In a world where magical powers ruled everything, those born without them were left to struggle in obscurity. Magic had been part of life for generations, shaping kingdoms and building legacies. Families were judged by the strength of their abilities, and the Cronus family was no exception. Their power was renowned, yet within their magnificent history lay painful secrets and burdens that only a few knew.
The Cronus estate stood immense, its size rivaling that of a small city. At its center rose the grand Cronus mansion—a symbol of ancient power and noble lineage—flanked by smaller buildings, winding roads, and a sprawling forest that seemed to hold as many mysteries as the family itself. Amid the quiet hallowed halls of this estate, fate had chosen a secret corner: a dojo-like room, secluded yet filled with echoes of legacy. Here, William Cronus practiced day after day. Though he was born into this powerful lineage, every motion with his blades reminded him of the heavy title he carried—the label "bastard son" that marked him as different, as weak, and as unloved by his own bloodline.
Within the dojo's worn wooden walls, where faded murals of legendary battles still clung to the surfaces and the lingering scent of incense mixed with sweat and determination, William trained rigorously. Every carefully executed parry and precise swing of his two Japanese short swords was a quiet rebellion against the fate imposed upon him. He fought not only for mastery of technique but also for the hope that one day he might rise above the scars left by his family's cruel judgment.
Today, his sparring partner was Lucy—a tall, skilled, and beautiful young woman whose origins linked her to the respected Fotia family. Lucy's long brown hair, with ends tinged in red, was neatly tied in a bun to keep it out of her face during their duel. With each swing of her double-edged great sword, she combined grace and might as though every strike carried the promise of a brighter future. As William crossed his two swords in an X to block her powerful blows, the clashing sound of metal filled the room. The rhythm of their movements was almost musical—a duet of ambition and fleeting camaraderie that belied the fierce undercurrents of their respective destinies.
"Practice is over—you win, Lucy," William said, his tone steady even as he sheathed his swords and wiped sweat from his forehead. His exhaustion was laced with a delicate flicker of pride, a rare moment when approval and friendship lightened the weight of his own insecurities.
Lucy's eyes sparkled with genuine excitement as she exclaimed, "Wow, I actually pushed you back!" Her smile shone through even as the rapid pace of their practice left her slightly breathless. Each drop of sweat, each measured breath—all were signs of growth, of a destiny in the making.
"You've grown so fast… you're amazing," William replied, his voice gentle and sincere. There was a warmth in his compliment, a deep admiration that was quickly shadowed by the unspoken reminder of his own struggles. In that brief moment, the dojo felt like a sanctuary where praise could momentarily bridge the gap between his painful reality and the promise of a better future.
Lucy teased, "No, it's all because of your teaching, master." As she brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead, her playful remark carried a subtle defiance against the limitations the world tried to impose.
William chuckled softly. "Whoa, whoa—stop calling me master. We're both just sixteen, and soon we'll be at the magic academy together as equals." Even his laugh carried a bittersweet truth: titles, rank, and family names meant so much in their world, yet they did little to ease the burden of his own heart.
"But what if I don't want to stop calling you master?" Lucy countered with a mischievous tilt of her head. Her tone, although light, held a hint of deeper seriousness—a challenge to the harsh labels that tried to separate them.
For a moment, William's smile faded into quiet resignation. "Well, you are from a higher-ranked family. You're the daughter of the esteemed Fotia family. Imagine what my own would say if they heard you call me that. I'm seen as nothing more than a bastard son—they'd never forgive it," he admitted, his voice low and trembling slightly with worry. Despite being born into power, the pain of his status was etched deep inside him, a constant reminder of his insufficient magical strength and humble origins.
Lucy's playful expression softened as she sensed the anguish behind his words. "You worry too much, Will. Sometimes you just have to let go and live in the moment," she said kindly, as if her words were meant to soothe a wounded spirit—a soft call to ignore the long shadow of tradition.
"Okay," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, and a small, sad smile emerged as a brief respite from his internal storm.
