Two weeks passed in a blur of relentless training.
Arden pushed himself harder than he ever had—even harder than Ranger school, which was saying something. Four training sessions per day became five. His hybrid swordwork evolved from clunky transitions to fluid integration. His Mana Heart cultivation progressed at a rate that had the family's cultivation instructor visiting daily with increasingly concerned expressions.
"Young master, your advancement is... unprecedented," the old man had said during his final check before Arden's departure. "You're touching the threshold of 3rd Stage already. At twelve years old. This is..."
"Is there a problem?" Arden had asked, keeping his tone respectful but firm.
"No problem, just... extraordinary. The Valekrest bloodline has always produced prodigies, but this speed of cultivation combined with your mana efficiency..." The instructor had shaken his head in wonder. "Your Mana Heart resonates with your swordsmanship in a way I've never seen. It's as if your body and mana are perfectly synchronized."
Because they are, Arden had thought. Because I've unconsciously optimized every movement, every breath, every circulation pattern through... something. Some deeper knowledge I don't fully understand.
He'd felt it more and more over the past two weeks—moments where his body moved with impossible precision, where his mana flowed through channels that shouldn't be this refined, where combat instincts surfaced that no twelve-year-old should possess.
Like I've done this before. Like I've perfected these movements over countless iterations.
The thought was uncomfortable, so Arden buried it under more training.
Meanwhile, Theron's progress was both remarkable and frustrating.
The boy's sword technique had become genuinely impressive—he could execute full sequences of Winter's Edge with flawless precision, transition between offensive and defensive forms, and even adapt to unexpected changes mid-sequence.
But his anxiety remained a constant battle.
"I'M GOING TO MESS THIS UP!" Theron would wail before every session.
Then he'd execute perfect forms while crying.
"See? You did fine," Arden would point out.
"BUT I WAS TERRIFIED THE WHOLE TIME!"
"Being terrified and still performing is called courage, Theron. That's literally what courage is."
"IT DOESN'T FEEL LIKE COURAGE! IT FEELS LIKE PANIC!"
Despite the constant catastrophizing, Theron showed up every single day. Morning sessions at 7 AM sharp. Afternoon sessions at 3 PM. He never missed one, never quit halfway through, never let his anxiety actually stop him from training.
By the end of the second week, the youngest Valekrest could hold his own in controlled sparring against Arden—not winning, but defending competently and landing occasional counters.
"You're ready," Arden had told him on the final training day.
"READY?! READY FOR WHAT?! I'M NOT READY FOR ANYTHING! WHAT IF—"
"Ready to continue training on your own while I'm at the academy. You know the forms. You know the techniques. You know how to manage your anxiety well enough to function."
Theron had stared at his practice saber with trembling hands. "But what if I regress without you here? What if I forget everything? What if—"
"Then you practice more and rebuild the skills. That's how training works." Arden had set a hand on his youngest brother's shoulder—the boy had grown a full inch over the past two weeks, all that exercise finally fueling proper development. "Theron, listen to me. You're not helpless. You never were. You just needed someone to show you that."
"I'm still scared all the time..."
"Fear is fine. Fear keeps you alive in combat. The question is: will you let fear stop you, or will you act despite it?"
Theron had taken a shaky breath, then nodded. "I'll... I'll keep training. Even though it's terrifying. Even though I'll probably cry every session."
"That's all I'm asking."
The boy had then burst into tears—proud, grateful, terrified tears—and Arden had learned that managing an anxious ten-year-old's emotions was somehow more exhausting than fighting actual monsters.
----
The changes in Arden's training hadn't gone unnoticed by the rest of the family.
Casmir, the second son at eleven, had cornered Arden in the training hall five days before departure.
And "cornered" was the accurate word—the boy had literally blocked the exit with his frame, practice saber already drawn. Despite being a year younger than Arden, Casmir was built like a young brawler—broader in the shoulders, heavier frame, the kind of physique that promised devastating power as he grew.
"Fight me," Casmir had demanded, ice-blue eyes blazing with barely controlled aggression.
