Yohan had never been an openly affectionate father—truthfully, he had never been an affectionate man. It wasn't because he lacked love or did not care. Quite the opposite. He cared so deeply that it frightened him. But the problem was simple: he did not know how to show it.
Raised beneath the cold iron discipline of the Sephera household, Yohan grew up surrounded by expectations rather than warmth. From a very young age, success was demanded, excellence was mandatory, and emotion was a weakness to be cut out like rot.
After his own Ceremony—when he was acknowledged by the Book of Icor and received a prodigious talent—he didn't celebrate. He buried himself deeper into training. He chased power like a man possessed. To him, affection was not given through words or embraces; it was demonstrated through relentless effort and sacrifice. Why rest, when he could become stronger for their sake? Why waste time with softness, when he could carve a path for his family with sheer will?
They had once called him "The Madman of Sephera"—a title he was not entirely undeserving of. He cared for nothing but magic, locking himself away for days, even weeks on end, scribbling furiously through tomes and spellbooks. His obsession with the legendary Reshein Rock Theory, one of the most complex and incomprehensible sorceries known to man, consumed him. He shut out food, sleep—even sunlight.
Until he met Hera.
She was everything he was not.Where he was quiet, she was impossibly loud.Where he was composed, she was chaos incarnate.She burned brighter than the sun—laughing too much, speaking too fast, carrying a liveliness no cage could hold.
She never demanded his affection, but she respected his efforts—always standing proudly beside him without once asking him to change. In his eyes, she was special beyond words, and the fact that someone like her could love someone like him was something Yohan never fully understood.
He wanted desperately to return that warmth to her… but before he could learn how, duty called him to the battlefield. He was gone for months—long enough for rumor to claim he might never return.
But he did return.Tired. Hardened. Alive.And waiting for him was Hera—still smiling like a wildfire.
Not long after, their first child was born.
Yohan, exhausted yet overwhelmed, held the tiny bundle in his arms and then looked at his brilliant, unstoppable wife. The child's eyes glowed faintly with life, filled with the same spark Hera carried.
He named the boy Ether—after Etherite, the bright, pulsing catalyst stone used to empower the greatest of magical spells.
From the moment Yohan first held Ether in his arms, a new desire had taken root deep inside him—one far stronger than his thirst for knowledge or glory. He wanted just one thing: to make his family proud… and to give them the happiness he himself had never known.
Two years later, their second child was born—a bright, giggling girl whom Hera named Elisha. The moment he saw her tiny fingers curl around his thumb, something sparked inside Yohan again. It did not make him softer… if anything, it made him work even harder. He pushed himself beyond reason, convinced that if he became the strongest mage in the empire, then his children would one day look upon him with pride in their eyes.
And yet, even as his name rose to be spoken alongside ancient sages, in the realm of emotion… he was still just a child. Powerful beyond belief in magic—helpless and clumsy when it came to love. A hero in the eyes of the world, yet still a man who did not know how to hold his son without feeling awkward.
As Ether's ceremony approached, a dreadful possibility began to dawn on him: What if his son didn't possess the same talent? What if the Book judged him unworthy?
"Talent" itself didn't matter to Yohan. He knew with absolute certainty that regardless of the result, he would love Ether the same.
But he was afraid. Because he also knew his son looked up to him—idolized him—and the world was cruel. The nobles would compare Ether to his father. They would whisper: 'The son of the great Duke Yohan… and this is all he is?' Those whispers could become knives in a child's heart.
And as the day of the ceremony arrived, even the man once called the Madman of Sephera felt a fear unlike any he had ever known on any battlefield.
And so the ceremony began.
Yohan stood at the emperor's right side, hands clasped behind his back, back straight and expression unreadable—the image of a perfect duke. One by one, the noble children were called forward in accordance with their rank, each placing their hand upon the sphere as their fates were judged by the Book of Icor.
Then came the name that caused a ripple across the hall:
"Sara of the Barony Jorem."
Yohan's gaze sharpened.
The Barony of Jorem was led by Rinnar, a man Yohan respected deeply—once his comrade on the battlefield and now his most trusted right hand. Rinnar had often come to him in private, awkward and uncomfortable, asking for advice on how to raise his daughter. Yohan had always felt unqualified to answer—what wisdom could he, a man who barely knew how to speak gently to his own children, possibly offer about parenting?
He remembered how Rinnar had once confided that his daughter was "different"—strange, detached, unnaturally calm. At the time, Yohan had not understood the true depth of his friend's concern.
Now he did.
Watching Sara ascend the platform with that unsettling, regal grace, Yohan understood exactly why Rinnar had been so afraid.
And when her evaluation was announced—those near-perfect scores, that overwhelming talent—Yohan felt something strange stir inside him. Awe… and opportunity.
His instincts as a mage flared awake.
I must take that child as my student.
The idea struck him with the clarity of lightning. He could sense it—the spark of brilliance, the makings of a true prodigy. His affection for magic compelled him toward her, not as a duke, nor even as a comrade's friend—but as a mage, longing to guide such potential. He wanted to watch her grow… to shape her into a genius worthy of reshaping the world of magic itself.
And then came his son's turn.
As Ether of the Duchy of Sephera was called forward, Yohan felt a tangle of emotions coil in his chest—pride, anticipation… and a fear so deep it almost made him step back. He wanted to see his son's results. At the same time, a whisper in his heart begged the world to be kind.
It wasn't.
The runes appeared across the Book of Icor like cracks, and the verdict was announced:
All of Ether's physical attributes were below average.His magical capacity was virtually nonexistent.His talent… almost unmeasurable.
For the first time in his adult life, deep sadness flickered openly across Yohan's normally stoic face. It wasn't disappointment in his child—but fear for him. Fear of how Ether would carry this humiliation. Fear of how the nobles would sneer. Fear of the wound this day would carve into his son's heart.
And his fear came true.
Ether wore the hollow, broken expression of someone whose world had just collapsed.
Yohan clenched his hands behind his back until his knuckles went white. He forced himself to remain calm, to think. Just because Ether's magic was lacking did not mean all hope was lost. Strength could be built. Stamina and agility could be trained. And most importantly—Ether's intelligence was exceptionally high, almost startlingly similar to Yohan's own.
Yes, Yohan told himself, his path will have to be different from mine… but he can still become someone great.
Throughout the remainder of the ceremony—through the cheers for other children, the applause for the prince and princess, and the emperor's final address—Yohan saw nothing, heard nothing. His focus remained entirely on his eldest son.
Only one thought ran endlessly through his mind:
How can I lift him back up again?