Their conversation and camaraderie were interrupted by the creaking of the heavy wooden doors. Two servants entered the dojo with quiet efficiency. The older one, Gilbert, was dressed in a neat black suit, his eyes reflecting years of duty and a deep, unspoken loyalty to the family. The other, a maid in her thirties, wore a crisp uniform adorned with the Cronus family crest. Their presence was a stark reminder that in this world, even moments of friendly banter were governed by duty and expectation.
"Milady, you have been summoned to attend a family meeting in twenty minutes. These are orders from the head of the family," Gilbert announced with polite precision.
Lucy briefly met William's gaze—a silent exchange that spoke of shared worry and resignation. William nodded, his expression telling a story of dread and reluctant acceptance.
"So, where is the meeting going to be?" Lucy asked, her voice laced with a quiet apprehension that hinted at the darker aspects of the Cronus legacy.
"In the main dining hall. Everyone will be present," replied Gilbert, his tone leaving no room for argument, before he and the maid retreated silently down the corridor.
The two left the warm enclosure of the dojo and stepped into the grand corridors of the estate. Every step on the polished marble floor echoed through halls lined with grand portraits and rich tapestries, each telling stories of generations of power—stories of glory, betrayal, and long-forgotten triumphs. The very walls seemed to murmur with the secrets of the past, as if the estate itself were a living testament to the complicated tapestry of fate and tradition that defined the Cronus family.
They passed through quiet courtyards, where the filtered light revealed hints of hidden gardens and quiet corners. Secret passages wound behind ancient stone arches and heavy doors, each turn offering a glimpse into the estate's storied past—an unspoken promise of revelations yet to come.
Finally, they reached the imposing main dining hall—a vast chamber dominated by an enormous wooden table, polished to a gleam that reflected the stern faces of those gathered. On the right side of this long table sat the wives of the Cronus head—twelve noble women, representatives of some of the most prestigious families in the Kingdom of Arkon. Their expressions were stern and measured, eyes cool and aloof, as though their very gaze could freeze the heart of one who dared defy tradition. On the left side, William's siblings were assembled, clustered in groups that whispered cruel remarks and side glances. Every glance from them was a reminder that, in the eyes of his family, William was a disgrace—a permanent outsider among those destined for greatness.
Taking his seat on the left end of the table, William felt each judgmental stare as a physical weight. Low, venomous whispers drifted across the room—"Who is that boy?" and "How did a bastard get here?"—each comment a tiny dagger that cut deeper than any physical blow.
His heart pounded as he sat, the silence before the storm almost suffocating. It was in that quiet moment that one of his younger siblings, James Cronus, made his presence known. Known for his arrogance and cruel delight in torment, James approached with a sneer.
"Hey Will, where have you been?" James barked, his tone dripping with disdain as he strode over confidently.
William's reply was barely audible. "I—I have been training in the dojo," he managed, each syllable betraying the weight of his inner pain—a pain that no amount of practice could entirely diminish.
"So, you thought you could hide your failures like a servant?" James spat, and before William had any chance to gather himself, James's hand struck him hard. The slap echoed throughout the vast hall, drawing the attention of everyone present. In that crushing moment of humiliation, William's inner resolve was tested; he knew well that any display of defiance could only worsen his fate.
For a fleeting, agonizing second, his mind screamed silently: *If only I had the power to stand up for myself.* Each bruise on his body was not solely a mark of physical pain, but a testament to a lifetime of feeling undervalued, of being locked out of the respect and potential that others took for granted. Lucy's eyes burned with an indignation that spoke louder than any words—her silent vow that such cruelty must end resonated deeply within him even as the sting of the blow mingled with his sorrow.
Before the situation could spiral further, a guard's voice rang out: "The master is coming!" The command cut through the tension like a blade. In an instant, the hall's charged atmosphere cooled as everyone hurriedly resumed their assigned roles. Lucy sank quietly into the farthest seat, and William moved to stand near her, the watchful servants forming a silent shield around them.
The large wooden doors opened once more. With an air of absolute authority, Jim Cronus, the head of the family, stepped in. Tall and slim, with neatly combed brown hair and eyes that revealed both wisdom and cold resolve, he commanded the room without uttering more than a few words. Behind him, three Kairos Guards in black and silver armor marched in disciplined formation—a living reminder of the family's power and the price of disobedience.
