Inside the opulent Emberclaw manor, the central meeting hall glowed with warm lamplight and the sheen of polished stone. Velvet curtains framed tall windows, and at the end of a long scarlet table sat Lord Emberclaw, his high-backed chair carved with intricate flame motifs. Behind him hung the emblem of his lineage—a flaming claw gripping a molten orb, the unmistakable mark of the Emberclaw household.
Across the table gathered the influential figures of Coeron—the Lord's Council. The tension in the room simmered like a storm waiting to break.
Two members were already deep in a fierce argument.
"What if he's a Radiant?" a middle-aged man growled. Slight wrinkles lined his face, but his anger made him seem decades older. "He has no right to dictate our children's futures in such a reckless manner!"
"Lower your voice, Alfred," the man beside him whispered urgently, panic shaking his words.
"Why should I?" Alfred snapped back. "He's a Radiant, not a god! And you—stop pretending your silence is noble. Your heir hasn't even bloomed yet!"
A sharp chill cut through the hall as Lord Emberclaw frowned, the slightest twitch enough to command silence.
"Compose yourself, Alfred," he said, voice steady and authoritative. "Your son is not the only child of a council member who will participate in the training."
Alfred clenched his jaw but slowly sank back into his seat, the anger still burning in his eyes.
Lord Emberclaw leaned back, exhaling deeply as he massaged his temple. "We have no choice. His Majesty approved. this method himself. We can only believe in our children's abilities and prepare for what comes."
At the far side of the table, Sir Anderson sat in rigid silence. A vein pulsed on his forehead—he had barely made a sound throughout the meeting. Of all the parents present, his son faced the greatest risk.
But Anderson knew better than to protest.
Stopping Alex was impossible.
The boy was driven to grow stronger—obsessed with overcoming the flaw he believed was tied to his incompleteness. Anything promising power, he would seize without hesitation.
Alfred's fury came from fear. The training had been officially approved by the king. To oppose it now was to defy His Majesty—an act dangerously close to treason in the Kingdom of Valoryn, ruled by a rank-seven Dark Sovereign, a being regarded as a demigod in every sense.
The hall fell into a heavy silence as the reality settled over everyone.
---
Coeron Arbora — Garden of Wind
In the open-air garden of Arbora, Connor Doryel moved in smooth, deliberate motions, a katana gripped firmly in his hand. Sunlight filtered through the swaying branches, scattering faint glimmers across the stone tiles below.
High above, perched on a raised stone column, his awakened relic watched him with glowing yellow eyes, like a silent guardian judging each movement.
Connor inhaled deeply.
The boy known for lively chatter and relentless energy was now quiet—as calm as a still lake.
He stepped forward and swung.
A clean arc.
A precise pivot.
Then another.
Each breath mirrored the countless lessons drilled into him by his principal. The garden was intentional—he preferred the fresh wind over the echoing halls of the training rooms. Out here, beneath the sky, he felt closer to the wind he longed to attune to once he bloomed.
Move with the wind.
Become the wind.
He mouthed the mantra silently.
Though his swings appeared serene, there was a buried intensity in every motion—a restrained fire shaped by loss.
A soft breeze brushed his cheek.
And with it came memories he had never truly escaped.
…Mom…
Dad…
Brother…
Their voices were faint now, faded by time, but the memory of the day he lost them remained crystal sharp.
The outskirts of Coeron.
The corrupted core's explosion.
Screams tearing through the air.
A monster emerging from the chaos.
His family—ordinary people with no awakened powers—shielding him despite knowing they couldn't win.
He remembered their shaking hands.
Their desperate determination.
And the blood that followed.
He remembered being pulled from the rubble by adventurers—far too late.
He remembered the orphanage.
And the stunned whispers when they discovered the truth:
A chosen seed lay dormant within him.
Connor had sworn that day to hunt down monsters.
To prevent anyone else from living through the nightmare he had survived.
But when his path finally manifested…
He wasn't a warrior.
Not a front-liner.
Not the avenger he wanted to become.
He was… a scout.
His grip tightened around the katana.
Still, he swung again—steady, relentless.
Scout or not, he would carve his own future.
The relic's eyes glowed faintly, as though acknowledging his resolve.
---
Footsteps approached from behind.
Connor halted his training and turned. His relic had already sensed the arrival and relayed it to him.
The newly bloomed Alex stepped into view, his presence sharpened by senses closer to a beast than a man, it took only a minutes to find Connor by his scent. A new pair of orange-colored boots—his freshly awakened relic—rested on his feet, shimmering faintly with power.
"I wanted to test my sword skills after blooming," Alex said, a simple tachi materializing from his storage ring. "Wanna spar?"
Connor sheathed his earlier thoughts and nodded. "Sure. I'll probably learn a thing or two."
Alex suppressed his stats to match Connor's level, then dashed forward with blade in hand.
Connor inhaled, remembering his principal's teachings. His steps became light, and he moved with speed beyond a normal human.
Their blades clashed—sharp metal ringing across the garden.
Connor initiated an overhead slash, only to shift into a feint and thrust toward Alex's stomach.
A clean strike.
Perfectly executed.
But Alex didn't fall for it.
Even without transforming or boosting his stats, his heightened senses and bloom skill—a passive ability he named 'Beastmind Premonition'—allowed him to read Connor's next three seconds move before it even began.
Alex ignored the feint entirely and swatted aside the true stab with the base of his sword.
Connor blinked in surprise.
It had been a flawless maneuver—yet Alex saw through it instantly.
He leaped back, reacting just as the principal taught him:
Always prepare for the counter.
But Alex had already foreseen that too.
Unable to redirect his blade in time, Alex lowered his stance and drove the wooden handle of his sword into Connor's stomach with controlled precision.
The spar ended instantly.
Connor stumbled back, clutching his abdomen with a pained grimace. "As expected of the Galeblade's son," he muttered before straightening, admiration and frustration mingling in his eyes.