The heavy oak door clicked shut behind Cael as he stepped out of his father's office.
For a while, he simply stood there — eyes lowered, thoughts tangled.
The hall was quiet, sunlight spilling across the marble floors in fractured gold.
He took a slow breath, letting the silence settle.
That conversation had gone better than he expected — and far worse, in some ways. Still, a faint grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
'The third choice, huh… I can't believe I actually said that.'
As he started walking, he sensed something.
A faint shuffle — soft footsteps quickly retreating around the corner at the far end of the hall.
Cael stopped.
He stared toward the corner, expression flattening. Then he sighed. "Lily."
Silence.
He crossed his arms. "You can come out. I already saw you."
A small head peeked out from behind the wall — golden hair, green eyes wide and caught mid-guilt.
Lily stepped out sheepishly, hands clasped behind her back. "I was just… uh… checking if you were alright after meeting Father."
Cael raised an eyebrow. "Checking if I survived, you mean?"
She puffed her cheeks. "I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
Lily narrowed her eyes in mock offense, then leaned forward with curiosity. "So? Are you alright?"
"I'm fine."
Her expression froze. "Really? You're fine after talking to Father?"
"Should I not be?"
"Yes! You always look like you're about to cry after coming out of there!" she said, completely serious.
"So what did he say this time? And what's in that sack you're holding?"
Cael looked at the small leather pouch still hanging from his hand and smiled faintly.
"That's a secret."
Lily gasped, clutching her chest as if mortally wounded.
"You're keeping secrets from your own sister now? What's gotten into you today?"
Cael tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
She pointed dramatically. "First you wake up on time, then you don't beg me to console you after Father's lecture, and now this! You're acting weird!"
"Maybe I finally grew up."
Lily blinked at him. "No, impossible. Who are you and what did you do to my brother?"
Cael chuckled softly and started walking. "If you want to know that badly, ask Father yourself."
"Fine, forget it!" she huffed, but she followed after him anyway, steps echoing lightly beside his.
Her pout lingered, but beneath it was a small smile.
They passed through the corridors, the rhythmic tap of their steps filling the air.
Servants bowed as they crossed paths, eyes flicking curiously toward Cael — perhaps surprised by how composed he looked today.
As they exited into the garden, sunlight warmed their faces.
The wide courtyard stretched out before them — rows of blooming flowers, trimmed hedges, and a fountain in the center where water danced in quiet arcs.
Cael paused, taking it all in.
'It's been so long… I forgot how peaceful this place was.'
He glanced down at Lily, who was already eyeing him expectantly.
"So," she said, crossing her arms, "are you taking me to the market today?"
Cael raised a brow. "Do we really have to go today?"
Her face fell instantly. "You promised you'd take me days ago!"
He scratched his cheek, smiling apologetically. "Sorry, Lily. I can't take you today. Tomorrow— no, the day after tomorrow. I'll take you then."
"You always say that!"
"This time I mean it."
She gave him a long, skeptical stare, then softened her expression and leaned closer, giving him those big, pitiful eyes she'd perfected over the years.
"You promise?"
Cael sighed helplessly, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. "Yes. I promise."
Lily extended her pinky finger, her eyes sparkling. "Then pinky promise!"
He chuckled. "You're still doing that?"
"Of course! That's how promises work."
With a resigned smile, Cael wrapped his own pinky around hers. "Pinky promise."
Lily grinned triumphantly.
"You better not break it, or I'll— I'll never talk to you again!" She paused, reconsidering.
"No, a year... wait it's still too long. Maybe a month… no, a week! Yes, I won't talk to you for a whole week!"
Cael couldn't help but laugh. "That's terrifying."
"Don't mock me!"
"Wouldn't dare."
She frowned for a second, then laughed with him — the sound bright and pure, echoing softly through the garden.
Cael watched her, his heart tightening.
'She's just like I remember. Cheerful, stubborn, and so damn cute. Even back then, I was the only one who played with her when everyone else was busy…'
He forced himself to look away before the emotion in his chest spilled over.
Lily glanced up. "So why can't you go today?"
"Because I have something important to do."
She gave him a flat look. "Important?"
"Very."
Without warning, she pressed her palm to his forehead.
Cael blinked. "…What are you doing?"
"Checking your temperature. Maybe you're sick."
'This brat.'
A vein popped on his temple. "My temperature's fine."
"Hmm. I'm not convinced."
Before he could retort, she laughed and darted backward, running off toward the other side of the garden. "Do whatever you want! Just don't forget your promise!"
Her laughter trailed behind her, light and free.
Cael stood there, watching her go, then sighed softly. "This girl never changes."
He turned and made his way back through the halls toward his room.
Halfway there, he spotted Luna walking down the corridor, carrying a small tray of folded linens.
"Luna," he called out.
She turned, surprised. "Young Master. How can I help you?"
"I need you to make sure no one enters my room until I come out. And don't disturb me for any reason."
She blinked, puzzled. "Even during meal times, Young Master?"
"Yes. Even during meal times."
Her brows furrowed slightly, but her tone stayed respectful. "Understood."
"Good."
She bowed lightly, and he continued on, the quiet resolve in his step drawing her gaze long after he disappeared into his room.
The door clicked shut behind him.
Cael leaned back against it, exhaling slowly. His eyes traced over the familiar walls, the desk, the bed — all clean and orderly.
He crossed the room, sat cross-legged on the floor, and set the small sack of coins aside.
"Let's get started," he whispered.
Closing his eyes, he steadied his breathing. The world faded to silence.
In this world, there two kinds of people — Unawakened and Awakened.
