DARIUS LUDIN'S POV:
Ah, my boy. My little Virel.
Just thinking about him makes my chest swell with pride.
You'd think after years of battling evil beasts and crawling through the worst parts of the Beast Planes, I'd be numb to most emotions but the day he was born, I felt something I hadn't in decades: fear.
Not fear of death or monsters. Fear of breaking the tiny, fragile thing cradled in my arms.
He was so small back then, smaller than my sword's hilt, with that light blue hair and those blue eyes that seemed to glow faintly when the light hit them right. The first time he opened his eyes, I swore he looked at me like I'd disappointed him already. Maybe that's how I knew he was my son.
"Selene," I said that day, "we're raising a warrior."
She only laughed and told me I was insane. Said he'd be a scholar, or a healer like her. But no, no I could feel it in my bones. Ludins were born to fight.
I just had to make sure he got my determination… and not his mother's temper.
---
Even after we settled down, my hands itched for a sword. Life in the fields or behind a desk was dull. The kind of dull that eats at a man's spirit. I'd spent half my life in the Beast Planes hunting, fighting, bleeding and I thought I'd miss it less once we retired.
But every time I swung my old sword at the training dummy behind the house, every time I felt the wind push back against the blade, a part of me still felt alive. And I couldn't help but think: one day, I'll teach my son what real battle feels like.
Selene always caught me muttering that.
"Darius," she'd scold, "he's just a child. You can't teach a baby to swing a sword."
"Just letting him hold one wouldn't hurt," I'd say.
She'd glare. "If I see him holding a sword before he can tie his shoes, I'll heal you just to hurt you again."
Ah… my lovely wife.
---
Selene was always the smart one between us. Still is. She used to work as a healer in the Adventurer's Guild the same place where we met. I was a reckless idiot back then, running headfirst into danger for gold and glory. The first time I met her, I'd just come back from a raid in the eastern Beast Planes, bleeding out with a hole through my shoulder. And there she was, scolding me while patching me up.
"You're lucky," she said, "that your stupidity didn't kill you before the beast did."
I fell in love right there.
After that, I made sure to visit her every time I got a scratch, even if it was just a paper cut. She caught on quick, of course, but by then it was too late. I was already in too deep.
---
These days, life is calmer. But when I see Virel watching me train through the window eyes wide, trying to imitate my stances with a stick i get that same rush I used to feel before a fight. It's strange… the older I get, the more I want him to live a peaceful life, yet I also want him to learn what it means to fight.
It's not about war. It's about will.
Still, I can't deny a worry that's been eating at me since the doctor's visit.
A broken mana core.
One in a million, they said.
Can't use magic. Can't even sense mana.
To most people, that'd mean a crippled future.
But not for my son.
Mana is power, sure, but it's not everything. I've met enough "gifted" mages who screamed the moment blood touched their hands. Power without grit means nothing. And if Virel can't use mana, then he'll just have to become a sword strong enough to cut through those who can.
Still… I won't lie. A part of me prays every night that maybe, just maybe, they were wrong that one day he'll awaken, feel mana flow through his veins, and show the world what it means to be a Ludin.
---
I used to tell him stories about the old days, about the Beast Planes and the monsters that lived there.
Creatures that could swallow carriages whole, beasts whose roars could shake the trees loose. All of them had magic cores pulsing within their bodies bright, glowing stones that carried pure energy. Those things could power weapons, enhance armor, even heal wounds. Hunters and adventurers risked their lives for them, and back then, I was no different.
But no matter how many cores we brought back, or how many beasts we slew, there was always something darker waiting deeper inside the planes. Places that even seasoned adventurers avoided.
There were stories rumors of creatures that spoke, that mimicked voices, that remembered faces. I used to think they were just myths until I saw one blink back at me from the fog.
Selene always hated when I told those stories. Said they'd give our son nightmares.
But I wasn't trying to scare him. I wanted him to understand that courage isn't about not being afraid it's about walking into the dark anyway.
---
When adventurers awaken, you can always tell what kind they'll be.
Enhancers those who strengthen their bodies emit a repelling wave when their mana awakens. Their bodies push the energy outward, a sign their strength lies in motion and muscle.
Manifesters, on the other hand, pull mana inward, forming a vacuum of stillness. They command the flow, shaping it to their will.
I remember when I awakened. I was twelve. I fell asleep in the guild barracks, and the next thing I knew, I was floating half a meter off the ground. Poor Selene thought I'd been cursed.
Turns out, I was just special. Heh.
Virel's time will come too, even if his path's a little different.
I'll make sure of it.
---
He's quiet, more than most kids his age. Always reading, always thinking. Sometimes I catch him sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, like he's meditating. It reminds me of those monks in the northern mountains, except he's five and probably just pretending.
Still, there's something in him something old, something sharp. When he looks at me, it's not like a child looking at his father. It's like… a swordsman judging another swordsman.
Maybe it's my imagination. Or maybe he really does have my blood.
Whatever the case, I'll train him. Whether he's an Enhancer or a boy with a broken core, I'll raise him to stand tall, blade in hand, heart unshaken.
Because even if the world turns its back on him, he'll have me and a sword doesn't need magic to cut.