During the Element Awareness Period, a pivotal age that dawned fifty years after humanity first discovered the existence of Elements, there stood two Families whose names commanded fear and reverence across the world. These were the Solumbra and the Lumara. The Solumbra Family, descended of shadows, produced sons in abundance, while daughters, rare as eclipses, were whispered of as blessings. The Lumara Family, heirs of light, mirrored them in reverse; their bloodline brought forth daughters as though the sun itself had ordained it, while sons, seldom seen, were treated as good omens. Though both lines gave birth to men and women alike, their destinies seemed written by the very Elements they embodied—Shadow and Light, darkness and radiance, forever opposed.
The rivalry between the two Families ran deep, as old as memory itself, consuming generations in its fire. They warred endlessly over territory, over wealth, over who commanded more influence, but above all, the truest and most enduring question that spurred them into bloodshed was simple: which Element was stronger, Shadow or Light? This conflict, fed by pride and tradition, became their inheritance, and each heir who came into the world bore its weight.
It was a law unspoken but never broken: whenever an heir was born to Solumbra, and an heir to Lumara, they would one day meet in battle. They were rivals by birthright, enemies shaped before they ever drew breath. And when the time came, they would fight—not merely to win, but to kill—each seeking to prove their Family's supremacy through the destruction of the other. The heirs became living embodiments of the feud, vessels through which the Families measured the worth of their blood.
Thus the centuries passed, drenched in blood. Sons and daughters fell, heirs slain by heirs, each death nothing more than another stone placed upon the endless altar of pride. Generation upon generation, the war continued, until the slaughter itself seemed eternal, as though the very Elements demanded it.
Then came the births of Johnathan Oz Solumbra and Elizabeth Trinity Lumara.
Like the heirs before them, they were raised in the same merciless fashion—trained to kill, shaped to lead, and taught that their very existence was meant to oppose the other. From the moment they were old enough to understand, their minds were filled with the certainty of enmity. They were destined to clash, to die at each other's hands. Yet, when their paths finally crossed, something within them resisted. Their thoughts whispered of rivalry and bloodshed, but their hearts murmured something different. They longed for one another. They wondered what it would mean to hold each other, to care, to love.
In the end, it was their hearts they chose to follow. They began to seek each other not as adversaries, nor yet as lovers, but simply as companions. In one another they found a confidant, someone who could listen, someone who could understand the burdens pressed upon them. They became, in their own way, each other's healer—each other's therapist.
Time strengthened what had begun in secrecy. Their meetings, once fleeting hours stolen from duty, stretched longer and longer, until nearly entire days were spent in each other's presence. Soon, they found they could not bear long absences. To be without the other was to feel incomplete. Inevitably, the truth of their bond came to light, and when they revealed their closeness to their families, they saw only horror reflected back at them.
And of course it was so. How could thousands of years of blood feud end with the simple affection of two heirs? To the families, it was nothing less than disgrace, a betrayal of all that had been suffered and fought for. Yet for all their outrage, they could do nothing. Johnathan and Elizabeth were the heirs, and the weight of power rested in their hands, not their parents'.
Thus, for the first time in human history, the Solumbra and Lumara families set aside their endless hatred. Ancient enemies no longer, they stood together, bound by the love of the two who had defied destiny.
---
And on December 21st, 989 AD, history shifted. Three years after the birth of Norton Kurtis Solumbra—the firstborn son to the Solumbra Family in more than eight hundred years—an anomaly occurred that would alter everything. For the first time in Solumbra history, there was not one son, but two.
Nixon Moon Solumbra, the second child of the Family, was born. He should have entered the world alongside Norton, yet another anomaly, for the two had shared their mother's womb, yet his birth was inexplicably delayed, stretched across three years by reasons unknown. Where Norton's birth was drawn out longer than any before him, Nixon's was sudden and swift, the shortest in Solumbra history. They were anomalies from the very beginning.
