One year had passed since Kael Varion's death and rebirth.
Time crawled slowly in this new vessel, each day longer than the last. A single year in an infant's body felt like a decade in a man's mind.
This is maddening.
A year… and I've done nothing but sleep, wail, and sit in diapers.
Pathetic.
Lyran Varion—Kael's new vessel—was trapped in a body too small, too fragile, too infantile for the ambitions swirling in his mind.
I need to move. I need to grow.
Every second wasted here is a second stolen from my revenge.
But this body… useless as it is… I must endure.
The chamber door opened, and a familiar presence entered.
Rose Varion.
Her beauty hadn't changed — the same flawless skin, the same dark hair cascading like midnight silk, and those eyes that could make men kneel. To everyone else, she was elegance incarnate.
To me, she was rot in perfume.
Even after a year in this helpless body, I still remembered that face.
Rose Varion. The Archmage of the Silver Court. The Empire's flower — and my brother's serpent.
In my past life, she had smiled at me like a sister, taught me mana theory, offered counsel on campaigns. I was fool enough to trust her — to believe her loyalty was to House Varion. I didn't see the poison she whispered into Seren's ear, not until the night the blades turned against me.
You always spoke of shadows, Rose. Of how every light needs one.
A laugh — bitter, silent — echoed in my mind.
I should've known you'd side with the sun...
Now she approached my crib with the same gentle smile, the same warmth she once faked when she handed me scrolls and praised my victories. My tiny fingers curled tight.
If I could move like I once did, I'd have drawn steel.
Instead, I just lay there, staring — the soul of the dead watching his murderer play mother.
Every coo, every touch of her hand made bile rise in my throat. She called me her son.
You betrayed me once, Rose. Now you've given birth to me.
Fate was cruel. But this time, I wasn't its pawn.
"Are the preparations ready, nursemaids?" Rose's voice was sharp but controlled.
"Yes, ma'am. Everything has been arranged for the Selection," replied the head attendant, bowing.
Selection.
Of course.
That ridiculous tradition.
Crawling over weapons to claim one item that supposedly defines my destiny.
And yet… it will not be random this time.
I know my target.
###
The hall of the Varion Citadel was immense. Golden chandeliers suspended like frozen suns illuminated polished marble floors etched with the family crest: a raven spreading its wings. At the center, dozens of items lay in a perfect circle, glinting under the light.
Books of knowledge, coins, grains of sacred rice… and a forest of swords.
Of course.
The swords were arranged in ranks, from Rank 1 to Rank 7, each gleaming with centuries of mastery.
Tales of elder siblings who had claimed Rank 4 and Rank 5 swords were already the stuff of legend.
The first and second sons of House Varion were prodigies, collecting high-rank blades with ease, earning accolades at court, and being groomed for greatness.
And then there was the Ancestral Sword — Rank 7 — older than the kingdom itself, sealed in the heart of the circle.
A sword no Varion had ever lifted.
A sword that carried the weight of generations.
Its name was Eclipsera —The Blade That Drinks the Dawn.
Forged before the founding of the Empire, it was said to cut both light and destiny.
Only a Varion whose will could eclipse the sun itself was fated to wield it.
For centuries, it had slept here — encased in stasis, its black edge faintly shimmering with ghostly starlight. Every heir who had approached it had collapsed from the pressure of its aura.
Even Seren Varion, my father — the strongest of us all — had failed to lift it.
He had instead chosen Solaria, the Rank 6 Sword of Radiant Kings — a golden blade that thrummed with holy brilliance, perfectly matching his nature.
The light.
And I, once, the shadow.
I still remembered my own choice from my past life.
The Rank 3 sword, Veilthorn — dull steel, unimpressive, its mana circuits flawed.
The nobles had whispered, "The loyal dog chooses trash."
And they were right — at least then.
But that so-called trash had survived a hundred battles with me.
And when the Empire burned, it was the last thing I held as I died.
Ironic.
Even the sword I chose out of humility betrayed me with its limits.
Not this time.
This time, my goal was clear.
Rank 6.
The higher the rank, the more aura it emits — and the harder it is to approach.
But I had already endured death by fire.
What's a little pressure compared to betrayal?
I could feel Seren's gaze upon me — proud, curious, unsuspecting.
How poetic.
If only he knew what soul lay behind these infant eyes.
My heartbeat slowed. My vision trembled. The air thickened with power.
Every sword in the hall shimmered faintly, their auras responding to the approach of a Varion's bloodline.
I reached out — or rather, my tiny, trembling hand moved on its own.
And then—
A chime echoed in my mind.
Cold. Absolute. Familiar.
###
[Ding!]
[New Mission Assigned.]
[Mission: Claim the Ancestral Sword "Eclipsera."]
[Reward: Shadow's Will (Grade ???)]
###
My thoughts froze.
The Ancestral Sword?
That thing was suicide. Even fully grown, I could never have approached it.
But now?
In the body of a child?
The irony almost made me laugh.
System, you've got a twisted sense of humor.
Seren Varion stepped forward, a living pillar of power. His gaze swept over the hall, resting on the items before the child.
"From this day forth, the Selection will decide the future of our youngest heir," he announced, his tone both ceremonial and commanding.
"Lyran, choose your path."
The system pulsed again.
[Proceed, Host.]
[The Shadow's fate lies in the dawn it dares to devour.]
My hand moved — small, fragile, trembling — toward the impossible blade at the center.
Toward Eclipsera.