It had been five days since his birth.
And in those five days, Lyriq Ravelline, once the forgotten soldier Augustine Mercenes, had learned something critical about this world:
Cheeks are a sacred target.
Dozens of maids had come in with twinkling eyes and adoring squeals, eager to smother the "cutest prince in the realm." But Lyriq—now far more mentally mature than his small, chubby body let on—had developed a keen defense mechanism.
The moment he saw their eyes sparkle with that "pinching intent,"he cried.
Loudly.Deliberately.Tactically.
The effectiveness was mixed. The crying always stopped the pinch.But calming him down afterward?
A nightmare.
And, as fate would have it, whenever Lyriq cried, Isabel cried too.
As if tethered by some invisible bond, the girl born just minutes after him would immediately launch into a full-throated wail the moment he did. At first, Lyriq thought it was coincidence. Then, a curse. But eventually…
"She's competing with me," he thought. "Why? What does she want from me!?"
Three years passed.
Lyriq had grown. No longer the flailing baby of the cradle, he now walked, spoke, and quietly observed the world that surrounded him. And what a world it was.
The continent was vast—fragmented into grand kingdoms and smaller subkingdoms, some so isolated they were almost myth. Wars didn't rage across the world constantly. Instead, they sparked quietly at borders—slowly claiming territories like ripples eroding stone.
He now fully understood:He had been born in Meredica, one of the greatest kingdoms on the continent—yet not the largest. That title belonged to Meredia, the so-called "Twin Kingdom," similar in name but far superior in power. And tucked deep within Meredica's borders lay their tiny, often overlooked subkingdom:
Ravelinora.
His home.
A quiet place.Peaceful, yet poor.And above all—invisible to the rest of the world.
Here, Lyriq finally confirmed the truth: magic existed.Not just in tales or legends, but real, tangible sorcery. He'd seen the glowing runes, the enchanted objects, the whispers of elemental power passed between noble hands. Swordsmanship he expected. But this? Magic?
In his past life, he'd read of it in books—fantasy tales he dismissed as distractions. But now, it was real.
Still, despite the wonder of this new world, something gnawed at him.
He was three years old, and already, he felt… ignored.
As a baby, everyone had fussed over him. But now? Now that he could think, speak, learn—he was just another child.
Zaren and Cricus had many children—ten between them.Servants and soldiers came and went. Tutors focused on the older heirs.No one noticed Lyriq unless he cried—or got underfoot.
Only Veronica, his mother, truly looked at him with warmth.
She brushed his hair, sang lullabies, told him stories of their land. She called him her "little moon." But Lyriq, in his heart, couldn't understand why love didn't feel like recognition.
In his past life, he had bled for respect.Here, he was loved. But still unseen.
One morning, Lyriq stood by the tall window of the side wing—his favorite hidden spot in the palace.
Outside, two figures sparred in the training yard.
One was his older brother, Cedric—always lively, always loud, always dreaming of knighthood. The other…
A man in black.
Stoic. Silent.He didn't even unsheathe his sword.
Lyriq leaned forward curiously. Cedric charged forward, confident and grinning. But before he could fully draw his weapon, the man moved—or perhaps didn't move at all. Just a blur. A pulse of pressure.
And Cedric collapsed to the ground, unconscious.
No one understood what happened. Not the guards. Not the maids.Not even Lyriq.
But he felt it.
A presence. An aura. Something deep, controlled, and terrifyingly cool.
He didn't even try.
Lyriq's heart beat faster. That—whatever it was—was strength.
Without thinking, he darted through the halls, down the stone steps, out into the courtyard, the sun catching his messy dark hair and soft linen clothes. His small feet kicked up dust as he rushed toward the man in black.
The man turned slowly, surprised to see a three-year-old storming toward him with a wooden sword clutched in both hands which the boy cant even carry,
Lyriq pointed at him, eyes burning.
"You! Big bully!" he shouted. "Fight me!"
The guards gaped. The servants froze.
The man in black raised a brow, his face unreadable.
Lyriq's hands trembled slightly on the wooden grip—but his feet stood firm.
"I don't care if I'm small. I don't care if I'm weak. I won't be invisible again."
He took a stance, wobbling a bit, then locked eyes with the man.
"Come on!" he barked. "Pick on someone your own size! …Or, uh, smaller!"
The courtyard fell silent.
And for the first time in his new life, someone truly looked at him.