The Family did not celebrate them. Norton, though the First Born, was branded a mistake, for he bore not the Shadow Element as all heirs before him, but Water—an impossibility, a violation of lineage itself. Nixon fared no better. His Element was Fire, another impossibility for Solumbra blood. Though each was extraordinary in their own right, the Family treated them not as heirs, but as outcasts—less than human, undeserving of respect. They were sons of Johnathan Solumbra, the proud head of the Family, and Elizabeth Trinity Lumara, heir of the Lumara line, yet to their kin they were nothing more than blemishes upon a sacred history.
Johnathan and Elizabeth did not share this disdain. They wouldn't. Instead, they were left in shock and confusion, for by every law of inheritance Norton and Nixon should have carried Shadow or Light, perhaps even both. When the Life Wizards examined them and confirmed that neither possessed even the faintest strand of connection to those Elements, their parents were left not only stunned, but strangely hopeful. The impossibility of their sons' births suggested something greater—something beyond the grasp of Shadow or Light.
---
By the time Norton was ready to begin his first day at the Sovereign Solstice Academy, Nixon remained in the eyes of the Family a child not yet awakened. But beneath the surface, he had already revealed himself. Mischief defined him. He delighted in pranks, tormenting the household with spilled dye that ruined white garments, stolen food that vanished from plates, and buckets of flour or water tipped from balconies onto unsuspecting kin. He spared only three from his tricks—his father, his mother, and above all, his brother, whom he adored. Though his antics left chaos in their wake, no one ever discovered the culprit, and so Nixon's reputation as a silent trickster grew in whispers.
For three years, this mischief was his secret way of living, harmless but unyielding, until at last he reached six years of age, old enough to walk beside Norton and claim his place at the Academy.
Yet unlike his brother, Nixon had no patience for lessons. Where Norton endured his tutors with quiet resolve, Nixon slipped away at every chance, vanishing into the world beyond the compound walls. There he found what he believed to be his true calling—a bond with the world itself. The breeze, the soil, the warmth of the sun and the coolness of the stream spoke to him in ways no lecture ever could. His connection came easily, naturally, as though it had been written into his very soul, and in that bond he felt peace so profound it raised him above all else.
On the rare days when Johnathan himself oversaw his lessons, forcing him to sit and study, Nixon's mind refused to obey. Even as words echoed around him, his thoughts drifted back to that tranquility, to that stillness of harmony he could not ignore.
When the morning came for both brothers to set out for the Sovereign Solstice Academy, it was Nixon who rose first. Long before the sun crested the horizon, he had dressed himself and waited eagerly at the door, unable to contain his excitement. Norton, slower to stir, found his brother already bright-eyed and ready, his eagerness filling the house.
At breakfast, Nixon pressed his brother with questions, each one brimming with anticipation, each saved for this very day. Norton struggled to answer, for while he was diligent in the Academy's practical lessons, he paid little attention to the rest. His honesty disappointed Nixon for a moment, yet when Norton spoke of the thrill of training and the lessons he loved most, Nixon's eyes lit with wonder once more.
Their father, watching from across the table, smiled at his youngest's joy. "Do not apologize for your excitement," Johnathan said gently when Nixon grew flustered at his own enthusiasm. "Even the smallest of chores can become a source of joy if your heart allows it."
With breakfast finished, Nixon seized his brother's wrist and dragged him out into the morning. His laughter echoed through the compound as he pulled Norton into the waiting carriage, hardly able to contain himself.
For Norton, the Academy was routine, another day in the rhythm of his life. For Nixon, it was everything—his first step into the wider world.
When the carriage rolled to a stop at the gates of the Sovereign Solstice Academy, Nixon was the first to leap from its step, racing toward the entrance. Yet when he reached it, he paused, looking back, waiting. He would not enter without his brother. This moment, this beginning, was one he wanted to share.
