The night had a stillness to it that made even the leaves hesitate to rustle. Moonlight spilled through the high windows of the Reizei estate, bathing everything in a silver glow. The soft coo of night birds was distant, and within the estate, all seemed at peace.
But I was awake.
At three years old, most children wouldn't be able to sneak around quietly. Most wouldn't care to. But I was not most children. The soul of a man, a fighter, an old grief, lived behind these young eyes. And tonight, something stirred in me. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was just the sound of two muffled voices carrying softly through the wooden corridor.
I crept out of bed, bare feet padding silently across the polished floor. I didn't need light to guide me, I'd memorized every inch of this house. At the corner of the hall, near the study, I paused.
My parents were talking.
Jonathan Reizei's voice was low and firm, laced with that gentle authority he always carried. Aria's was softer, wistful, but equally strong.
"I know you want him to inherit your bloodline magic," she said.
There was a pause, and I could imagine my father's slow nod.
"I do. It's my legacy, Aria, The Thyridyns. Our strength. The Dragon's Breath flows through him too. He'll be powerful, more than any of us, Lucy included. He just needs guidance. Discipline."
I felt a flutter in my chest. Bloodline magic. Dragon's Breath. So that's what it was. I had seen the scales on Father's face, the way his eyes would glow faintly when he was angry, or afraid. I had wondered if I shared that same gift.
And who was Lucy? My sister maybe... i paused to think about it before my mother spoke.
"But," my mother interjected, "he's still a child, Jon. A baby in the body of a boy. We've both seen how different he is. He doesn't act like the others. He learns faster. He asks questions we're not ready to answer."
"He's not like other children," my father said quietly. "Sometimes I wonder if he's even from this world."
I held my breath. My fingers gripped the doorframe, not daring to move.
My mother sighed. "I watch him every day. When he stares out at the moon, when he plays with the garden stones and talks to the wind like it might answer back. He's not just smart. He's… aware. Deeper than any child I've ever seen."
"I worry," Father confessed. "That awareness will become pain. That knowledge will burden him. If we push too hard, we might break him. But if we do too little…"
"He'll be unprepared," she finished for him.
There was silence then. I imagined the two of them, sitting together in the soft light of the study. Maybe my mother's hand rested in his. Maybe their eyes shared the weight of their fears.
"He deserves the choice," Mother said at last. "To decide what kind of man he wants to become. Whether that path is forged in fire or something gentler."
"And if he chooses something dangerous?" Father asked.
"Then we stand by him. We teach him to walk it without losing himself."
More silence.
Then my father said, "You're right."
I felt my heart thrum against my chest. Their words weren't loud, but they echoed through me louder than any shout.
"We give him everything," Father said. "Tools. Knowledge. But no chains. No expectations. Just love. And faith."
"I want him to know joy, not just duty," Mother added. "He carries something heavy in him. I see it sometimes, in the quiet. Like he remembers something he shouldn't."
"I've seen it too," Father admitted. "Like his soul is older than his body."
"And that's why we have to be patient. Let him discover things at his pace. We don't cage a bird with wings like that."
They both fell quiet again.
"He's already asking about the stars," Mother murmured. "Did I tell you that? Yesterday he pointed to a constellation and asked if it meant something."
Father chuckled softly. "It probably does. Knowing him."
"I want to give him more than just power. I want him to grow up kind. Brave, yes... but gentle too. Like you."
I imagined Father smiling at that.
"He'll be his own person, Aria. But he'll be better because he has you."
I stepped back, careful not to make a sound. The world felt different now, warmer, lighter. I had always wondered what they saw when they looked at me. Now I knew:
hope.
I returned to my room, curling under the blanket again. Outside the window, the moon watched over me, patient and silent. My eyes drifted closed, and for the first time in a long time, I felt no weight on my shoulders.
Whatever path I chose in this life, I would not walk it alone.
And that made all the difference.
But my mind was still trying understand who lucy might be.
End of Chapter.