Arden had set down the equipment he'd been organizing. "I'm busy."
"I don't care. Fight me. Now." Casmir's knuckles were white around his sword grip. "Everyone's talking about how you've changed. How you're some kind of prodigy now. How you beat Knight-Captain Aldric in sparring. I want to see it myself."
"Aldric was holding back to 3rd Stage—"
"FIGHT ME!" The shout echoed through the training hall, raw and furious. "Stop making excuses! Stop being diplomatic! Just FIGHT!"
Arden studied his younger brother properly. Casmir had awakened his Mana Heart at age nine—early, but not unprecedented. Currently 2nd Stage, aggressively training to reach 3rd. The boy's progression was actually excellent for his age.
But Casmir measured himself against impossible standards and raged at every perceived inadequacy.
That kind of personality. Burns bright and hot with zero regard for self-preservation.
"Fine," Arden said, picking up his practice saber. "But we fight by my rules. First to three clean hits. No mana reinforcement—pure technique only. Agreed?"
"Whatever. Just stop talking and MOVE!"
Casmir exploded forward with zero finesse—pure aggressive assault, his blade coming down in a brutal overhead strike meant to overwhelm through sheer force.
Arden sidestepped, letting the blade whistle past, and tapped Casmir's exposed ribs with his saber.
"One."
"SHUT UP!" Casmir whirled, launching a wild horizontal slash.
Arden ducked under it and tapped his brother's shoulder.
"Two."
"I SAID SHUT UP!" Casmir's face was flushed, eyes wild. He attacked again, abandoning all pretense of technique for pure berserker aggression.
Arden caught the blade on his own, redirected the force, and tapped Casmir's chest directly over his heart.
"Three. Match over."
"NO!" Casmir threw his practice saber down with enough force to crack the wooden floor. "AGAIN! We go again! Best of five! Best of ten! I don't care!"
"Casmir—"
"DON'T 'CASMIR' ME!" The boy's breathing was ragged, hands clenched into fists. "You think you're so much better now?! You think awakening to 2nd Stage makes you special?! I'VE BEEN TRAINING MY WHOLE LIFE! I've bled for every bit of strength I have! And you just... you just suddenly become some kind of genius overnight?!"
Arden lowered his practice blade, understanding dawning. "This isn't about me."
"OF COURSE IT'S ABOUT YOU! You're the heir! The eldest! The one Father always watched! And now you're—" Casmir's voice cracked slightly. "Now you're actually living up to it. Actually becoming what everyone expected. And where does that leave me?!"
"As my brother. As someone with his own path—"
"I DON'T WANT MY OWN PATH! I WANT TO BE STRONG!" Casmir grabbed his practice saber off the floor, gripping it so hard Arden worried it might snap. "Every day I train until I can't move. Every night I push my Mana Heart until it feels like it'll burst. I fight and bleed and suffer and I'm STILL not good enough! I'm still just the second son! Still not as talented as you! Still not—"
He cut himself off, breathing hard.
Arden had seen this before. In the Rangers, in Iraq, in every high-stress environment where people pushed themselves past breaking. The kind of rage that came from trying so hard and still feeling inadequate.
"You're eleven years old and you're 2nd Stage. Do you know how exceptional that is?" Arden said quietly.
"IT'S NOT ENOUGH!"
"It's never going to be enough if you keep measuring yourself against impossible standards." Arden set his practice saber aside. "You're comparing yourself to me—someone who awakened to 2nd Stage at twelve, which is freakish even by Valekrest standards. That's not a fair comparison."
"So what?! What's the point of being second best?! Second place is just the first loser!"
"That's a toxic mindset that'll destroy you eventually."
"I DON'T CARE!" Casmir's eyes were wild. "I'd rather burn out trying to be the best than accept being mediocre! I'd rather die pushing myself than live knowing I wasn't good enough!"
Definitely that personality type. Needs to learn to channel this or he'll destroy himself before he's twenty.
