The dawn came quietly.
The horizon was still painted in soft gray-blue, the faint light of the rising sun only beginning to break through the veil of night. The air was crisp and cool, carrying the scent of pine and dew through the open windows of Vaelthorn Mansion.
Kael stirred awake.
For once, he had slept deeply — no voices, no nightmares, no fragments of blood or screams. Only silence.
He blinked slowly, letting his eyes adjust to the pale light creeping into his room.
His body felt heavy, but his mind was clear.
He could feel the mana circulating quietly beneath his skin — steady, calm — but his limbs lacked strength. His stamina, still frail.
He exhaled and looked around the room. Robert hadn't come yet. The tray that usually arrived by dawn was absent. The mansion was alive below him — faint sounds of clattering dishes, voices, and footsteps moving with purpose.
He should have gone back to sleep. But his eyes refused to close.
Kael sat up, running a hand through his pale hair, and after a moment's hesitation, he pushed himself out of bed. The cold floor made him flinch slightly. His gaze turned toward the balcony.
The sheer curtain swayed softly with the wind.
He walked to it and pulled the fabric aside, sliding open the door. The chill of morning air brushed against his face, awakening his senses.
From the balcony, he could see the world stirring — servants gathering supplies, guards changing shifts, the faint rhythm of the estate coming alive beneath the rising sun. The smell of bread baking from the kitchens reached even this far up.
For a brief moment, Kael felt… peace.
Then his gaze shifted — toward the sword resting against the side of his bed.
The dark blade reflected the faintest shimmer of gold from the sunrise.
It had been too long since he last touched it. Too long since the Demon Cult's attack. His fingers flexed unconsciously, remembering the weight, the familiarity of the hilt, the strength that once came so naturally to him.
He looked down at his hand — pale, thin, but still steady. He clenched it into a fist.
If he was ever going to recover fully, he would have to start again — from the beginning.
The thought was quiet, but resolute.
He walked back to the sword, letting his fingers brush along its edge before lifting it. The weight felt the same — not heavy, but alive. The faint hum of mana pulsed through the metal like a heartbeat, responding to his touch.
He exhaled. "...Perhaps a little practice," he murmured under his breath, though his voice was so soft that even the wind barely caught it.
Without waiting for Robert, Kael pulled on his outer shirt and shoes. He slung the sword across his back, stepping out of his room with measured quietness.
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By the time he reached the courtyard, the sun had fully risen.
The Vaelthorn training grounds were already busy. Rows of guards sparred against each other, their swords clashing under the morning light. The air smelled faintly of steel, sweat, and earth.
Kael stopped near the archway leading into the field, unsure for a moment. The rhythmic sound of training filled his ears. The guards moved with discipline and precision — it reminded him of his days at the Imperial Barracks, years ago.
Several heads turned. The quiet that followed was almost immediate.
The soldiers froze mid-swing, murmuring to one another in disbelief. The figure standing at the gate — pale hair, crimson eyes, a face long thought lost to history — was unmistakable.
Kael hesitated. Then, taking a breath, he stepped forward.
The men quickly bowed. "My lord," they greeted in unison, their tones filled with surprise and reverence.
Kael's gaze swept over them, then landed on the man who appeared to be their instructor — a middle-aged officer with gray streaks in his beard and a long scar across his cheek.
Kael approached him. His expression was calm but resolute.
"Can you teach me too?"
His voice was quiet but firm — steady enough that it left no room for refusal.
The instructor blinked, stunned for a moment. He looked at the men, then back at Kael. Whispers rippled through the ranks, uncertainty mixing with awe.
Finally, the instructor straightened and gave a small, respectful smile. "It would be an honor, my lord."
He gestured for one of the guards to bring a practice sword. "We'll start with something light. Your blade is too heavy for training — use this instead."
The guard hurried forward, offering Kael a wooden sword. Kael accepted it, glancing down at the simple weapon, then at his own sword. Without a word, he handed his blade to the guard, who took it carefully as though holding something sacred.
The training began.
At first, there was hesitation — from the soldiers, not Kael. None of them dared to move too quickly, as though afraid to offend him. But Kael's focus never wavered. His movements were slower than before, yes, but deliberate — his form still perfect, his control precise.
He mirrored the instructor's stance, his body remembering what his mind had forgotten.
Steel or wood — the weapon didn't matter. The sword was a part of him.
As the sun rose higher, a faint flush of color crept into Kael's pale face. His breathing quickened slightly. The instructor corrected his form once or twice, but Kael caught on quickly, his movements adapting as if instinct guided him.
By the time they finished the first set of drills, even the instructor looked quietly impressed.
"Your form hasn't changed at all, my lord," he said softly, almost in awe. "It's as if the blade itself remembers you."
Kael didn't respond — he simply gave a faint nod, setting the wooden sword aside. The soldiers around him murmured quietly, respect replacing hesitation.
For a moment, Kael simply stood still, his gaze lifted toward the sky — a mix of exhaustion and strange relief washing over him.
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Meanwhile, at that same hour, Robert climbed the stairs toward Kael's quarters with his usual morning tray.
Today's breakfast was heavier than usual — roasted meat, eggs, and a special blend of herbs meant to build strength. Under Elric's strict orders, he was determined to make Kael eat even if it meant coaxing him through every bite.
He knocked gently, as he did every morning. "Young master? It's me. I'm coming in."
He waited for a moment. No answer.
Assuming Kael was still asleep, he turned the handle and stepped in quietly. "Forgive my intrusion," he murmured.
The moment he entered, he froze.
The room was empty.
