They called him Lucias Devoraneo Ardent, the Sword Saint of Solmir.
Duke of Ardenos.
One of the few in all history to reach the Mythic Rank of knighthood.
A man whose blade could silence a battlefield, whose faith in the god Lucitas burned brighter than the sun itself.
He was said to have cut through a thousand men alone, his sword blazing with divine radiance that reduced darkness itself to ash.
The empire worshipped him. The nobles feared him.
And I... was his son.
The man standing before me was everything this world praised devotion, strength, divinity incarnate.
And yet, as I knelt before him that day, clutching the rune of light between my trembling hands...nothing happened.
No warmth. No glow. Not even a flicker.
The sacred stone remained dim as lifeless as the silence that followed. When I opened my eyes, he was already staring down at me. Those golden pupils sharp and cold held no anger, no disappointment.
Just quiet disdain.
A saint who looked upon his own son as though he were staring at a failed prayer.
His expression was… nothing. Not disappointment. Not anger. Not even surprise. Just a cold, hollow stare that made me feel smaller than dust.
The old elder shuffled toward him, whispering something low. My father nodded once.
Then his voice calm, sharp, and echoing filled the hall.
"Very well," he said. "This is… unprecedented. It seems one of my children is not blessed with divine energy."
He paused. The silence after was suffocating.
"That," he continued, voice cutting through the air like a blade, "is something we cannot accept."
His words struck harder than any weapon. I could feel them sink into me each syllable ringing through my bones.
A soft, mocking laugh followed. Marinas. The first wife. She stood beside the throne, her smile sharp and poisonous.
"This is the first time in the history of House Ardent that a child of our blood cannot summon divine energy during the Naming Ceremony," she said sweetly. "But then again, what more could we expect from the son of a nobody?"
My mother's hand tightened on my shoulder. I said nothing.
I just looked up straight at my father, whose gaze never wavered.
"Unacceptable," he said again. "I will not let the name of Ardent be dragged through the mud by a child who can glare but cannot command the light that rules this world."
Then he lifted his hand.
The sound of steel followed immediately guards stepping forward, armor clinking, boots echoing. They moved toward my mother.
Her breath hitched.
The guards moved before I could even process what was happening. Their heavy boots echoed against the marble floor, breaking the silence like a death sentence.
"W-what are you doing?!" my mother's voice trembled soft, frightened, but still trying to sound brave. Her hands clutched me tighter, desperate, until one of the men tore me from her arms. I screamed. I kicked. But I was too small. Too weak.
Lucias' voice cut through her pleas, cold and sharp: "Enough!"
"Please, my lord" she tried to speak, but the guards seized her by the arms.
"Take her away."
Her cry echoed through the chamber, and the world fell apart again. I reached out, fingers trembling, my voice cracking from the strain. "Mom!"
The guards didn't even look at me. They dragged her toward the massive doors as her dress tore slightly at the hem, her hair falling loose across her face.
"Don't hurt him!" she cried, twisting against their grip. Her voice broke midway, yet she smiled through the tears.
That smile... I'd seen it before.
It came rushing back that other world, my other mother.
The smell of cheap medicine. The cracked walls. The coughs she tried to hide behind her palm.
Her hands fragile, thin, always shaking cupping my face.
"It's all right, Delian," she said once, her breath weak but warm. "You'll do good, even without me."
Her voice had been like the lull of rain on old roofs, soft and final. I remember crying until I couldn't breathe, clinging to her frail body as she whispered one last time:
"I love you."
I never saw her face clearly anymore just her smile. That same damn smile my new mother wore as she was pulled away. A smile to assure me that everything is fine.
But I know damn well. None of this is fine
"Mom!" I shouted again, the sound ripping from my throat like glass. She turned her head one last time. Through her tears, she whispered something I couldn't hear over the doors slamming shut.
Her eyes met mine filled with tears but still smiling. That same smile she always gave me when she wanted me to feel safe.
"My son," she said softly, voice fading as the doors began to close, "you'll be just fine…"
And just like that, she was gone.
The echo of the doors lingered, heavier than anything I'd ever heard.
I stood there shaking, silent, and utterly alone.
Ever since I was reborn, I hadn't cried. Not when I died. Not when I woke up in this gilded cage. Not when the servants whispered that I was cursed.
But now… tears fell down my face freely, burning hot.
I had lost her again.
And as I stared up at Lucias that cold, expressionless man — something dark and jagged tore through me.
Again.
The thing I loved was being taken away from me.
Just like before.
Just like always.
Then the words came out of me like venom. "If you hurt her, I'll kill you." The guards froze for a moment, uncertain, before turning toward him. To them, a mere one year old baby was threatening to kill them. It was unprecedented and maybe they didn't hear it right.
Marinas smirked, ready to spit her venom, but Lucias raised a hand. She fell silent.
And then… he grinned.
"Good," he said. "Though divineless, he is still my son."
That alone relieved the guards of course...I was an ardent they're probably thinking. I belong to the house where the impossible becomes possibles.
Then my father smile. The grin widened, and for the first time, I saw something cruel alost amused behind those golden eyes.
"If you want her back," he said, "then prove yourself. When you turn five, during the Blessing Ceremony, you will produce your divine energy. You will not bring shame to the house of Ardent."
His tone hardened.
"If you fail… you will never see her again."
The hall was silent again. I stood there, my body shaking, my throat dry. Ever since I'd been reborn, I hadn't cried once.
Not when I realized I'd died.
Not when I met Abyrion.
Not when I woke in this strange, gilded world. But now hot tears streamed down my cheeks, unrelenting. I turned. Slowly.
Lucias still stood there, the Sword Saint, my father. For the first time in this life, I hated him.
Truly, utterly, hated him.
Lucias watched me with that same cold amusement, as if studying a specimen. He had never seen a one-year-old glare with such hatred before and yet he smiled, satisfied. "He has my blood," he said aloud, as if that explained everything.
"The disappointing thing," he added softly, "is that he also has that woman's blood. It does him no good."
Marinas snickered behind her fan. The hall smelled of polished wood and perfume and something else fear.
My hands clenched before I even realized it. I looked for a knife, anything, though of course there was nothing a baby could reach. The itch in my chest tightened; the familiar cold, a hunger that had nothing to do with milk, slid along my spine. The glare I fixed on the duke felt like teeth. It felt like truth.
A guard barked, voice sharp as a spear point. "How dare you bare your fangs at the Duke!" He leveled his spear at me.
I met him with my eyes. He shuddered as if the lance had touched him. He stepped back. The way he looked at me half-fear, half-confusion made something small and feral inside me swell.
Silence closed around us. The elders shuffled. My mother's breath hitched somewhere behind me.
"Leave us," Lucias said, waving a hand.
I didn't move.
Marinas' patience snapped. "If he cannot obey, he should be whipped!" she hissed.
I bit the inside of my cheek until the taste of copper filled my mouth. I'd already screamed the promise I'll kill you a raw, stupid roar when they dragged my mother away. A one-year-old shouting threats was suspicious enough. If I said anything else now, if I let my thoughts show, they'd pry deeper. They'd notice. They'd figure it out.
So I turned. I walked away with tiny uneven steps because that's what I was supposed to do. I let the servants fuss and the guards glance back. I let the grand doors close with their heavy finality.
But under all that forced calm, something cold and steady hardened in me.
I swore it then soft and terrible as a promise whispered into a wound I would get her back.
And I would make them pay for every tear they made her shed.