The manor's corridors were still echoing when Levan stepped out from the old lady's chamber.Her final words lingered in his head, sharp as a stormfront.
"Your son was born under the full moon of the Serpent year?""Yes.""Then it's a matter of urgency. Wait for me outside."
Her voice had left no room for argument.So he obeyed.
The Descent
As he moved down the staircase, the murmuring servants went quiet — all but one.
"Traitor," a man sneered from below."You think you can walk these halls again just because the Empire let you in their ranks?"
Levan's boots hit the last step, slow, deliberate.
"Bastard son," the man spat, rising from his seat."You're just like your mother — a mistake born from a night of pity."
Levan stopped.
For a heartbeat, silence.Then the air itself shifted.
A faint crackle rippled through the room, blue arcs of Ether snapping around his shoulders like ghosts of lightning. The chandeliers flickered. A portrait on the wall trembled in its frame.
The noble's smirk vanished.
Levan turned his head just enough for his eyes to meet the man's. His voice was calm, but the calm of thunder seconds before it breaks.
"My patience runs thin."
He let a sliver of aura slip free. Just enough to drop the man to his knees, breathless, eyes wide from the weight of it.
Then the storm withdrew as quickly as it came. Levan adjusted his cloak and walked past without a glance.
Outside, the courtyard was silent but alive with the hum of his men waiting. He looked up at the sky — gray clouds rolling low, faint light piercing through.
He remembered her tone."It's urgent."He didn't know why. Only that the serpent stirred for a reason.
The Courtyard
One of his soldiers approached.
"Sir, we've secured lodging in the lower quarters. We can rest before nightfall."
Levan's gaze remained fixed on the horizon.
"No need. We're leaving now."
The soldier blinked.
"Now, sir?"
Lightning cracked above them — not loud, but close.He smirked faintly.
"Now."
A gust of wind swept across the courtyard, carrying with it the scent of scales and rain.A shadow passed over them.
The serpent descended — gliding through the air as if the wind itself had turned liquid. Its body expanded as it moved, swelling to five times its former size, each scale pulsing faintly with inner light.
The soldiers froze as the creature coiled above the manor, and there — perched just above its jeweled brow — sat the old lady, her silver hair streaming in the wind.
She looked down at Levan and smiled faintly.
"Well, what are you waiting for, child? We're going."
Levan bowed his head, signaling his men to stand back.He leaped, landing lightly beside her on the serpent's crown.
And with that, the serpent turned east — toward the Light Empire.
Scene Shift — Morning in the Empire
The same dawn painted the Empire's skies gold.A gentle knock echoed through a modest chamber of polished stone and velvet curtains.
Knock. Knock.
The door opened before the sound faded.Arin Lys stood in the doorway, silver hair tied back, her armor polished but unadorned.
Inside, the young master was already dressed.His small hands tightened the straps of his gloves as he turned toward her.
"You're early," she said, raising an eyebrow.
He shook his head softly.
"You're late."
Arin smirked despite herself. Still not talking much, she thought. Just like his mother.
"Let's go then," she said. "Today, we focus on control, not strength."
They walked through the hallways, sunlight slicing through the tall windows. Maids stopped mid-step to bow, their movements quiet, practiced.
Maria, passing by with two attendants, paused and dipped her head.
"Good morning, young master."
He lifted his hand in a small wave without turning his gaze — still locked on the path ahead.
The Training Chamber
The private training room was enclosed by smooth stone and lined with weapon racks. A circle of blue runes glowed faintly on the floor — containment glyphs, designed to absorb excess Ether.
Arin gestured to a rack of wooden blades.
"Pick one."
He walked forward, fingers brushing the hilts until he chose one that felt right. Its balance was perfect — not too heavy, not too light.
Arin stepped back, her voice calm, deliberate.
"Today, you'll learn the Lightning Sword Stance — your father's signature technique."
She drew her own sword, demonstrating.Her movements were sharp but fluid, her stance grounded.
"It's not brute strength. It's rhythm. Precision. Reaction."
She shifted slightly, blade pointed forward.
"Lightning swordsmanship flows between light and heavy strikes. You generate momentum — use the weight of motion itself — and channel that force to a single point on your blade."
The boy watched silently, his small frame mirroring her stance with surprising accuracy.
"A true master," Arin continued, "can make the sword's tip stronger than the blade itself — through focus, position, and speed alone."
She lowered her weapon, studying him.
"Remember, you're not fighting to strike. You're fighting to redirect. Lightning doesn't attack — it returns."
He nodded.
Then he took a breath, steady and quiet. His feet shifted. The sword raised.And for a fleeting moment, the air stirred — faint sparks forming where none should have been.
Arin noticed but said nothing.Instead, she smiled slightly.
"Good. Again."
The first echoes of thunder rolled faintly in the far distance, unnoticed.
And somewhere beyond that same horizon, a serpent crossed the sky — carrying a blind matriarch and the storm that would soon converge upon the Light Empire.