Both brothers walked side by side toward the academy gates, their steps in sync, their bond apparent even in silence. Yet the eyes that followed them told a different story—glares of envy and hatred clung to their backs like shadows, whispers trailing in their wake. Norton met those looks with sharp defiance, glaring back as though daring anyone to break his brother's spirit. He feared that Nixon, so new to the academy and so eager, might wither beneath the weight of scorn. But when he glanced at his younger brother, he found only radiant joy. Nixon's face beamed with unshakable excitement, his smile wide and unbreakable.
In that moment, to Norton's eyes, Nixon looked like the happiest human alive.
The brothers pressed on through the corridors until they reached the door to Nixon's first class—Introduction to Magical Energy. Nixon stepped forward, eager to enter, but paused in the doorway. He turned, confusion flickering across his features as he saw Norton still standing in the hall.
"Aren't you coming?" he asked, his tone caught somewhere between expectation and worry.
Norton hesitated. Being three years ahead, his own class schedule no longer matched his brother's. His day wouldn't truly begin until after Nixon's first lesson. But he saw the uncertainty in Nixon's eyes, and so, with a small smile, he followed.
"Yeah, of course," Norton said, stepping inside to trail behind him.
Nixon claimed a desk near the back, eager yet cautious, while Norton stood beside him, unwilling to steal a seat from a student who needed it. A few quiet moments passed before their teacher entered. Finlay Douts, a man whose presence carried both authority and warmth, raised his hand in greeting when he spotted Norton. Norton returned the gesture, smiling faintly.
"Alright, class," Finlay began, his voice calm but commanding, "my name is Finlay Douts, and I will be your teacher for this semester."
---
The lesson unfolded slowly, methodically. Finlay spoke of the foundations of Magical Energy—its origin, its flow through the body, and its many forms of expression. At last, he produced an artifact: a polished mirror set in iron, known as the Eye of All-Knowing.
One by one, the students approached, pressing their palms against its surface to reveal the element within them. When Nixon's turn came, his earlier enthusiasm faltered. His steps slowed, hesitation tugging at him, until he felt Norton's reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"Come on," Norton said gently, smiling down at him. "You've got this."
The encouragement reignited Nixon's courage, and he nodded, forcing a smile of his own.
Finlay set the mirror upon the desk. "Alright, students," he said, his tone shifting, "step outside. Let Nixon have his moment."
Confused, Nixon glanced back at his brother as the others filed out, Finlay himself lingering in the doorway with only his head peeking through.
"Why are they leaving?" Nixon whispered.
"It's because of what happened with me," Norton answered, his voice deliberately vague. "The mirror exploded."
Nixon blinked, uncertainty weighing on him, but pressed his palm against the glass. At once, a soft warmth spread through his hand, climbing his arm like sparks racing along a fuse. The mirror glowed faintly, a warm orange light, gentle as candleflame. But nothing else happened. No hum, no shudder, no eruption. Just stillness.
Norton frowned. Finlay leaned forward, equally puzzled. Nixon, too, felt his heart sink. He pulled his hand back, but the orange glow remained—a sign it should have faded, yet lingered stubbornly.
Finlay examined the mirror for flaws, but found none. Slowly, he turned back to Nixon.
"You have the Fire Element," he declared, though his voice carried the weight of confusion. "Alright, class—return to your seats and read up to page eighteen."
Students filed back in, their chatter hushed. Nixon stayed standing, staring at the mirror as though it had betrayed him. Why hadn't it reacted as it had with Norton? Why hadn't it burst with energy? Was he weaker? Was he even worthy of his bloodline?
Norton's heart ached for him. He placed a hand on Nixon's shoulder once more. "Don't worry about the mirror," he said softly. "Maybe they gave me a faulty one. What matters is what you can do with your power—not how a mirror reacts."
Nixon nodded, though his head hung low as he returned to his desk. Norton, knowing he had only moments before his own class began, knelt by his brother's side.
"I have to go," he whispered. "Promise me you'll behave. Forget about the mirror, alright? You're doing great."
But Nixon gave no reply. So Norton leaned in, wrapped his arms around him, and gave him a firm, brotherly hug before rising to leave.
