Aurelian Valemont revealed himself to the academy not as Ren the stray, but as the son of Lucien Valemont and Elenora Lysandre. His talent assessment tied the highest rank ever recorded—SSS+—yet his overall placement fell to ninth, drawing ridicule and suspicion. Many believed him an illegitimate child of the current Valemont head, until Aurelian summoned his father's Soul Sword and his mother's Soul Bow, weapons no one knew existed. With royal purple eyes and white hair unhidden, his lineage became undeniable. Mockery turned to shock. The academy, and the world beyond it, realized a forgotten legacy had returned.
The night after the entrance exam, Aurelian did not attend the celebratory banquets.
He did not answer the summons sent by noble houses, nor the polite-but-urgent requests from academy officials who suddenly wished to "clarify records." He returned instead to his rented room—the same narrow bed, the same scarred table, the same quiet walls that had never asked him who he was.
He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his hands.
They were steady.
That frightened him more than fear ever had.
Outside, the city buzzed with rumor. Names spread like wildfire. Valemont. Lysandre. Soul weapons. SSS+. Every whispered word carried weight, expectation, consequence.
Aurelian closed his eyes.
And memory answered.
The fire crackled softly.
It was a small thing—barely more than glowing embers contained within a circle of stones—but to him, it felt enormous. Warmth spread across his hands as he held them out, fingers curled slightly, absorbing heat like a treasure.
He was very young then.
Not even five.
They were not in the cell yet—not fully. They were still running. Still moving between abandoned places, still pretending the world might let them slip through unnoticed.
Lucien sat across from him, back against a fallen pillar, white hair catching the firelight like silver thread. He was smiling—not the restrained, careful smile Aurelian would later remember from the cell, but an easy one. The kind that came from believing tomorrow still belonged to you.
Elenora sat beside Aurelian, her arm wrapped loosely around his shoulders. Her black hair fell freely down her back, and when she looked at the fire, her purple eyes reflected it so vividly that Aurelian thought they were glowing.
"This won't last forever," Lucien said quietly.
Aurelian didn't know what forever meant, but the tone made his chest feel tight.
Elenora brushed her thumb along Aurelian's sleeve. "No," she agreed. "But that doesn't mean it's meaningless."
Lucien glanced at her, then back to Aurelian. "Do you know why families exist?"
Aurelian frowned in concentration. "So… people aren't alone?"
Elenora smiled softly. "That's part of it."
Lucien nodded. "But more than that, family is memory. It's what remains when stories are taken from you."
Aurelian tilted his head. "Like names?"
Lucien's smile faltered for just a heartbeat.
"Yes," he said. "Like names."
Elenora leaned closer, resting her forehead lightly against Aurelian's hair. "One day," she said gently, "you'll hear many people tell you who you are. What you should be. What you owe."
Aurelian looked up at her. "Will they be right?"
Her expression softened, but her eyes sharpened with something fierce and protective.
"Some of them will believe they are," she said. "That doesn't make it true."
Lucien reached across the fire and placed a hand over Aurelian's small fist. His grip was warm, solid.
"When that happens," Lucien said, "you remember this moment. Not the fear. Not the running. This."
Aurelian tried to memorize it—the sound of fire, the smell of ash and damp stone, the way his parents' voices sounded when they weren't whispering.
"Who do I trust?" he asked suddenly.
It wasn't a childish question.
Both of them went still.
Elenora was the one who answered first.
"You trust those who let you choose," she said. "Anyone who tries to decide your path for you—no matter how kind they seem—will eventually treat you like a possession."
Lucien nodded. "And you trust those who stand beside you when it costs them something."
Aurelian thought about that. "Like you?"
Lucien laughed quietly. "Yes. Like us."
Elenora reached out and turned Aurelian's face toward hers, her fingers gentle but firm.
"There may come a day," she said softly, "when people claim to be your family simply because of blood or name. Titles. Houses. Expectations."
Her purple eyes held his completely.
"You are not required to trust them just because they say you belong to them."
Lucien's voice followed, steady and calm. "Family isn't who shares your blood. It's who shares your burden."
Aurelian swallowed. "What if I'm alone?"
Elenora smiled then—sad, but unbreakable.
"Then you carry us with you," she said. "Not as ghosts. As principles."
Lucien squeezed Aurelian's hand. "And you choose carefully who earns a place beside you next."
The fire crackled.
Somewhere far away, something moved—hunters, fate, inevitability—but for that moment, none of it mattered.
Elenora leaned back and laughed softly. "Besides," she said, lighter now, "you'll meet people your own age one day. Friends. Rivals. Perhaps someone who sees you not as a name, but as a person."
Lucien smirked. "Just don't trust them too easily."
Aurelian frowned. "You just said—"
Lucien chuckled. "Trust is built. Not given."
Elenora kissed the top of Aurelian's head. "And love," she added, "is chosen every day."
The fire burned low.
Aurelian leaned into them, feeling their warmth, their certainty, their presence.
He didn't know then how precious the memory would become.
Aurelian opened his eyes.
The rented room returned—quiet, dim, real.
He stood and walked to the window, looking out at the academy towers silhouetted against the night sky. Somewhere in those walls were people who shared his blood but not his memories. Somewhere were those who would claim him now that he was useful.
He placed a hand over his chest.
The Soul Sword aligned—steady, unyielding.
The Soul Bow resonated—calm, calculating.
"I remember," he whispered.
Not just their deaths.
Their words.
Their choice.
Tomorrow, he would face the Valemonts. The academy. Politics. Curiosity. Suspicion.
But tonight, he allowed himself one truth:
Family was not what he had lost.
Family was what he carried.
And no one would ever take that from him again.