The bed was made neatly — the blanket folded, the pillow perfectly aligned. The breakfast tray in his hands trembled slightly as he looked around.
"...Young master?"
No reply.
Robert placed the tray down and quickly searched the room. He checked the wardrobe, the adjoining bath, even behind the curtains — though the notion was absurd. The bed was cold to the touch.
His heart began to race. "No, no, no…" he muttered under his breath, a rare crack in his calm composure.
Then his eyes darted to the corner where Kael's sword usually rested. It was gone.
Robert's breath caught. "He wouldn't…"
But he knew Kael too well.
Panic surged through him as he hurried out of the room, his footsteps echoing down the corridor. "Guards!" he called, his voice carrying across the hall. "Search the grounds. Find Lord Kael immediately!"
The servants nearby stopped, startled by the urgency in his tone.
Robert didn't wait for their response — he was already heading toward the courtyard, fear gnawing at the back of his throat.
Because deep down, he knew Kael wasn't in danger from others.
He was in danger from himself.
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Kael paused mid-step, his wooden sword lowered, the faint sound of heavy footsteps and raised voices echoing across the courtyard.
From beyond the training ground's archway, he could hear it clearly — Robert's voice, loud and panicked, shouting his name again and again.
"—Young master Kael! Where are you?!"
The guards stopped what they were doing, turning toward the sound. The instructor straightened immediately, sensing that whatever peace had existed in their quiet training session was about to end.
Robert's voice grew closer, his hurried footsteps accompanied by a few worried servants following behind. The young butler's voice cracked between exasperation and pure panic. "Young master! Answer me!"
The instructor, confused but still formal, glanced toward Kael. "My lord," he said cautiously, clearing his throat. "Forgive me for asking but… did you perhaps come here without informing Lord Robert or Lady Elric?"
Kael said nothing. His breath was steady despite the exertion. Sweat dampened his hair, and one of the guards quickly offered him a clean towel, bowing as he did. Kael took it wordlessly, wiping the sweat from his neck and collar before resting it over his shoulder.
Then he heard Robert.
"YOUNG MASTER!"
Robert burst into the training courtyard like a storm. His usually composed face was flushed red, his chest heaving from the sprint. The tray he'd carried earlier had been left somewhere along the way, probably discarded in panic.
Every guard and soldier froze. The former prince, the composed right hand of the Duchess, looked like he was about to explode.
Robert's eyes found Kael immediately — standing in the middle of the training ground, wooden sword in hand, expression calm and utterly unapologetic.
Robert pointed at him, half in disbelief, half in horror. "What—what are you doing here?!"
Kael blinked slowly, then glanced at the towel on his shoulder. He didn't answer.
Robert strode closer, words tumbling out between gasps of breath. "You shouldn't start sword training yet! Not without my supervision—what if you faint again? What if you collapse in the middle of the courtyard?!" His voice cracked with worry more than anger. "Do you want me to die of heart failure at twenty?!"
Several of the guards glanced at each other uncertainly, trying (and failing) not to laugh. The sight of Robert — the famously composed attendant — scolding the quiet Hero like a frantic mother hen was something none of them had ever imagined.
The instructor stepped forward quickly, trying to diffuse the tension. "Lord Robert, please," he said carefully. "We were only doing light drills. No mana circulation training, no heavy forms. His lordship only requested to learn the basics to build stamina—"
Robert threw him a look that silenced him mid-sentence. "Light drills?! Light drills for him means he'll collapse in an hour! You don't understand, he doesn't know how to rest!"
Kael remained quiet throughout the entire outburst, his expression unreadable. He simply looked at Robert, then down at the ground.
He understood that Robert was right — he had left without telling anyone. He had worried about him. But if he'd asked permission, Robert would never have let him come.
So instead of replying, Kael took a quiet step back, his gaze turning to the instructor as though silently asking to continue training. Then, without a word, he walked to stand behind him, out of Robert's direct path — the silent equivalent of avoiding confrontation.
The soldiers watching nearby barely contained their amusement.
Robert froze mid-lecture, his voice caught in his throat as Kael — his dignified, composed master — deliberately avoided him like a misbehaving child caught sneaking out.
For a brief second, silence. Then Robert's face twitched.
"Young master!" he exclaimed, striding forward again.
Kael turned away slightly, his expression stoic, but his pace quickened.
Robert's jaw dropped. "Don't you walk away from me!"
The soldiers' composure finally broke. Several of them turned aside, muffling their laughter behind hands or weapons. The instructor himself pretended to clear his throat, though his shoulders trembled.
Kael kept walking. Robert chased him through the practice yard, his coat flying behind him, his voice a mix of indignation and panic.
"Young master, stop this instant!"
Kael did not. His steps were even, graceful, almost regal — except for the faintest hint of haste.
It was absurd.
It was human.
And for once, it was normal.
From the corridor above, Elric stood near the balcony overlooking the training yard.
She had come to check the morning patrols — and ended up witnessing Robert running after Kael like a desperate older brother, while half the guards looked on with stifled laughter.
For the first time in weeks, a genuine smile broke across her face.
"What in the world…" she murmured, a soft laugh escaping her lips. Her eyes followed the pair below — Robert still scolding, Kael ignoring, the guards caught somewhere between fear and amusement.
"Robert's going to lose his mind," she whispered, still laughing.
Her laughter was quiet but warm — echoing softly down the stone halls of Vaelthorn Mansion, where for a fleeting moment, the burden of nightmares and prophecy was replaced by something far simpler.
A boy and his guardian, both alive, both still learning how to live.