A single tear slipped from Nixon's eye, falling silently onto the wooden desk. His chest tightened with defeat, the joy from earlier now ashes in his heart. Why couldn't he do what Norton had done? Why was he so weak?
---
Norton walked briskly down the hall, his next class—Magical Energy and Element Applications—mere minutes away. His thoughts drifted back to Nixon, to the hollow look in his eyes and the silence of his response. Norton wondered if his words had helped or only cut deeper. He didn't know why the mirror hadn't reacted the same way. For him, it had thrummed, glowed, and burst with violent power. For Nixon, only a flicker of warmth.
It was strange. Troubling. Yet never once did Norton think less of his brother. Not for a moment did he doubt the bond between them.
He stopped before the classroom door, exhaled deeply, and steadied himself. Inside, the subject was one that always eluded him despite years of study. Today's lesson was about something beyond raw elements, beyond even power itself.
Ultimate Techniques.
He opened the door with a hesitant push and stepped inside, the hinges creaking faintly as though warning him of the threshold he had just crossed. The room was already occupied, filled with an assortment of students who immediately struck Norton as older—much older. At first, he thought perhaps it was only a few years, but upon closer inspection he realized the truth: none of them were anywhere near his age. These weren't peers. Each carried the air of experience, their faces marked with the subtle lines and confidence that came only with age. Many looked five to eight years older, their postures betraying the kind of maturity Norton himself had not yet grown into. For a moment, he felt as though he had stumbled into the wrong classroom entirely, an intruder in a place not meant for him.
Swallowing his nerves, he chose a seat toward the middle row and lowered himself into it, the wooden chair creaking under his weight. He placed both hands on the surface of the desk in front of him, pressing his palms together before interlacing his fingers, the constant circling of his thumbs betraying the nervous energy building inside him.
He had barely settled when the door opened again—this time with confidence, not hesitation. A woman entered, and immediately the atmosphere of the room shifted. She commanded attention without uttering a word. Her black hair flowed around her shoulders, several strands dyed a striking purple that caught the light with each step she took. A pair of black-rimmed glasses framed eyes both sharp and knowing, while freckles traced faint constellations across her fair skin. She wore a clean white sweater beneath an equally white trench coat, the starkness of her clothing only emphasizing her presence. Dark jeans and polished black boots completed her attire, giving her a look that balanced precision and elegance.
For a brief moment, Norton found himself stunned. She was undeniably beautiful, and the quiet strength she radiated stirred a deep respect in him. She was not simply someone to look at—she was someone to regard. Yet his classmates did not share his restraint. While Norton sat in silent awe, the rest of the students were far less composed. Their gazes fixed on her with barely veiled hunger, eyes tracing her form in ways that stripped away all sense of dignity. Norton almost felt embarrassed on their behalf.
When she removed her trench coat, the room all but held its breath. Long, toned legs revealed beneath tight leggings became the new focus of the students' stares. They strained against the fabric with every movement, their strength and shape impossible to ignore. A chorus of quiet gasps and muffled chuckles filled the air. Norton, however, only rolled his eyes.
'Pathetic,' he thought.
This was supposed to be a classroom for learning, a place where knowledge and discipline were to be sharpened. Instead, it was reduced to nothing more than a spectacle. Did they not realize she was likely old enough to be their mother, if not older? The behavior of his fellow students was shameful.
The woman did not falter beneath their stares. She stepped forward with composure, her voice clear and steady as she addressed them.
"Hello, class. My name is Agatha Millicent, and I will be your instructor for this course."
Her words did little to break the spell she had cast over the majority of the students, whose eyes still clung to her with lust rather than focus. If she noticed, she gave no sign—at least, not yet.
"Now," she continued, "open the provided textbooks to page one."
Silence. No pages turned. The room was unmoving, save for Norton, who obediently pulled his book closer and flipped it open. The lack of response from the others caused Agatha to click her tongue in annoyance. With a subtle lift of her hand, a ripple of power answered her command. In an instant, a sphere of shimmering water materialized above every head in the room—including Norton's.
