The sun hung low over the endless citadel, spilling streams of golden light through the grand marble arches. Loryn stood quietly in the corridor, still replaying his father's cold words inside his mind. The air of the council chamber lingered on him like a weight — his father's voice, sharp as thunder, his eyes colder than the void itself.
He had thought that perhaps, just perhaps, his father would acknowledge his resolve.
But instead, he had been dismissed — not as a prince, not even as a son, but as someone unworthy to wield the Omni King's sword style.
"You cannot wield it, Loryn. You do not possess the power that defines it."
The words burned more than any wound could.
What power?
Why couldn't he?
He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. Ever since he was born, the golden light — that strange flicker that appeared whenever he was hurt or desperate — had been with him. He didn't know what it was. No one had told him. But somehow, it felt alive, as though it watched him, waiting for the right time.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself. The sound of soft footsteps reached him, familiar and calm — graceful enough to silence his thoughts.
"Loryn."
The voice was gentle, but it carried the weight of authority no less than the Omni King's. He turned instantly.
Standing before him was a woman with flowing golden hair that shimmered like molten sunlight. Her eyes, deep gold with glints of warmth and command, seemed to pierce straight through his soul. Dressed in a regal yet battle-fitted robe of white and crimson, she carried the air of someone who had never bowed to anyone — not even to gods.
"Mother," Loryn said softly, lowering his head.
Aurelia Lionheart smiled faintly. "So, your father refused to pass down his swordsmanship?"
Loryn blinked in surprise. "How did you—?"
She tilted her head, golden strands brushing her cheek. "I have eyes, my son, that can see every corner of this Omniverse. Did you truly think I wouldn't notice the storm that erupted in the council room?"
Loryn hesitated, guilt flashing across his face. "…I just wanted to learn. I thought if I could wield Father's blade, I could—"
"—Become worthy?" she interrupted, her tone calm but sharp. "Is that what you think makes one worthy, Loryn? Power borrowed from another?"
He froze. The weight of her words hit harder than his father's rejection.
Aurelia turned and began walking toward the edge of the balcony. The sky stretched infinitely, painted in hues of gold and blue, the very essence of creation swirling in slow spirals. Her gaze softened as she looked at the horizon.
"Your father's sword style was born from dominance," she said after a pause. "Every swing of his blade bends reality to his will. His style is meant to command the laws themselves. But your heart, my son… it's not one that commands. It's one that feels."
She looked back at him, eyes glowing faintly.
"That is why you cannot wield his style."
Loryn lowered his gaze, a storm of emotions swirling within him — frustration, confusion, hurt. "Then what am I supposed to do? Just… accept it?"
Aurelia's lips curved into a smile — not a comforting one, but the kind of smile that carried challenge and fire.
"No," she said. "You will learn mine."
He blinked, startled. "Yours…?"
"The swordsmanship of my bloodline — the Lionheart Art."
Her voice resonated like a chime across eternity. "The Omni King's path rules over the Omniverse. Mine defies it."
Loryn's breath caught. "Defies… the Omniverse?"
Aurelia stepped closer, her golden eyes gleaming with a light both beautiful and terrifying. "Yes. Our style was forged by warriors who fought against gods, who cut through fate itself. When kingdoms fell, Lionhearts stood unbroken. When the stars burned out, our blades still shone."
She turned, and with a motion almost too fast to follow, she unsheathed her sword.
A clear, resounding ring filled the air — pure and untainted, like truth itself.
The blade gleamed white-gold, its edge thin as thought, its presence vast enough to silence the world.
Loryn's eyes widened. "That sword—"
"This," she said, "is Aeterna — the blade of my bloodline. The last relic of the Lionheart family."
The wind stirred, carrying faint whispers, as if even the air remembered its name.
"They called me many things, Loryn. 'The Eternal Conqueror.' 'The Blade Sovereign.' But I was merely a survivor — the last to carry our will forward. And now…" Her gaze softened, and for the first time, there was warmth — true, maternal warmth — in her eyes.
"…I will pass it to you."
Loryn's heart raced. "But— I can't even—"
"Enough," she said firmly. "You will not compare yourself to others. You are my son. That alone means you bear the blood of warriors who conquered eternity itself."
