Dawn broke over the Solstice Grand Duke's palace. White marble pillars stood tall, banners depicting an eclipse fluttered gracefully, while the courtyard buzzed with servants and soldiers attending to their morning routines.
Yet, all eyes were fixed on one spot: the palace rooftop.
There, a boy lay sprawled lazily, asleep as if the world belonged to him. Pure white hair tumbled over his shoulders, lifted by the breeze. His face was handsome—far too handsome for a ten-year-old. When his eyelids shifted slightly, a pair of golden irises shimmered, reflecting the morning sun.
His name? Gren Solstice.
The sole heir of the Solstice Grand Duke family. The name everyone would soon remember.
---
"Young Master!!!"
A panicked voice came from the courtyard. A servant, dressed neatly, sprinted forward, eyes locked on the rooftop. His face was pale, sweat streaming down. This was Henry, Gren's personal attendant—perpetually the victim of the boy's mischief.
Henry waved frantically.
"Young Master! Please get down! What will I tell the Lady if you fall?!"
Gren opened one eye lazily, yawned, and smirked.
> "Henry… relax. Even the sun wouldn't dare wake me without permission."
Henry smacked his forehead.
"I'm going to die young…" he muttered, nearly in despair.
The soldiers training in the courtyard exchanged glances. Some stifled laughter, others bowed instinctively. No one dared interrupt, let alone scold. After all, Gren Solstice wasn't just any boy—he was the Young Master, untouchable even by other nobles.
---
Finally, Gren stood, and without hesitation, jumped from the rooftop. His small body floated for a heartbeat before landing gracefully on the courtyard stones. Not a stumble, not a scratch—as if gravity itself refused to defy him.
Henry almost fainted on the spot.
"Young Master!!!"
Gren simply shrugged, strolling past the young soldiers. Their eyes were a mix of awe and envy.
One soldier, perhaps reckless—or seeking a challenge—stepped forward, face red, wielding a wooden sword.
"I-I… challenge you, Young Master!"
The courtyard fell silent. Every eye was on them.
Gren arched an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
> "Hm? Are you sure?"
"Y-yes!" the soldier stammered, but his determination was clear.
Gren walked casually, eyes glinting mischievously.
> "I wasn't born to compete. I was born to be watched from above."
With a swift motion, the wooden sword flew from the soldier's grasp, clattering far away. The young man sank to the ground, pale as a sheet.
Gren lightly patted his shoulder, still smirking.
> "Relax. You could be great… just make sure it's below me."
Henry exhaled, covering his face with both hands.
"Every single day…" he muttered bitterly.
Servants whispered, soldiers bowed. No one dared comment further. Everyone knew: Gren Solstice was no ordinary child.
---
Gren entered the palace. Marble hallways gleamed with soft sunlight filtering through stained glass, while the inner gardens sent out a fresh, floral scent. There, a woman sat gracefully on a long chair, a warm cup of tea at her side and a book open on her lap.
Jet-black hair cascaded like midnight, blue eyes holding unfathomable depth.
Ivy Solstice.
Grand Duchess. A renowned mage feared and respected alike.
And—more importantly—Gren's mother.
"Gren."
Her voice was gentle, yet firm enough to halt the boy in his tracks.
Gren turned, strolling toward her with a cocky smile.
> "Mother… I just made the morning in the courtyard a little… more interesting."
Ivy closed her book, eyes soft yet meaningful.
"Henry panicked again, didn't he?"
Henry, trailing behind, straightened, tense.
"M-Milady, I—"
Ivy raised a delicate hand, stopping him. Her gaze returned to Gren.
Gren plopped down on a chair opposite her, casually.
> "Henry worries too much. I even fell from the roof without a scratch. That should calm him down."
Ivy smiled faintly, reaching out to stroke his white hair.
> "You've always been mischievous, Gren… but that's part of who you are."
For a moment, Gren closed his eyes, savoring the touch. Behind the arrogance and cockiness, he was still a son close to his mother.
But when his golden eyes opened again, the mischievous spark returned.
> "Mother, you know… sooner or later, the world will stop talking about Father or you. They'll only remember me."
Ivy chuckled softly.
"You really are my child."
Henry could only cover his face with his hands.
"Young Master… I'm not going to live long at this rate…"
---
From afar, the sound of heavy steps approached. A gleaming steel sword in hand, an imposing aura filled the courtyard. Arwind Solstice entered the training grounds, his sharp gaze immediately fixed on Gren. No kind words—just a look that made the boy tense ever so slightly.
> "So, this is… the little mischief of the Solstice family," Arwind said flatly, suppressing a faint smile.
Gren leaned forward, smirking.