"Hey! Wait a second!" Norton blurted, staring upward in alarm. "I did what you asked!"
Agatha's gaze shifted to him, and with a flick of her wrist, his sphere dissolved harmlessly into the air. For the rest, however, there was no reprieve. The bubbles collapsed all at once, drenching the students from head to toe. Their gasps and sputters filled the room as they wiped water from their eyes, clothes clinging uncomfortably to their skin.
"Now that I have your attention," Agatha said coolly, "open your textbooks to page one."
This time, every hand obeyed without hesitation, the rustling of paper echoing like a choir of reluctant submission. A small smirk tugged at the corner of her lips—authority reclaimed.
"You may notice how slim this text is," she continued, holding up her own copy. "That is because today's lesson is not about lengthy study, but about concentrated truth. Our subject is simple, yet profound. Today, you will learn about Ultimate Techniques."
Her voice carried weight, each syllable sinking into the room. She summoned another bubble of water, this one larger, more stable. It hovered beside her, refracting light across the walls.
"Your first question, naturally, will be: what are Ultimate Techniques?" she asked. "In short, they are the pinnacle of magical mastery. They require far more energy than standard Techniques, demand greater precision, and unleash power on a scale far beyond the ordinary."
She turned her hand toward the water sphere, her fingers brushing the air just above its surface. "An Ultimate Technique allows even a simple construct such as this Water Sphere to become a weapon of destruction."
Her gaze swept across the students, ensuring they listened. "But understand this: not everyone can achieve such mastery. It is not as simple as forcing more energy into your element and hoping for greater results. Instead, you must merge with your element. Flow alongside it. Instead of pouring your energy directly inside, you must weave it neatly around, shaping it without overwhelming it. In this process, you create something new—a bridge between Magical Energy and Elemental Energy. This fusion strengthens your castings, and it is what separates a Mage from a Wizard—skill from mastery, potential from power."
A hand rose tentatively among the rows. Agatha gestured.
"Yes?"
The student cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, but I don't quite understand. Isn't this far too advanced for us to even attempt? Why are we learning about something that might take decades to achieve?"
Before Agatha could respond, Norton spoke. His voice was calm but carried the assurance of one who understood.
"To answer your last question, it's precisely because it takes years—sometimes a lifetime—that it's important to begin early. Exposure now increases the chances of mastery later. You won't achieve it tomorrow, or even in the next few years, but hearing it explained plants the seed."
Agatha turned to him with a look of mild surprise, though her eyes warmed with appreciation. Norton was not finished.
"As for the explanation," he continued, leaning forward slightly, "think of it like this. With normal Techniques, you pour Magical Energy directly into your Element, filling it. But with Ultimate Techniques, you flow beside it, not inside. Picture water running over the rim of an empty cup. You must match its rhythm perfectly, syncing with it until your energy and the Element create something entirely new together. That's the key."
The room collectively murmured in realization. A chorus of "oh" rippled through the students as the concept clicked in their minds.
Agatha clapped her hands together, smiling genuinely. "Well said! Not only do you understand the process, but you've managed to explain it more clearly than I could. Truly impressive. What," she added playfully, tilting her head, "are you doing in my class?"
Norton's lips curved faintly, though his words carried truth. "Because I can't perform an Ultimate Technique. Not yet."
The revelation froze Agatha, her brow furrowing. "What? But you… you know it all!"
"Knowledge and execution are two different things," Norton admitted. "I understand the theory, but I lack the ability. That's why I'm here."
Her silence lasted only a breath before she nodded, resolve sharpening her expression.
---
The orange sky stretched wide and clear above the training grounds. The air was brisk, carrying with it the scent of earth and grass. Students stood in neat rows, watching their instructor, Kuno, who clasped his hands calmly behind his back. Nixon, Finlay, and the others all waited expectantly.
