The sun rose pale over Draven Keep, spilling golden light across the sprawling courtyard. Kael Draven, now six, had already been awake for hours, sparring with a wooden sword against the training dummies. His small fists moved with surprising precision, every swing quick and deliberate. Maverick, the striped cat, perched on the edge of the stone fountain, one golden eye squinting, tail flicking lazily.
"Again!" Kael shouted, panting. "One more round, Maverick!"
The cat yawned, revealing sharp yellow teeth. "You swing like a drunken squire, little knight. Control your fury, or you'll shatter more than your toys."
Kael scowled. "Father says anger makes me strong!"
Maverick twitched a whisker. "Your father knows steel, not spirit. Strength is not merely rage. Watch closely."
Before Kael could ask more, the air in the courtyard seemed to thrum, a faint hum vibrating beneath his feet. He froze mid-swing, eyes wide. The cobblestones beneath him glowed faintly red, pulsing as though alive.
"What… what's happening?" he whispered.
"Ah," purred Maverick, hopping gracefully onto the fountain's edge. "You felt it. Your first spark."
Kael tilted his head. "Spark? What do you mean?"
"The power within you," Maverick explained, tail curling around his paws. "The world is not as simple as it appears, young Draven. Men call it spirit energy, life force, or—less politely—raw destiny. You, however… carry something rare. Something dangerous."
The boy stared at his hands. They trembled slightly, warmth radiating from his palms. The courtyard glimmered with a soft crimson light before fading as quickly as it had appeared.
"Was that… me?" Kael asked, awe and fear warring in his voice.
Maverick nodded. "Yes. That is why the monks whispered when you were born. That is why your father's sword trembled at your first cry. You were born with a power most knights only dream of."
Kael's eyes gleamed. "Does it… mean I'm like Father?"
The cat flicked an ear. "Perhaps. But your father is steel and honor. You… are something else entirely. You will need guidance… and restraint. Remember your mother's words."
At that moment, the heavy oak gates of Draven Keep swung open. Duke Lucien Draven appeared, his armor polished to a mirror shine even in the morning light. His silver-streaked hair framed eyes sharp as a hawk's. He bent slightly to pick up Kael's dropped wooden sword.
"Kael," he said in a measured tone, "enough play for today. Come. Discipline awaits."
Kael groaned but followed his father into the grand hall. Along the way, tapestries depicted legendary battles of the Draven line: knights frozen in eternal combat, swords raised against shadowy foes, their eyes alight with unyielding fire. Something deep stirred in Kael—a recognition he could not yet name.
"You grow faster than expected," Duke Lucien said, placing the wooden sword aside. "But raw strength without control is meaningless. Today we begin with the basics: balance, awareness, and endurance."
Maverick leapt onto Kael's shoulder, tail flicking. "And perhaps a little chaos," he muttered under his breath.
Hours passed. Kael balanced on a single foot atop a narrow beam, eyes closed, feeling the earth's pulse beneath him. The wind seemed alive, brushing against his skin like a guiding hand. Whispers of distant voices threaded through the courtyard, faint but insistent.
By midday, Kael's body was exhausted, but exhilaration lit his eyes. A faint crimson glow lingered in his fists, unnoticed by all but Maverick.
"You have potential," Merrick remarked, licking a paw. "But potential without patience is a storm that destroys itself. Remember that, little knight."
Kael nodded, clenching his fists. "I… I will master it!"
Outside, the cherry blossoms shimmered faintly in the morning light, though no breeze stirred them. Far beyond the keep, cloaked figures lingered in the shadows, noting the child's every move.
"Blood Knight," a voice hissed, soft as silk, yet deadly, "the game begins… and we shall see if you survive it."
Maverick's tail twitched. Kael clenched his fists, unaware of the countless mysteries awaiting him—of rival clans, the empire's secret power hierarchy, and the legendary legacy his father bore.
For the first time, the Blood Knight felt the stirrings of destiny—and it was not entirely his own