Six years had passed in the blink of an eye, and with our sixth birthday came new responsibilities that would shape the course of our lives. The carefree days of childhood were drawing to a close, replaced by the structured education expected of noble heirs.
"Lancelot, Celia," Mother's voice carried its usual authority as she addressed us over dinner, the crystal chandelier casting warm light across the polished dining table.
"Yes, Mother," I replied evenly, while beside me, Celia practically vibrated with barely contained excitement.
Mother set down her fork with deliberate grace, dabbing at her lips with an embroidered napkin. Every movement she made was refined, calculated—the product of decades of noble training and battlefield experience.
"You'll both begin etiquette training," she announced, her crimson gaze moving between us. "And if you wish, you may start learning a weapon and training in mana, now that you've both awakened."
The mention of mana training sent a thrill through me. Unlike Earth, where mana had been a foreign force introduced by the Towers, this world's magical energy felt natural, integrated into the very fabric of existence over countless generations. Every person born here possessed a mana core, though few could truly master its potential.
I'd spent considerable time these past years understanding this world's power system. The mana cores developed through eight distinct stages, each marked by a different color: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet, and finally white. Most people remained stuck at red or orange their entire lives. Those who reached yellow were considered talented, while blue and beyond marked true prodigies.
Both Celia and I had awakened our cores recently, but I'd already managed to purify mine to the orange stage. The techniques from my previous life, combined with this world's more stable mana environment, made the process surprisingly straightforward. Celia remained at red, though her enthusiasm more than made up for any lack of immediate progress.
"I want to learn the sword!" Celia exclaimed, her eyes sparkling as she bounced slightly in her chair. "I want to be just like you, Mama!"
Mother's expression softened, pride and affection warming her usually composed features. She turned to me expectantly. "And you, Lance?"
I met her gaze steadily, my decision already made. "The sword as well, Mother."
The words carried more weight than anyone in this room could understand. In my previous life, I'd dedicated years to mastering the blade, reaching heights that no other human had achieved. I'd become the strongest swordsman on Earth, capable of techniques that bordered on the supernatural.
And it still hadn't been enough.
The memory of Ozyrokth's overwhelming power flashed through my mind—that terrible moment when I realized the vast gulf between us, despite everything I'd accomplished. My sword techniques, perfected through blood and countless battles, had been utterly insufficient against that alien monstrosity.
'This time will be different,' I thought, my grip tightening slightly on my utensils. 'This time I'll surpass even those heights. I'll find a level of mastery that goes beyond what I achieved before.'
It wasn't arrogance driving this decision—it was necessity. This world had its own dangers, its own powerful enemies lurking in the shadows. If I wanted to protect my family, if I wanted to ensure I never experienced that crushing helplessness again, I needed to become stronger than I'd ever been.
Mother raised an eyebrow at my choice. "The sword? I assumed you might choose something different, given your... unique perspective on things."
"The sword calls to me," I replied simply, keeping my true motivations hidden. "I feel drawn to it."
'More than drawn,' I added silently. 'I need to reclaim what I lost and push beyond it. The sword is my path—the only path that makes sense.'
A smile crossed Mother's face, genuine and warm. "Of course. The Grand Duchy of Silvaria has always been renowned for its swordsmanship. Having both my children follow that tradition... it pleases me more than you know."
"Will we learn together?" Celia asked, practically bouncing in her seat.
"That depends on your instructors," Mother replied. "I've already made arrangements for the finest teachers. They should arrive within three days."
The mention of instructors piqued my interest. In my previous life, I'd been largely self-taught, learning through trial and error in the deadly environment of the Towers. Having access to structured training from the beginning—especially training designed for this world's unique mana system—could accelerate my progress significantly.
After dinner, Celia predictably dragged me to her room for what she called "important sibling bonding time." This usually involved elaborate tea parties with her collection of dolls, complete with complex storylines that seemed to change every few minutes.
"Lady Rosalind thinks Sir Fluffington is very handsome," Celia declared seriously, holding up a porcelain doll in an elaborate dress. "But Sir Buttons disagrees because he has feelings for her too."
I nodded gravely, playing my assigned role as Duke Theodore, a stuffed bear who apparently had strong opinions about matters of the heart. "Perhaps Sir Buttons should challenge Sir Fluffington to a duel for Lady Rosalind's affections."
"Ooh, yes! A duel!" Celia's eyes lit up with delight. "With swords! Just like we're going to learn!"
Despite the childish nature of our game, I found myself genuinely enjoying these moments. In my previous life, such simple pleasures had been impossible. Every moment had been overshadowed by the constant threat of Tower invasions, the weight of being humanity's last hope crushing down on my shoulders.
Here, I could simply be a brother playing with his sister, worrying about nothing more pressing than whether Sir Buttons or Sir Fluffington would win their imaginary duel.
'This peace won't last forever,' I reminded myself as Celia continued her elaborate narrative. 'There will be challenges ahead—political intrigue, powerful enemies, threats I can't even imagine yet. But for now, I can afford to enjoy these moments while preparing for what's to come.'
The thought of future training filled me with anticipation. I'd start from the fundamentals again, but this time with the advantage of experience and a deeper understanding of combat principles. This world's integration of mana into swordsmanship would open entirely new possibilities, techniques that had been impossible on Earth.
'I wonder what level I can reach,' I mused, watching Celia orchestrate an increasingly complex drama between her toys. 'On Earth, I was limited by human physiology and the chaotic nature of Tower-introduced mana. Here, with a stable magical system and a body that's been exposed to mana since birth...'
The possibilities were intriguing. Perhaps I could develop techniques that combined the martial mastery of my previous life with this world's more refined approach to magic.
