an honor. But to Lucius, it felt like standing on a stage with nowhere to run. A single misstep, and he'd fall not just in his father's eyes—but in everyone's.
Lucius blinked. Praise? From him?
Caelum raised an eyebrow. "Did that just happen?"
Lucius nodded slowly. "I think so."
"Huh. Must be a sign the world's ending."
They grinned, but the quiet settled again.
Caelum nudged his brother. "Hey, Luci. Whatever happens, we're still brothers, right?"
Lucius gave a soft smile. "Always."
"Good. Because if you get a boring talent like Mana Knitting, I'm never letting you live it down."
Lucius chuckled. "If you get Mana Pranking, you'll be locked up by sundown."
They laughed together, shadows stretching as twilight fell.
In the distance, The castle bell tolled, its somber chime echoing across the grounds like a warning. Lucius's fingers curled tighter around the hilt of his training blade, the worn leather warm from his grip. He stared at the horizon, where the last light of day bled into dusk, and tried to ignore the flutter of doubt in his chest.
Lucius swallowed. "I don't want to mess up."
Caelum nudged him with an elbow. "Then try not to, will ya?" he whispered back, then let out a forced laugh.
A cold draft swept the courtyard stones beneath their feet—damp, rough, and unforgiving.
Beside him, Caelum's gaze lingered not on the sky, but on his brother. His usual grin had faded, replaced by something quieter—measured.
"I'll be ready."
Lucius closed his eyes against the gathering dusk. "I hope he's right," was the last thought that flickered through his mind.