Jim took his seat at the head of the table, his voice measured and devoid of unnecessary emotion as he began, "I have called you here for an important announcement. The former head of our house, Albert Cronus—my father—has passed away during one of his expeditions." Each word fell heavily upon the assembled family, leaving little space for reaction or grief. For many, the announcement was met with a cold, impassive silence; the noble wives maintained their stoic expressions while his siblings exchanged knowing, detached glances.
But for William, those words were personal. His only solace in the cruel halls of his family had been the rare kindness of his grandfather—a man who had seen him not as a stain upon the Cronus name but as a spark of potential waiting to ignite. In that moment, the loss cut him deeply, as if a part of him were being torn away forever.
After a long, solemn silence, Jim rose and left without further comment. The oppressive quiet was soon fractured by a cruel, mocking laugh from James. "Looks like the old man is gone," James sneered, his voice filled with sadistic glee. "Now you have no protection. I can do whatever I want with you." His words were laced with venom, each one a reminder of William's isolation and lowly status in the eyes of his own kin.
William stood silently, his mind reeling with the desperate need for strength—an inner resolve that his years of training had yet to fully awaken. Moments later, another blow came as James slapped him again. This time, Lucy's quick reflexes intervened, catching his hand mid-swing. "That's enough, James," she declared firmly. Her tone brooked no further abuse, and even as James cast one final venomous glare, he was forced to storm out of the hall, leaving behind an echo of cruelty and embittered laughter.
In the wake of the dinner meeting, the great dining hall fell into a heavy silence. Every whispered comment and sidelong glance weighed on the room, like old wounds reopening with every slow heartbeat. The legacy of the Cronus family—a mix of ancient pride and relentless expectation—seemed to press upon everyone present. It was as though the very air was imbued with the sorrow of unfulfilled dreams and the cruel sting of family tradition.
Later that night, under the soft glow of aged chandeliers, Lucy led a pained William away from the oppressive dining hall. Their footsteps along the long, winding corridors of the mansion were slow and measured, each step echoing with the weight of a troubled past. The corridors, draped in elegant tapestries and lined with portraits of stern ancestors, whispered quietly of hope and forgotten days. In the hushed darkness, the ancient legacy of the Cronus estate and the quiet pulse of a hidden system of power mingled in the air—a silent promise that change might one day come.
They finally reached the servant quarters—a modest wing of the mansion that stood in stark contrast to the opulence of the main building. In a small room furnished simply with a narrow bed, an old wardrobe, and a rickety wooden table scattered with faded scrolls and worn texts, William finally found a moment of privacy and sorrow. The room seemed to hold its breath, cradling memories of anguish and unspoken dreams while the weight of the day pressed in.
With gentle care, Lucy closed the door behind them. In a soft, reassuring tone, she said, "Hey, Will, remember what your grandfather always said: 'Grow stronger in your own way.'" Her words, tender and sincere, echoed like a cherished mantra—a quiet reminder that even in darkness, there was hope for growth.
Left alone with his grief, William sank onto his narrow bed. Every thought of the day—the brutal blow from James, the cold sneers of his kin, and the profound loss of his beloved grandfather—merged into a heavy and unyielding sorrow. On the old wooden table before him lay a mysterious orb, a gift from the one person who had ever believed in him wholeheartedly. Roughly the size of an orange, the orb was pale white with delicate blue streaks that resembled flashes of distant lightning. It was not just a keepsake, but a symbol—a promise that even the deepest pain might be the seed of something extraordinary.
Overwhelmed by his anguish and the crushing weight of his circumstances, William hurled the orb to the cold, hard floor. "Why did you leave me, Grandpa?" he whispered, his voice breaking as tears streamed silently down his cheeks. As each tear fell and touched the orb's smooth surface, the blue streaks began to glow brighter, pulsating in time with the erratic beat of his broken heart. Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, the orb began to float above the table, its gentle light offering a hopeful counterpoint to the darkness around him.
Then, in a voice that resonated clearly within his mind—a voice that was both calm and unyielding—came the message that would forever alter his destiny:
**DNA acquisition recognized. Ownership has been relinquished to William Cronus.
Would you like to ENTER THE NEXUS?**