> "Father… just waking up, or deliberately watching from afar?"
Arwind stepped closer, sword slicing the air rhythmically, measuring Gren's distance.
"Don't get too confident. I won't hold back. But… I'm curious if you're really as skilled as I imagine."
Gren raised an eyebrow, swiftly grabbing a wooden sword.
> "I've been waiting, Father. Don't disappoint me."
A thin smile crossed Arwind's face. Without warning, his steel blade moved. Gren dodged, spun, countered. The clashing of wood and steel echoed across the courtyard—fast, precise, stylish.
Sarkasm slipped between movements:
> "Still slow, Father." — Gren
"Hah, naughty boy, you need to be faster." — Arwind
The final clash rang out. Gren's wooden sword clattered to the ground. He stood, catching his breath, still smirking.
Arwind lowered his sword, a mix of pride and annoyance in his gaze.
"For a ten-year-old, you're fast. But… far from enough."
Gren flicked the dust from his clothes, grinning.
> "I was just warming up, Father. Wait till I get serious."
Arwind snorted, turning away.
"Hmph. Don't just talk big. Prove it next session."
---
Once his father disappeared down the hallway, Gren inhaled deeply and sat cross-legged in the training courtyard. The wooden sword lay abandoned. Henry, ever vigilant, stayed at the edge—pale from almost being hit by a stray strike.
Gren closed his eyes, letting his body relax.
> "That duel was just muscle. Now… time for the real core."
Henry understood immediately. He straightened, not daring to interrupt.
Slowly, Gren felt a pulse inside him. A subtle vortex at his center—his core.
> "Affinity… the essence of everything. Others have just one. Fire, water, wind, earth, lightning… predictable. Me? I have two. Sun and Moon. Light and dark. Heat and cold. You know what that means, Henry? It means I'm no ordinary person."
Henry exhaled softly but stayed silent. He knew Gren wasn't bragging—he was stating a fact.
Gren focused again.
> "This core… determines rank. From Initium, the first awakening. Then Novus, Primas… and now Dominus. My body and mana merge. My movements are lighter, my energy denser. Every breath could be an attack—if I choose."
His hands moved slowly, regulating the pulse within.
> "And my path… Ars. Some only wield physical, some only magic. Me? Ars Dualis. Both. Rare. Especially at my age."
A faint smile appeared—cocky, yet full of certainty.
> "Every new rank isn't just a title. It's control. When I rise, I won't just be strong. I'll… be free."
Gren opened his eyes, golden irises glowing like calm fire. He glanced at Henry, still seated.
> "Henry. If I ever become an Auctor… maybe then you can worry. Because the world… might not be ready."
Henry slapped his forehead, nearly collapsing.
"Good Lord… the Young Master is really going to shorten my life…"
Gren chuckled softly, closing his eyes again. His core pulsed steadily, beating like a heart for a world far larger than himself.
As the sunset painted the courtyard crimson-gold, Gren sat cross-legged on the cool marble. The duel with his father… he lost, clearly. Yet he was satisfied. Arwind never held back. That meant—even at ten—Gren was deemed capable of bearing the full weight of the sword.
He chuckled quietly, staring at his hands.
> "Arwind Solstice, one of the continent's strongest… and I'm his son. If others knew, they'd be insanely jealous."
But that wasn't the point. What mattered was—one day, he wouldn't be known just as 'their child.'
His core pulsed again, the sun-and-moon affinity flowing. Two lights, opposite yet dancing inside him.
He lifted his face, watching the purple-tinged sky.
> "If Father is the sun, fierce and burning… Mother is the moon, calm yet piercing. And I… I'm the blend of both."
A faint grin crossed his lips. Pride—not for being stronger, but for truly being born of them.
He recalled his mother's gaze that morning—a gentle look that could make anyone feel safe. She never forced him, yet every smile whispered: you can be more than this, Gren.
Then his father's voice, sharp but filled with hidden pride. Words unnecessary. One swing of the sword said it all: I trust you to surpass your limits.
Gren exhaled, letting every feeling merge with the rhythm of his core.
> "Yes, I'm arrogant. But without them, I wouldn't even be here."
A brief silence, only the wind filling the courtyard.
> "Father, Mother… one day the world will remember the Solstice name. Not for you. But for me—born of you."
He lay back on the marble, gazing at the emerging stars. A faint grin remained.
> "So, Father, Mother… if I speak big, it's not to overshadow you. It's a promise. A promise to make our name stand tallest."
His core pulsed once more—steady, resolute.
---
From afar, Henry exhaled, perhaps relieved that the Young Master had stopped causing chaos. But let it be. The world may misunderstand Gren, as long as Father and Mother knew: every step he took, he carried them with him.