"Now that you've all learned how to manipulate your Magical Energy," Kuno began, his tone steady and measured, "it is time you see what it looks like when shaped into action."
He stepped forward, his eyes narrowing on the row of scarecrows lined up as targets. "Watch closely. First, I pour my Magical Energy into my Element. Then, I release it beyond my body."
With a swift slash of his hand, the air cracked. A violent gash of wind tore through the field, splitting a scarecrow in half as though it were made of paper. The force carried into the tree behind it, carving deep scars into its trunk.
Gasps erupted among the students, admiration shining in their eyes. Before their shock could settle, the scarecrow slowly began to mend itself, its straw and cloth reknitting until it stood whole again.
"You will now attempt the same," Kuno instructed. "Focus your energy inward first. Direct it into your Element, then push it through one of your hands. Use whatever motion feels natural to guide the release."
One after another, students stepped forward. Shards of rock shot out, gusts of wind slashed, thorns sprouted, screws and jagged bones flew—all crude imitations of what Kuno had demonstrated, yet effective in their own right.
Then came Nixon's turn. Kuno's gaze lingered on him longer than the others, a silent tension coiling within. This was Norton's brother, the second son of Johnathan Oz Solumbra. That lineage alone suggested that something unexpected was bound to happen.
Nixon inhaled slowly, closing his eyes. He felt for the current of energy within his body, gathering it carefully. A steady stream poured into his Element, then flowed down into his hand. His eyes snapped open, and in that instant, the world seemed to ignite.
A roar of heat burst forth, not as a stream but as an engulfing inferno. Five scarecrows were consumed instantly, reduced to nothing but pillars of flame. The fire spread hungrily, leaping onto the tree behind them, which crackled and burned with a speed Kuno had never before witnessed.
Nixon's breath hitched. His hand trembled as he cut off the stream, stepping back in fear of the devastation he had unleashed. The fire still raged, its heat pressing against the gathered students like a living, breathing beast
Kuno stood in place, momentarily stunned. He had witnessed countless displays of elemental power throughout his years as an instructor, but Nixon's flames were unlike anything he had ever seen from someone so young—raw, overwhelming, and far beyond what was expected of an apprentice still learning the foundations of control. The fire hadn't simply burned; it had devoured, hungry and unrestrained.
Reacting quickly, Kuno lifted his hand, summoning the winds of his Element. The flames were smothered and extinguished in an instant, but the damage had already been done. The training field bore the scars of Nixon's outburst: the once-sturdy scarecrows, designed with fire resistance to withstand repeated tests, had been reduced to nothing but drifting piles of ash. Even the great tree that had stood watch over the grounds was not spared. Its trunk, once alive with deep grooves of age, was blackened and brittle, the life in it seemingly stolen away in moments. A Tech and Life Mage had once taken pride in constructing the scarecrows and that tree's magical resilience, a boast of their near-indestructibility. Now, Nixon's fire had undone that pride in a single surge.
Nixon stared downward, shame rising like a tide. His shoulders sagged, and his hands trembled slightly at his sides. He had not meant to cause so much destruction. What should have been a simple test of skill had turned into a spectacle of ruin, and embarrassment burned hotter than the flames ever had.
Kuno approached him slowly, his boots crunching against the charred ground. When he stopped, he placed a firm hand on Nixon's shoulder and met his gaze with a measured, unflinching stare.
"Nixon Moon Solumbra," Kuno began, his voice steady and deliberate, "that was an excellent demonstration of your power. Truly, very well done."
Nixon's head lifted, his wide eyes brightening with relief at the words. A tentative smile began to form, his shame momentarily washed away.
But Kuno's grip tightened slightly, his tone shifting. "However, power without restraint is as dangerous as any weapon left uncontrolled. Your flames are unlike anything I have ever witnessed, and because of that, they must be wielded with caution. Do not treat them as spectacle. Treat them with purpose. Treat them with respect."
Nixon swallowed hard but nodded earnestly. "Yes, sir."