__________________
Moonlight streamed through the tall windows of Eleanor's private study, casting silver patterns across the ornate carpet. The Grand Duchess stood silhouetted against the glass, her silver hair gleaming like spun starlight as she gazed out at the duchy's sprawling grounds. Behind her, two figures waited in respectful silence.
Harland, the elderly butler who had served the Silvaria family for over three decades, maintained his characteristic perfect posture. Iron-grey hair framed a weathered face marked by unwavering loyalty, while sharp eyes that had witnessed the rise and fall of noble houses watched his mistress with concern. His dry wit and fierce protectiveness toward the household had made him indispensable over the years.
Beside him stood Mara, the head maid whose gentle demeanor concealed a will of iron. Her chestnut hair was pulled back in a practical style, and kind eyes held depths forged by trials that had shaped her from minor nobility into one of Eleanor's most trusted servants. She managed the household with meticulous care while showing genuine affection for the twin heirs.
"How are they?" Eleanor's question broke the comfortable silence, her tone softer than the commanding voice she used in court.
Harland exchanged a brief glance with Mara before stepping forward. "Both young master and young miss continue to exceed expectations, Your Grace. Master Lancelot, in particular, displays remarkable maturity and intuition."
Eleanor's crimson eyes softened with pride. She had noticed Lance's unusual perceptiveness—the way he observed everything with an intensity that seemed far beyond his years. Sometimes, when she looked into his eyes, she felt as though she were speaking with someone much older, someone who had experienced things no child should know.
"There's something almost... mature about him," Mara added thoughtfully. "He carries himself differently than other children. And his mana development..."
"Orange stage at six years old, and more than that, his core is nearing Yellow stage as well," Harland finished. "Such advancement is virtually unheard of, Your Grace."
Eleanor nodded slowly, her thoughts turning to the implications. Lance's rapid development was both a blessing and a potential complication. Power attracted attention, and attention from the wrong quarters could prove dangerous for a child so young.
"Both children show promise, though in different ways," she mused aloud. "Celia has natural charisma and boundless energy—she'll make friends easily and inspire loyalty. Lance displays strategic thinking and focus that rivals some of my advisors."
The weight of unspoken decisions hung heavy in the air. As much as Eleanor wanted to simply enjoy watching her children grow, the political realities of their position demanded constant vigilance. The Grand Duchy of Silvaria held significant power within the empire, and her choice of heir would have far-reaching consequences.
"The question of succession grows more pressing each day," Harland said carefully, his voice carrying the weight of years of political experience. "The other noble houses grow increasingly curious about Your Grace's intentions. Some have begun making subtle inquiries."
Eleanor's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. She had been dreading this conversation, though she knew it was inevitable. "Both children deserve equal opportunity to prove themselves. I won't be rushed into naming an heir based on outdated traditions."
"Of course not, Your Grace," Mara agreed. "But the pressure will only increase as they grow older and their abilities become more apparent."
The truth was more complex than Eleanor cared to admit, even to her most trusted servants. By law, either twin could inherit, regardless of gender. But tradition favored male heirs, and Lance's extraordinary talent made him the obvious choice in many eyes.
More troubling still was the Emperor's own situation. In such times, powerful duchies like Silvaria became focal points for political maneuvering.
"There's another consideration," Eleanor said quietly, turning from the window to face her servants. "Lance's rate of development may draw unwanted attention from the capital. Prodigies have a way of becoming... political assets."
Both Harland and Mara understood the implication immediately. The imperial court was notorious for its schemes and power plays. A child with Lance's potential could easily become a pawn in larger games, regardless of his parents' wishes.
"We'll need to be careful about how much information reaches outside the duchy," Harland said grimly. "Perhaps it would be wise to... moderate reports of his progress."
Eleanor nodded. "Agreed. And we'll need instructors who can be trusted completely. No court connections, no divided loyalties."
She moved to her desk and withdrew a piece of parchment, scanning the names she had carefully selected. "I've made arrangements for their training. The sword master arriving in three days has... particular qualifications that should suit our needs."
Harland's eyebrows rose slightly as he read the first name on the list. Even his composed exterior couldn't completely hide his surprise. "Your Grace, this instructor... are you certain?"
"Completely," Eleanor replied, her voice carrying steel beneath the silk. "Lance and Celia will need more than conventional training if they're to navigate what lies ahead. They'll need teachers who understand the true nature of power."
Mara studied her mistress's face, reading the determination there. "Whatever you decide, Your Grace, you have our complete loyalty. The household stands behind you and the young masters."
"As it has always been," Harland added with a formal bow. "The Silvaria name will endure, regardless of the challenges ahead."
Eleanor felt a familiar warmth at their unwavering support. In a world where allies could become enemies overnight, having people she could trust absolutely was more precious than any treasure.
"See to the arrangements," she instructed, handing the list to Harland. "And maintain discretion about the children's progress. The less the outside world knows about their true capabilities, the safer they'll be."
As her servants bowed and departed to carry out her orders, Eleanor returned to the window. Somewhere in the residential wing, her children were probably asleep, dreaming of sword lessons and adventures to come. They had no idea of the weight already settling on their young shoulders, the expectations and dangers that came with their bloodline.
'I'll protect them as long as I can,' she promised silently. 'Give them the strength and skills they'll need to protect themselves when I'm no longer able to shield them from the world's cruelties.'
The moonlight cast her reflection in the glass—a woman still young but bearing the gravity of enormous responsibility. The silver hair that marked her Silvaria heritage gleamed like a crown, and her crimson eyes held depths of determination that had carried her through countless trials.
Whatever storms were coming, Eleanor von Silvaria would ensure her children were ready to weather them.