Three years passed in what felt like the blink of an eye. In the courtyard of the main mansion of Duke Veyrona, the sound of children's laughter carried across the garden.
A small boy of three ran clumsily along the stone path, his short legs moving as fast as they could manage. His black hair, soft and unruly, bounced with every step. Though his little face was flushed from the chase, his silver-gray eyes were bright with determination as he reached out for his sister.
Ahead of him ran an eight-year-old girl, her golden hair streaming behind her in the sunlight. Her green eyes sparkled with mischief as she looked back at her younger brother's effort to catch her. Light on her feet, she darted around the trimmed hedges, her laughter ringing clear through the courtyard.
"You're so slow, Draven!" she called, grinning widely. "At this rate, even a turtle could catch me before you do!"
"I'll catch you!" Draven puffed, his tiny legs pushing him forward, his little fists clenched in determination. "Just you wait, Liona!"
She giggled, spinning playfully to the side just as he reached for her sleeve. "Too late! Missed again!" she teased, sticking her tongue out before skipping a few steps further ahead.
From the corner of the garden, the duchess of Veyrona, Eliza von Veyrona, sat beneath the shade of a tree. A cup of tea rested in her hands as she watched the two with a soft smile. Her movements were calm and measured, her posture refined, yet the look in her eyes was simply that of a mother enjoying the sight of her children at play.
The two were Draven von Veyrona and Liona von Veyrona, the young heirs of the ducal family—siblings whose playful quarrels and laughter filled the mansion with warmth.
{ Author: The prefix "von" was reserved only for those of direct bloodline, the legitimate heirs and descendants of a noble house's main branch. In contrast, the prefix "le" was given to members of cadet branches or collateral kin—those still of noble descent, but not born of the main line. }
The children's laughter drifted through the courtyard until the sound of footsteps approached from the garden's archway. Two maids came forward and bowed politely before the duchess.
"My lady," one of them said, "it is time. We are to take the young master and mistress to their lessons—literature and martial practice."
Eliza von Veyrona placed her teacup back onto its saucer and looked toward her children with a gentle smile. "Draven, Liona, come here."
The siblings slowed to a stop. Liona crossed her arms, her golden hair swaying as she frowned. "Do we have to, Mother? The sun's out and the garden is much nicer than boring books."
Draven puffed his cheeks in agreement. "I don't want to go either. I was about to catch her this time."
The duchess chuckled softly, shaking her head. "Lessons are not so dreadful as you make them sound. Off you go now. You'll have time to play later."
Liona sighed and tugged at her brother's hand. "Come on then, Draven. If we're late, the tutors will be even worse than the books."
Grumbling under his breath, Draven followed. "I still think playing is better."
The maids smiled quietly as they led the children away, their chatter and small protests fading down the corridor. Left in peace once more, Eliza lifted her teacup again, watching them leave with a look of quiet fondness.
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I walked down the long hallway with a maid trailing politely behind me. Liona had already run off to her martial practice, leaving me with the dreadful fate of lessons.
Politics? Not so bad. Mana science? Actually kind of interesting. But history and mathematics? Ugh. Whoever invented numbers clearly hated children, and history was just listening to old people talk about even older people doing boring things.
Honestly, if it were up to me, I'd rather be swinging a wooden sword around in the training yard. At least there, the instructor said I had talent. He even praised me once for knocking down a dummy in a single strike… though I think the dummy was already broken. Still counts.
As I walked, I started imagining the future. Someday, I'd grow up strong, with a sword glowing in one hand and magic swirling in the other. I'd save damsels in distress, cut down terrible villains, and then everyone would cheer my name—Sir Draven, the great hero! Maybe there'd even be a statue of me somewhere, though hopefully not with an embarrassing pose.
I was in the middle of slaying an imaginary dragon when a voice cut straight through my daydream.
"You have arrived, young master."
I froze. That monotone voice could only belong to one person. My history teacher.
And just like that, my heroic future vanished, replaced with the grim reality of another long lecture.
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