She stepped forward and raised her sword slightly. "Do you want to learn it, Loryn Ironvale? The blade that no god has dared to defy?"
Loryn met her gaze. His hands trembled — not from fear, but from awe.
"…Yes."
Aurelia smiled. "Then stand."
---
They moved into the courtyard — a wide expanse surrounded by celestial gardens and shimmering fountains. The marble floor was cracked in places, remnants of past training battles that had likely shaken entire realms.
Aurelia stood opposite him, her sword glinting softly under the golden sun.
Loryn stood with a training sword
"The Lionheart Art," Aurelia began, "is not about strength or speed. It is about balance. It draws from emotion, from instinct, from the flame within your heart."
She moved her blade into position, elegant and fluid. "Every strike you make must have purpose. Every swing, meaning. The Lionheart sword does not cut flesh — it cuts the essence of your opponent's will."
Loryn nodded, though he barely understood half of it.
She smiled knowingly. "Don't worry. You'll understand — after you fall a few times."
The first clash came before he could blink.
Clang!
The impact sent him stumbling back, his arms shaking from the force. Aurelia hadn't even moved her feet.
"Your stance is weak," she said lightly. "Your sword hand trembles. Why?"
"I—I just—"
"Because you doubt," she interrupted sharply. "You fight as if someone must permit you to strike."
Her golden eyes flared brighter. "The Lionheart blade needs no permission."
She struck again — faster, stronger. Loryn barely parried, the impact rattling his bones. Sparks danced across the marble floor.
"Feel, Loryn! Don't think!"
He gritted his teeth, forcing his body to move. His small frame was no match for her precision, but something inside him began to stir — a faint pulse, deep and old.
The golden light.
It flickered at the edge of his vision, responding to his heartbeat.
He didn't notice it at first — but Aurelia did. Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"There it is," she murmured, her tone shifting. "The light… it answers you."
Loryn gasped, looking at his hands. The faint glow shimmered again — golden and soft, wrapping faintly around the blade.
"What… is this?" he whispered.
Aurelia lowered her sword, her expression unreadable. "That light is not mana, nor divine energy. It's something far rarer. It is what your father fears — and what the gods cannot name."
She took a slow step toward him. "That is your inheritance, Loryn. The infinite energy that runs in your veins."
He froze, the realization crashing into him like thunder.
"The golden light…" he murmured. "It's… mine?"
Aurelia smiled faintly. "Yes. But it is sleeping — waiting for you to awaken it. When you do, the Omniverse itself will change."
Her tone grew solemn, almost whisper-like. "But until then, you must learn to wield your heart before your power. Do you understand?"
He nodded silently.
"Good," she said softly, sheathing her sword. "That's enough for today."
---
They stood in silence for a while, the sky darkening into twilight. The last rays of sunlight glimmered across the broken marble, painting their silhouettes in gold and blue.
Aurelia looked down at him, her expression softening again. "You remind me of myself — before I was called a conqueror. I too was told I could not wield power beyond my birthright. I proved them wrong."
She brushed a hand over his hair. "You will too."
Loryn looked up at her, eyes glimmering. "Mother… will you teach me every day?"
She chuckled lightly. "Of course. But remember, I am not gentle like your father. My lessons will hurt."
"I don't care," he said quickly, determination in his voice. "I'll learn it."
Her eyes shone — not with pride, but with something deeper. Hope.
"That's my boy."
She turned away, gazing once more at the horizon where day met night. "Someday, the Omniverse will tremble again — not from fear, but from change. When that day comes, the world will remember not the Omni King's son…"
She looked back at him, smiling faintly.
"…but the heir of the Lionheart."
---
That night, when Loryn returned to his chamber, his arms ached and his palms burned, but his heart felt lighter than it ever had before.
As he sat on his bed, the faint golden glow returned — brighter now, swirling around his hand. He stared at it quietly.
It felt warm. Familiar. Alive.
He didn't yet understand it fully — but deep down, he knew one thing.
This light… would one day change everything.
And as the stars outside shimmered softly across the vast Omniverse, a distant echo of his mother's words lingered in his mind:
"The Lionheart blade needs no permission."