"Then channel that rage properly," Arden said. "Stop throwing it at me in uncontrolled aggression. Use it to fuel disciplined training. Controlled growth. Strategic improvement."
"You don't understand—"
"I understand perfectly. You're furious at yourself for not being as naturally talented as you want to be. And now you're furious at me for suddenly becoming someone you have to measure yourself against." Arden's voice hardened. "But throwing tantrums won't make you stronger, Casmir. It just wastes energy."
For a moment, Arden thought his brother might actually attack him for real, damn the rules about sibling sparring.
Then Casmir's shoulders slumped, the rage bleeding out into exhausted frustration.
"I hate this," he muttered. "I hate feeling weak. I hate watching you succeed effortlessly while I struggle for every inch. I hate that you're only a year older than me and already so much stronger."
"I'm not stronger. I'm more technical. There's a difference."
"You beat me in fifteen seconds!"
"Because you fought like an angry child instead of a trained swordsman. If you'd used actual technique, you'd have lasted longer." Arden picked up both practice sabers and tossed one to Casmir. "Again. But this time, fight smart. Use your strength advantage—you're bigger and heavier than me. Use your reach. Control your breathing. Think three moves ahead instead of just swinging at whatever pisses you off."
Casmir caught the saber, looking confused. "You're... you're giving me advice? After I just—"
"After you challenged me to a fight and lost? Yes. Because you're my brother, and watching you waste your potential on uncontrolled rage is frustrating." Arden moved back into ready position. "Now come at me again. Properly this time."
They fought for another hour.
Casmir was still too aggressive, still let his emotions drive his tactics, still fought like he was trying to personally murder every enemy who'd ever wronged him.
But when he actually focused, when he channeled that berserker energy into disciplined strikes instead of wild swings, he was legitimately dangerous.
"Better," Arden acknowledged after Casmir finally landed a clean hit. "You're stronger and faster than me in raw power. If you learn to fight smart instead of just angry, you'll be terrifying."
Casmir was breathing hard, sweat pouring down his face, but his expression had shifted from rage to something more focused. "Teach me."
"What?"
"Your hybrid style. That thing where you mix Winter's Edge with basic forms. Teach me." Casmir's eyes burned with intensity, but it was directed energy now instead of unfocused fury. "I have five days before you leave. Teach me everything you can in that time."
"Why should I?"
"Because I'm asking. Because I'll actually listen this time. And because..." Casmir's jaw clenched. "Because I need to be stronger. Not to beat you. Not to prove anything to Father. Just... to be strong enough to matter when it counts."
Arden studied his brother—the barely controlled aggression, the desperate drive to prove himself, the willingness to push past any limit to achieve strength.
He'll burn himself out eventually if he doesn't learn balance. But that raw determination... that could be useful. And he's my brother. I should help him.
"Fine. Five days. But you follow my training regimen exactly. No modifications, no 'I know better', no training extra on your own time." Arden pointed his practice blade at Casmir. "You'll hurt yourself if you add more on top of what I'm giving you. Can you accept that?"
Casmir looked like he wanted to argue. Then, with visible effort, he nodded. "I can accept that. For five days."
"Good. We start tomorrow at dawn. And Casmir?"
"What?"
"You're going to hate me by the end of this week. I train hard."
Casmir's grin was feral. "Good. I like suffering if it makes me stronger."
Oh trust me you'll suffer alright
---
.
If Casmir was a raging bonfire, Lyanna was poison—sweet, smiling, and far too observant for a nine-year-old.
Arden's younger sister had started appearing at his training sessions with alarming frequency over the final week, always with that serene smile and polite questions that felt like they had serrated edges.
"Eldest brother, you're looking well today," she'd said cheerfully during one session, her smile never quite reaching her eyes. The purple butterfly hairpin in her silver-white hair seemed to catch the light as she tilted her head. "All this intense training must be exhausting. Are you sleeping well?"
"Well enough."
"That's good! I'd hate for you to collapse from overwork." Her tone was light, conversational. "It's wonderful how you've suddenly become so dedicated. Almost like you're a completely different person."
