Of course. Changing Elias's age from three to seven fundamentally shifts the tone and credibility of the scene. A seven-year-old prodigy is still astonishing, but it's more psychologically plausible and allows for more complex relationships and self-awareness. Here is the edited chapter, reflecting that change while keeping the core of Aina's character intact.
***
"On to your next lesson," Aina's voice cut through his lingering haze, flat and unyielding.
"What?!" Elias protested, his voice rough from fatigue. The profound effort of calming the turbulent Flow in his Spirit-Domain had left him mentally drained. He sank onto the garden grass, rubbing his eyes before looking up at her with a practiced, weary expression. "But Aina, I'm exhausted. Can't I rest for a bit?"
Aina's gaze, usually as impassive and steady as stone, flickered. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor ran through her slender frame.
*He's whining. Like a… little brother.*
A sharp, unexpected jolt went through her chest. Her heart, a normally disciplined metronome, stuttered against her ribs. A warmth, foreign and unsettling, spread through her. She quickly averted her gaze to a distant rose bush, her face a perfect mask of cool composure.
But internally, a forbidden thought took root.
*He looks so tired. So… small.*
A powerful, irrational urge surged within her—to ruffle his hair, to relent, to offer comfort. She crushed it instantly, clenching her hands until her nails bit into her palms. Elias saw the tension in her fists and straightened up, his playful complaint dying on his lips. He misread the gesture as impatience.
See, Aina had a secret.
She had three older sisters, all paragons of achievement. She had always been the last, the one following in their immense shadows. What she had longed for, with a quiet, persistent ache, was not to follow, but to lead. To guide. To protect someone of her own. She had always, secretly, wished for a younger sibling. Perhaps it was a flaw in her nature, or perhaps it was the latent pull of her 'Star' Trait, yearning for its own constellation.
Elias, with his too-old eyes in a young face, his frustrating cleverness, and the surprising vulnerability he hid beneath a stubborn exterior, had inadvertently become the focal point of that yearning. Every time his guard slipped, revealing the child beneath the prodigy, that carefully constructed wall around her duty threatened to develop a crack.
She forced her voice to remain level, a steel ribbon in the quiet garden. "You will have one hour. No more. Then we resume." The tone was firm, but to a keen listener, the usual glacial edge had softened by a degree.
Elias let out a long-suffering sigh, but the promise of respite was enough. He pushed himself to his feet, muttering about tyrannical tutors, and trudged toward the manor.
As his small figure disappeared through the stone archway, Aina discreetly brought a handkerchief to her nose. A single, faint spot of crimson bloomed on the white linen. These minor hemorrhages were a rare, physical tell—a sign of intense emotion violently suppressed.
She watched the empty archway, her mind shifting from sentiment to analysis. Elias's performance had been exceptional for his age. To identify and begin calming a turbulent Flow on his first conscious foray into his Spirit-Domain spoke of a formidable, innate sense of self. Her initial, secret fear—that he lacked a Trait Sigil entirely—had been put to rest. The Sigil was there, though frustratingly obscured, as if seen through a dense, swirling mist. The structure of his Domain itself was… vague. Unusually so.
*Is he hiding the details from me?* The thought was absurd. He was seven. What possible reason could he have? More likely, the nature of his Trait or the sheer density of his nascent Flow was causing the obfuscation. It would clarify with time and training.
Potential. That was the overwhelming truth. The very presence of whirlpools in his foundational Flow indicated a reservoir of power that was staggering for a child. But potential was a promise, not a protection. He carried the blood of two distinguished lines. The world would not see a boy; it would see a Mellou, a Dukker, a vessel for expectation and ambition.
*To whom much is given, much is tested.*
Her severity was not cruelty. It was the anvil upon which his strength had to be forged. She had to harden his will, sharpen his focus, and fortify his body. He needed to be resilient. Her methods were the necessary fire.
He had mastered the first gate: entering and exiting his Domain with intent. A critical foundation. Next would be refining his internal circulation, then the delicate art of external manifestation. They would start simply—teasing Flow beyond the skin, shaping it with precision. Then, the physical regimen. His body had to become a worthy conduit for the power it would one day channel. It was a long road, but she had absolute conviction in the destination.
A faint, almost imperceptible curve touched her lips as she glanced at the sun's position—a rare, private token of satisfaction. He was her charge. Her responsibility.
Her little brother.
Later that night, long after the manor had fallen silent and Elias was asleep, Aina retreated to her chambers. The door closed with a soft click, and the rigid discipline of the day dissolved. She moved to her bed, gathered a pillow into her arms, and pressed her face against its cool, soft casing.
In the sanctuary of solitude, the fantasy she forbade herself during daylight hours unfolded. She imagined not a student, but a brother. Not lessons, but games in the garden. Not a stoic nod of approval, but the freedom to openly praise him, to tousle his hair, to hear his laughter without the filter of duty or the weight of legacy. She pictured him trusting her, coming to her with problems instead of puzzles. A soft, unguarded sigh escaped her as she hugged the pillow, a single, secret moment of yearning for a simpler bond.
Across the manor, Elias stirred in his sleep. A vague, inexplicable sense of being intently watched, of being *planned for*, seeped into his dreams. He pulled his blanket tighter, a faint shiver tracing his spine, unaware of the affectionate, determined shadow that had him so firmly at the center of its world.