The days blurred into a gentle rhythm that Rainhart both cherished and chafed against. Spring had fully claimed the Arcboard estate, painting the yard in vibrant greens and the air with the scent of blooming wildflowers. At two years and four months old, he was still small enough that the world towered over him—chairs like mountains, the training yard a vast arena where Father's wooden practice swords whistled through the air like distant thunder. To his family, he was the adorable youngest: the one who toddled with unsteady steps, babbled half-formed words, and demanded piggyback rides from Amura with imperious little hands.
Inside, the storm had only grown fiercer.
The system interface had become his secret sanctuary. Every night, after the house settled into quiet breathing and the faint glow of wards hummed along the walls, Rainhart would lie in his crib, eyes closed, and whisper *Status* or *Eyes of Nature*. He tested limits carefully, never pushing too hard where watchful eyes might notice. His mana core remained heavily suppressed—Mother's seal held firm, leaking only that tantalizing 0.3%—but the Eyes of Nature compensated. It let him *see* without casting, observe without revealing.
He spent hours in quiet corners of the garden, pretending to chase butterflies while the skill peeled back layers of the world. Mana flows in the soil revealed nutrient cycles and hidden fungal networks feeding the roots. A fallen leaf showed its slow decay under Life and Death's dormant influence, though the skill still refused to awaken without a "true sacrifice." The smithing knowledge sat like a coiled spring in his mind: diagrams of rune arrays, tempering sequences for mana-infused steel, the precise hammer strikes that could bind essence into metal. He couldn't forge anything yet—his tiny hands lacked strength—but the knowledge burned, waiting.
Today, the family had gathered in the sunlit yard for what Mother called "light training." Amura swung a child-sized practice blade with surprising precision for a eight-year-old, sweat beading on his brow as Father corrected his stance. The twins, Lina and Luna, practiced basic spirit and healing weaves under Mother's gentle guidance, their small fingers tracing glowing sigils in the air. Rainhart sat on a blanket nearby, stacking wooden blocks into precarious towers and knocking them down with gleeful shrieks—his cover.
But his mind was elsewhere.
*Eyes of Nature.*
The world sharpened once more. Amura's swings left faint trails of fire mana, raw and eager but unrefined. Father's shadow affinity flickered at the edges of his form, reinforcing each step with draconic resilience that made the ground seem to yield softly beneath him. The twins' bond shimmered like a silver thread between them, amplifying their spells in subtle harmony.
Rainhart focused on the wooden blocks in front of him. Simple oak, yet the skill revealed their grain, the faint residual life essence still clinging to the dead wood, and even microscopic cracks where stress had accumulated. With a thought, he tried to push a tiny thread of his suppressed divine mana through his fingertips—just enough to test the smithing arts without triggering Mother's seal further.
A spark. Nothing visible. But the top block shifted slightly, its surface warming as if a rune had brushed against it. The wood didn't split or burn; instead, the grain tightened imperceptibly, strengthening the structure. His tower stood taller than before, more stable.
A small victory. His lips curved in a secret smile as he knocked it down again with a dramatic "Boom!"
"Careful, little storm," Mother called from across the yard, her ruby eyes twinkling as she caught the movement. She scooped Lina into her arms after a successful healing weave on a wilting flower. "You'll bring the house down one day with that energy."
Rainhart giggled innocently, clapping his hands. "Boom! Big boom!"
Father laughed, ruffling Amura's hair as the boy paused for water. "He's got your spirit, Luna. Maybe he'll be a mage like you instead of a swordsman."
"Or both," Amura added, wiping sweat from his forehead. "He already watches us like he's memorizing everything."
Rainhart's heart skipped. Had he been too obvious? He quickly adopted a vacant, delighted expression, reaching for a nearby dandelion and blowing its seeds into the wind. The seeds danced, and for a split second, Eyes of Nature showed him the tiny mana currents carrying them—nature's own gentle flow.
Lina toddled over, her dark curls bouncing, and plopped down beside him. "Rain, play?"
He nodded solemnly, handing her a block. As they built together, he let the skill brush over her again. Her Inversia bloodline hummed stronger today—abyssal whispers faint but present, like echoes in a deep well. The twin bond with Luna pulsed warmly. Rainhart felt an unexpected tug in his chest: genuine affection mixed with the calculated observation. They were family. His protectors, even if they didn't know the full weight of what slept inside him.
As the afternoon wore on, Father called a break. The family sprawled on the grass, sharing cool fruit juice and honeyed bread. Rainhart nestled against Mother's side, listening to the easy conversation flow around him.
"Any word from the capital about the border skirmishes?" Mother asked quietly, her fingers combing through Rainhart's silver-tinged hair.
Dane shook his head. "Nothing major. But the old dragon relics have been stirring rumors again. Some say a shard surfaced in the northern ruins. If it's true…"
Amura's eyes lit up. "Could that help awaken the blessing fully?"
"Perhaps," Father said, glancing at Rainhart with a soft, protective smile. "But not today. Today we train, we play, we grow strong together. That's enough."
Rainhart stored the information away. Dragon relics. Something to seek when he was older, stronger, free of the seal. His own Arcboard lineage itched at the mention, the latent blessing responding like a distant roar in his blood.
Later, as the sun dipped lower and the twins chased fireflies with delighted squeals, Rainhart found a quiet moment alone near the edge of the yard. A small, injured bird lay trembling under a bush—wing bent at an unnatural angle, life essence flickering weakly. No one was watching.
He crawled closer, heart pounding with both caution and curiosity. *Life and Death… still dormant.* But Eyes of Nature overlaid the bird's status in green script:
[Wild Sparrow – Injured]
Vitality: 12/45
Ailment: Fractured Wing (Severe), Internal Bleeding (Minor)
The skill pulsed, as if urging him toward the dormant power. A true sacrifice… what would that mean? He couldn't risk it yet. Instead, he reached out with the tiniest thread of divine mana he could muster, guided by the implanted smithing intuition—treating the wing like delicate metalwork, aligning bone and essence.
A faint green glow—barely visible—touched the wing. The bird cheeped softly. The fracture didn't fully heal, but the bleeding stopped, and the bone knit just enough for the creature to flutter weakly and take flight moments later, vanishing into the trees.
Rainhart exhaled, wiping his forehead. No backlash from the seal. No one had seen. Progress.
That night, after bedtime stories of ancient guardians and heroic blades, he lay in the dark, interface blooming once more.
[Rainhart Arcboard – Status Update]
Level: 1 (System Fully Activated)
Mana Core: Divine-rank (Heavily Suppressed – 0.4% Output) ← Slight increase from careful practice
Unique Skills:
→ Eyes of Nature (Lv.1 → Lv.1 +0.2 progress toward Lv.2)
→ Life and Death (Lv.1 – Dormant; Activation progress: 8%)
He smiled into the pillow. Tiny steps. Invisible growth.
Tomorrow he would "accidentally" strengthen another toy, observe more family secrets, and listen to every story Father told. The world thought him a child.
But the storm was learning patience.
And one day, when the seal cracked and thie bloodlines awakened, the Arcboard house would witness what a reborn soul with Eyes of Nature and the authority of Life and Death could truly become.
For now, though—sleep claimed the little boy with silver in his hair and galaxies in his veins, while the system hummed softly in approval.
Normal on the outside.
The storm within grew quieter, deeper, more controlled.