Arden had paused mid-form, recognizing where this was going. "People change, Lyanna."
"Oh, absolutely! Change is natural." She moved closer, still smiling that serene smile. "Though usually it's gradual. Yours was rather... sudden. The day before your awakening, you were the dutiful heir. The day after, you're revolutionizing family combat doctrine. It makes one curious—"
"Lyanna." Arden's voice cut through her words with cold precision. "Stop."
She blinked, smile faltering slightly. "I'm just—"
"I know what you're doing. Probing. Testing. Looking for inconsistencies in my behavior." Arden set down his practice saber and turned to face her fully, his expression hard. "And I'm telling you to stop. Now."
"But eldest brother, I'm only—"
"You're investigating me like I'm some kind of puzzle to solve." His voice was stern, the kind of tone he'd used as a Captain when subordinates overstepped. "My training methods, my personality changes, my strategic thinking—none of that is your concern. I'm the heir. You're nine years old. Know your place."
Lyanna's smile vanished completely. For a moment, she looked genuinely taken aback, maybe even a little frightened. Her ice-blue eyes widened slightly.
"I... I didn't mean to overstep—"
"Yes, you did. You've been watching me obsessively for days, cataloging every 'anomaly,' building theories about what happened during my awakening." Arden's expression didn't soften. "That ends now. What happened to me, how I train, what I'm preparing for—it's not your business. Do you understand?"
Lyanna nodded slowly, her usual composure cracking. She looked like a child who'd just been scolded by someone she respected, uncertain and slightly scared.
Arden watched the fear flicker across her face and felt something twist in his chest. She was only nine. His little sister. Still a child, despite her intelligence.
He softened his tone—not by much, but enough. "Lyanna, I'm not angry at you for being curious. You're smart, observant. Those are good qualities. But there are boundaries."
He moved closer, crouching down slightly to be more at her eye level. "I'm your eldest brother. I'm supposed to protect you, guide you. That means some things aren't for you to worry about. Some decisions aren't yours to question. Can you trust me on that?"
Lyanna's eyes were still wide, but the fear was fading, replaced by something more complex. "I just wanted to understand. You're different and I thought—"
"I know." Arden's voice gentled further. "But understanding isn't always necessary. Sometimes trust has to be enough. I'm doing what I think is best for the family, for the North. That's all you need to know."
"But what if you're in trouble? What if something's wrong?"
"Then I'll handle it. That's what being the eldest means." He reached out and adjusted her butterfly hairpin, which had slipped slightly. "Your job is to focus on your own training, your own development. Not to worry about mine."
Lyanna was quiet for a long moment, studying his face. Then she nodded, more firmly this time. "I understand, eldest brother. I'm sorry for... for prying."
"Don't apologize. Just stop." Arden straightened. "I need you to promise me something."
"What?"
"No more investigating. No more cataloging anomalies. No more theories about what happened during my awakening." His voice was firm again. "If you have questions about my training methods or strategy, you can ask directly. But the interrogation stops. Promise me."
Lyanna bit her lip, clearly struggling with giving up her investigation. But finally, she nodded. "I promise. I'll stop."
"Good." Arden picked up his practice saber again. "Now, was there something specific you needed? Or did you just come here to analyze me?"
A ghost of her usual smile returned. "I... I actually wanted to ask if you'd teach me. When you come back from the academy. Your hybrid style seems effective, and I thought..." She trailed off, uncertain in a way that was unusual for her.
Arden considered. Lyanna was smart and clearly dedicated. Teaching her could be beneficial—and it would give her something constructive to focus on instead of trying to unravel his secrets.
"If you want to learn, you need to build a proper foundation first. Focus on mastering Winter's Edge completely. When I come back for breaks, I'll evaluate your progress. If you're ready, I'll start teaching you." He met her eyes. "But that's contingent on you keeping your promise. No more investigation. Deal?"
"Deal." Lyanna's smile was genuine this time, if a bit subdued. "Thank you, eldest brother."