Kuno released his shoulder and stepped back. "Continue refining your control over Magical Energy. You are already walking the path toward becoming a Fire Wizard. With discipline, you may surpass even that."
The boy's earlier shame had all but vanished, replaced by excitement. He practically bounced in place. "Thank you, sir!" he exclaimed, his voice ringing with uncontained joy.
---
By the time Nixon's lessons drew to a close, Norton was exiting his own classroom, his first day of study finally behind him. At this academy, the structure was strict yet deliberate: one lesson per day, regardless of age or year. Each session stretched on for hours, interwoven with rounds of practice and review until every concept was drilled into muscle memory.
The brothers met at the academy's front gate. Norton's usual calm expression softened into quiet amusement as Nixon launched into a torrent of words, his enthusiasm impossible to restrain.
"Today was sooo cool!" Nixon gushed, his hands flying about as though reliving every moment. "Mr. Finlay showed me how to control my Magical Energy, and then Mr. Kuno—he taught me how to push it through my Element! And oh, it was incredible! I wish I could do it all over again!" The boy hardly paused to breathe, his words tumbling out in one endless stream.
Norton shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. He walked toward the carriage waiting for them, Nixon keeping perfect pace at his side.
"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed yourself," Norton said, his voice touched with brotherly fondness.
"I sure did!" Nixon replied with a vigorous nod. "But what about you? How was your class?"
At that, Norton grimaced slightly, his tone dipping. "It was… good, I suppose. I learned quite a bit. But I still couldn't grasp it completely. After dinner with Father and Mother, I'll need to practice again."
That single mention was all Nixon needed. His eyes widened, and he leaned in with eagerness. "Oh, can I join you? Please? Can I? Can I? Caaaaaaan IIIIIIIII???" His voice rose higher with each repetition, a bombardment of pleas that made Norton sigh.
"I'm afraid not," Norton said at last, his voice firm yet regretful. "What I'm trying to master is too complex—even for me. You don't yet have the foundation to understand the basics, let alone attempt them. I'm sorry, brother."
The sadness in his voice was genuine. He could have allowed Nixon to watch, but he knew what that would lead to: curiosity would sharpen into obsession, and soon his brother would demand to try. Better to spare him the temptation. Norton's thoughts drifted back to Agatha Millicent's lesson. To achieve an Ultimate Technique, one could not simply force energy into their Element. It required harmony, surrender even—letting the Element itself guide the flow of energy until the two became inseparable. That was the secret to unlocking true mastery. Norton's proficiency in Magical Energy manipulation was unrivaled; even Kuno had admitted so after relentless pestering. But mastery required more than control. It required unity.
The brothers climbed into the carriage, the wheels rattling against the cobblestone road as it carried them home. Nixon sat slumped, disappointment clouding his face at being denied. Norton, meanwhile, remained silent, lost in the labyrinth of thought, mind turning over the steps needed to reach an Ultimate Technique.
When the carriage finally stopped at the gates of the Solumbra Family Compound, both boys disembarked. The sprawling estate greeted them with its familiar blend of grandeur and warmth. They entered their home and made their way to the dining hall, where the smell of roasted meat and fresh bread lingered in the air. Their mother, Elizabeth, was just finishing the placement of steaming plates before their seats, her movements graceful and efficient.
Moments later, the heavy tread of boots signaled their father's arrival. Johnathan entered and took his place at the head of the table, his presence commanding the room without effort.
"So, Norton. Nixon." Elizabeth's voice was gentle but expectant as she cut into her steak and lifted a bite to her mouth. "How was your first day at the academy?"
Norton exhaled, his fork idly pushing at the food on his plate. "It was productive. I learned a great deal about Ultimate Techniques… but I still cannot perform one." His sigh carried the weight of both frustration and determination.
Nixon, however, was all but glowing. "The academy was amazing! I finally learned how to manipulate my Magical Energy, and Mr. Kuno even said my Element was the most powerful!" His words spilled out with unrestrained pride, his grin wide enough to light the room.
