The silver glow of dawn filtered through the jade-paneled windows of the secluded estate nestled deep within the Whispering Veil Mountains. Birds called softly from ancient trees, their melodies carried gently on mountain winds that wove through bamboo groves and over mist-covered koi ponds. A place untouched by conflict. A place designed to forget the world.
And yet, within its quiet beauty lived a contradiction.
Kael'theron Nightmare—eighteen years old, tall as an oak, built like a blade drawn from its sheath. He stood barefoot in the courtyard, shirtless, muscles glistening with morning dew as he moved through the Moonpetal Requiem—a sword technique both beautiful and deceptive.
Slow, graceful arcs.
Fluid, floating footwork.
Bladesong movements like a lullaby.
A stranger might call it a meditative dance—peaceful, serene. But the trained eye would recognize death concealed within every motion. The Moonpetal Requiem, created and perfected by Seraphyne Elarion, was a technique that lured enemies into underestimating its practitioner… until they found their heads separated from their shoulders.
Kael'theron twirled in mid-air, his black hair catching the sun. His blade whispered, not roared, cleaving a path through air so clean it sang. The final strike landed—a downward slash that shattered the morning mist around him, scattering light like fragments of crystal.
He exhaled slowly, sheathing his sword with a satisfying click.
"You're up early," came a soft voice from the archway.
He turned. There stood Seraphyne, long silver hair cascading over a lavender robe, a steaming cup of spirit tea in her hands. Her ageless face smiled gently, though her eyes, sharp as moonlight on steel, never missed a detail.
"You never sleep when the moons are aligned," she added, her tone warm but tinged with worry.
Kael'theron offered a lopsided grin. "Couldn't resist the morning air. It feels... lighter today."
"Or maybe you're getting stronger." Her eyes drifted over his form. "Again."
He chuckled and wiped his forehead with a towel. "Still only Minor Realm V of the Nascent Soul. Thirty years of cultivation in eighteen—I'd say I'm just an early bloomer."
She gave him a look. The kind that said, Don't joke about your talents. They make you a target.
"You're progressing too quickly," she said softly, voice dipping into unease. "It's not natural…"
"But I had the best teacher," he replied, walking over to steal a sip from her cup. "Mmm. Still bitter."
Seraphyne sighed and passed him his own. "I know I've said it before, but… you mustn't venture too far. Especially now. Your soul is taking form, and the world is always listening."
"I'm not a child anymore," Kael'theron said, but there was no edge in his voice—only calm acceptance, the way waves crash knowing they'll never escape the tide.
"No. You're not," she said, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. "But you're still my son."
He stilled, eyes softening. "I know."
They spent the morning walking through the garden. Spirit blossoms opened to greet them as if drawn by their aura. The koi swam closer when Kael'theron passed, his spirit energy calm and resonant. The estate was not just home—it was harmony.
Far beyond the estate walls, hidden by forest and protective formation, was the nearby Velressi Clan—a matriarchal sect known for their cultivation of beauty and spiritual elegance. Kael'theron had never been allowed to visit, though he often caught glimpses of them at festivals from afar. Seraphyne said it was "too dangerous," even if they were peaceful.
He accepted her caution. Mostly.
Because the truth was… Kael'theron had snuck out more than once. Carefully. Silently. Without even the formation alarms catching him. The Nascent Soul Realm came with more than spiritual projection—it brought refined perception. His footwork, always graceful, had become ghostlike. Now, when he concentrated, even Seraphyne couldn't hear his movement.
It had started as rebellion.
Now it was training.
He practiced slipping through her barriers undetected, weaving between spirit-sensitive pressure points in the floor, even timing his breathing with the sway of the wind. He didn't mean harm. He just… wanted to know more. About the world. About himself.
Because despite the peace, despite the love and warmth Seraphyne gave him…
Kael'theron remembered nothing of the time before her.
No family. No birthplace. Just darkness, and then silver light, her voice calling to him.
He never questioned it aloud. Seraphyne had always said: "The past does not define the soul. Who you choose to become—that is what matters."
But sometimes—when the wind howled a little too coldly, or a nightmare stirred from the void—he wondered.
---
That night, when the moon rose high and Seraphyne meditated beneath the spirit tree, Kael'theron slipped from the estate.
His steps were silent. His breath, even. His soul, calm and clouded from detection.
He crossed the spirit grove, passed the foxfire willows, and neared the edge of the forest. In the distance, faint lights shimmered from the Velressi Clan's compound. Elegant towers. Silhouettes dancing in ritual.
Kael'theron crouched, watching.
Not with lust or curiosity…
But with a strange ache in his chest.
A pull.
A whisper.
Like something was waiting.
Something deep in the world—or deeper in himself—had begun to stir.
And it would not stay silent much longer.
__________________
----------------------
°°°°°°°°°°°°°°