The difference was as vast as the distance between earth and sky.
Awakened are ones who had formed a mana core — the heart of one's power — and carved pathways through their body to channel the energy that pulsed through the world: mana.
To awaken, one required more than talent or will.
They needed a Mana Cultivation Method — a precise guide to stabilize and circulate mana safely through the body.
These methods were ranked from Grade 1 to Grade 5.
The higher the grade, the more efficient the flow of mana, and the faster one could progress.
Grade 1 methods were simply basic. The foundations.
Grade 5… those were myths — whispered about, coveted, sometimes sealed away by empires.
The true problem lay in access.
Real methods were kept tightly guarded among noble houses, passed down through generations or granted to trusted retainers.
What circulated in the open market — or the black market — were mostly fakes, fragments, or tampered copies that could cripple the user for life.
The House of Winters possessed two such methods.
The first — a Grade 2 heirloom reserved for blood descendants of the family.
The second — a Grade 1 method bestowed upon loyal soldiers serving under the barony.
To the common folk, even a Grade 1 was a treasure worth a lifetime of risk.
But to Cael Winters, both were meaningless.
'These methods only make you another pawn on the board. I need to be something more.'
Every cultivation method in existence was designed for a single path — the flow of mana bound to a particular profession.
A swordsman's method refined their strikes, but would reject the structure of a spearman's.
A mage's circuits couldn't harmonize with a knight's, and vice versa.
To mix two or more paths was to invite chaos into one's body — an inevitable death sentence.
But Cael… had found a loophole.
No — he had created one.
In his previous life, through decades of battle, research, and desperation, he had studied hundreds of methods — dissecting, comparing, and merging fragments of ancient techniques thought incompatible.
After years of failure, he had done the impossible.
He crafted a method of his own — a cultivation path that transcended restriction.
It allowed one to harness mana across all professions.
Sword, spear, bow, daggers, magic, alchemy — it mattered not.
A method that defied the world's very system.
But such perfection came at a price.
The process of forming its core and pathways — the first stage of awakening — was pure agony.
Every breath was like molten glass searing through veins.
Every heartbeat tore muscle from bone.
And every moment threatened death.
That was why Cael had never shared it. Not even with his most trusted allies.
Now, sitting alone in his quiet room once more, he was about to endure it again.
'Pain… is temporary,' he thought, exhaling slowly.
'But failure lasts forever.'
And with that, he began.
Mana stirred — faint at first, then sharp, invasive. It rushed into his body like molten metal, threading through his veins. His breath hitched.
Then came the agony.
It was as if shards of burning glass carved through his flesh, digging into every nerve, every vessel. His muscles trembled violently. Blood seeped from his nose, his lips, his ears.
He gritted his teeth.
'Not again. I won't lose them again. I can't—'
The pressure intensified.
His veins bulged, body convulsing as the mana tore and rewove his insides.
The room filled with a faint humming — energy coiling and thrashing around him like a storm barely contained.
Every breath burned. Every heartbeat felt like fire.
He wanted to scream, but no sound came out.
Blood splattered the floor. His vision blurred, fading in and out between flashes of blue light and darkness.
'No… not yet. Just a bit more.'
Minutes felt like hours. Time dissolved into pain and willpower.
And then — suddenly — stillness.
Mana surged inward one final time, compressing, coalescing deep in his abdomen.
A soundless pulse rippled through him.
Light flickered beneath his skin.
Then — silence.
His body collapsed sideways, motionless.
The floor beneath him was soaked crimson.
✧✧✧
Later that day…
In the dining hall, the Winters family gathered for lunch.
Rosalie looked toward the empty seat beside Lily and frowned. "Where's Cael?"
One of the maids stepped forward nervously. "My Lady, Luna informed us that Young Master Cael ordered not to be disturbed or entered upon — even during meals."
Rosalie raised an eyebrow. "Did he, now?"
Across the table, Aldric snorted. "He's probably taking a nap. Waking up early must've exhausted him."
Rosalie turned her sharp gaze toward him. "Why do you hate him so much, Aldric?"
"Hate?" Aldric leaned back, smirking. "I don't hate him. I just don't understand why we keep pretending he's useful."
"Aldric," Rosalie warned.
"No, Mother, listen." His tone hardened. "Father and I handle the barony's affairs. Roland and Aria are at the Royal Academy studying for our house's future. Everyone contributes. Everyone except him."
He waited, daring someone to argue. No one did.
Even Lily lowered her gaze, fiddling with her spoon. Rosalie sighed quietly.
Marcus said nothing, but his sharp gray eyes studied Aldric from the corner — like a hawk watching prey that didn't know it was being hunted.
✧✧✧
The Next Morning
Light seeped through the curtains, casting faint patterns across Cael's room.
The floor was stained with dried blood.
Cael lay motionless, eyes half-open, breath shallow.
Then — a twitch.
He groaned softly, raising a trembling hand to his forehead.
His mind felt foggy. 'What was I… doing?'
He blinked at the ceiling.
'Right. I died. Then I came back. I was trying to awak—'
He froze. "Oh, shit."
Cael sat up, pain flaring through his body. He shut his eyes, focusing inward.
And there — deep within his core — something pulsed. A rhythm steady and strong.
Mana flowed through new pathways in his body, circulating smoothly like rivers of light.
He exhaled shakily, a tired smile tugging at his lips.
'It worked…'
He leaned back, letting his body rest against the bed frame, eyes drifting toward the sunlight streaming through the window.
'Finally, the first step… is complete.'
The light danced across the crimson stains on the floor, painting the start of a new dawn — one forged in pain, purpose, and rebirth.