Johnathan cast a wary glance toward Nixon, his eyes narrowing with quiet suspicion, but just as quickly he turned his gaze back to his plate before anyone could take notice.
"I'm happy to hear that, my sons," he said at last, cutting carefully into a piece of steak with measured precision. "You both did well today."
The words of praise lit a spark across the table. Norton and Nixon exchanged brief smiles, their faces bright with the satisfaction of hearing their father's approval.
"Thank you, Father," Norton answered, his tone steady, respectful.
"I know we did!" Nixon added with cheerful certainty, his enthusiasm spilling forth without restraint.
Dinner soon drew to a quiet close, and as the final bites were finished, the evening carried them into its natural rhythm. Nixon was sent to bed, while Norton remained behind, choosing instead to step outside and continue practicing.
Elizabeth guided Nixon through the familiar path to his bedroom, which he shared with his older brother. She tucked him gently into his own bed, smoothing the blankets over him before leaning down to press a tender kiss to his forehead. With a soft breath, she extinguished the flame of the candle that flickered on the nearby stand, casting the room into a gentle stillness.
"Goodnight, little one. Sweet dreams," she whispered, her voice lilting with a melody so soft it seemed to coax his eyelids heavier with every note.
"Thank you, Mother. Goodnight," Nixon murmured back, his eyes already closed.
Elizabeth lingered for a moment with a faint smile upon her lips before she drew the door shut with care. Returning to the kitchen, she found Johnathan standing at the basin, sleeves rolled, washing the dishes with quiet diligence. The task of wiping down the table had been left for her, and she took to it with practiced ease, cloth in hand, humming a soft tune that drifted lightly through the room.
Johnathan glanced over his shoulder, his hands still in the water, watching her with a look that carried more weight than he perhaps intended. It was the look of a man who feared being caught in his own admiration.
"Elizabeth…?" he said, his voice breaking the silence and drawing her attention at once.
She stopped mid-motion, straightening from her work, and turned fully to face him.
"Yes, dear?" she replied, her tone gentle, her gaze steady upon him.
---
"Come on!!" Norton's frustrated cry echoed into the night, raw with exasperation.
Hours had passed since dinner, and the night had worn deep, nearing his own bedtime. Yet Norton remained where he had been all evening—outside, stubbornly pressing against the wall of his own limitations. He had been striving to master an Ultimate Technique, a goal he had chased for hours without the faintest flicker of progress. Each attempt collapsed into nothingness, leaving behind no trace of advancement, no foothold from which to climb higher. He was exhausted, disheartened, and simmering with anger.
For one so precise with his control of Magical Energy, this should not have been beyond reach. He understood it would take time, perhaps days, perhaps more—but even so, there should have been some sign of progress. Yet there was nothing. No indication of where he stood. No direction to move toward. No lesson to take forward. Absolutely nothing. And the emptiness of that failure gnawed at him.
"All it takes is to align your Magical Energy with your Element. That's all!" he shouted, voice breaking into the night air as he dropped to his knees, fingers clawing into the dirt. "Why can't I do it!?" His anger tore out again, sharp, but laced with a despair he could not quiet.
At last, he forced himself to stop. His body and spirit had reached their limit. Defeated, he turned away from the yard and slipped back into the manor, finding his way to the bathroom. He cleaned himself slowly in the basin, washing away the dust and sweat, as though hoping the water might cleanse the sting of failure as well.
When he entered the bedroom, he found Nixon sleeping soundly, his younger brother's face soft with a peace untouched by struggle. Norton's heart eased as he stood in the doorway, the sight reminding him that even in failure, there remained something—and someone—to hold onto. Nixon was the reason he could keep moving forward, the spark that urged him not to falter, not to disappoint, not to surrender.
With that thought lingering, Norton slipped into his own bed, his exhaustion pressing down all at once. Sleep claimed him quickly, and his last waking thought was of tomorrow, and the different ways he might approach the mystery of Ultimate Techniques once more.