"You're welcome. Now go. I have training to finish."
After she left, Arden stood in the training hall, processing the encounter.
Had to be harsh. She's too smart to be gently redirected—she'd just see it as confirmation that there's something to find.
But I couldn't be cruel. She's nine years old and she's my sister. The fear in her eyes...
This is the balance. Strict enough to establish boundaries. Gentle enough not to traumatize a child.
She'll respect the boundary because I made it clear it's not negotiable. But she won't resent me because I showed I still care about her.
Hopefully that's enough to keep her from digging deeper.
By the final day before departure, Arden had survived Casmir's five days of brutal training (the boy had indeed hated him by day three), firmly established boundaries with Lyanna, managed Theron's ongoing anxiety crisis, and somehow advanced his own cultivation to the threshold of 3rd Stage.
The twins—Aldric and Aldwin, age eight—had been blissfully unaware of any family drama. They'd simply been excited that their eldest brother was "going to fight monsters for real!"
"Can you bring back monster cores?" Aldric had asked, eyes wide.
"Will you kill a dragon?" Aldwin had added.
"I'll do my best," Arden had promised, ruffling their identical silver-white hair. "But I'll be training first. No dragon-slaying for a few years yet."
"That's okay! We'll wait!" They'd chorused in perfect unison.
Their enthusiasm had been refreshing after all the complex family dynamics.
That evening, Arden had stood in his room, packing the final items for the academy.
His personal saber—Frost's Whisper, the family blade he'd trained with since age six.
Training clothes, appropriate for four years of intensive combat education.
A small journal documenting his hybrid techniques.
And a pouch of sunflower seeds that he'd developed an odd fondness for during meditation.
A knock at his door interrupted his packing.
"Come in."
To his surprise, all five of his siblings entered together—Casmir still looking vaguely murderous but less hostile than usual, Lyanna wearing a more subdued smile, Theron on the verge of tears, and the eight-year-old twins bouncing with excitement.
"We wanted to say goodbye properly," Lyanna said quietly. "As a family."
"You're really leaving tomorrow," Casmir muttered, arms crossed. "To Military Academy. To actually fight monsters instead of playing politics."
"I am."
"That's so cool!" the twins chorused. "You're going to be a real warrior!"
"I'M GOING TO MISS YOU SO MUCH!" Theron wailed, then immediately started crying.
Lyanna handed him a handkerchief, then turned to Arden. "I... I wanted to apologize again. For prying. And to give you this." She pulled out a small butterfly-shaped pin, identical to the one she wore. "It's a reminder. That even though I'm not investigating anymore, I'm still watching over you. As your sister. Not as a... puzzle-solver."
Arden took the pin, seeing the genuine intent behind the gesture. "Thank you, Lyanna. I'll treasure it."
"And I really do want to learn from you when you return. I'll work hard on my fundamentals." Her smile was small but real. "I promise."
"I'll hold you to that."
Casmir stepped forward, jaw clenched. "Don't get soft at Military Academy. Keep pushing yourself. Keep getting stronger." He thrust out his hand. "And when you come back for breaks... we fight again. I'm going to surpass you eventually."
Arden shook his brother's hand. "I look forward to seeing you try."
"You better be Rank 1 by graduation. If you're anything less, I'll be disappointed." Casmir's grip tightened. "You made me train harder this week than I've ever trained in my life. I hate you for it and I'm grateful for it and I'm just going to keep being angry about everything until I figure out which emotion wins."
"That's very on-brand for you."
"SHUT UP!"
Theron pushed forward, still crying. "I made you something!" He thrust a clumsily carved wooden token into Arden's hands—a lion, clearly made with more enthusiasm than skill. "I spent all week working on it! It's terrible! But I wanted you to have it so you'd remember me and also I'm crying again and I can't stop!"
"It's perfect," Arden said honestly. The craftsmanship was awful, but the effort was genuine. "Thank you, Theron."
"PROMISE YOU'LL COME BACK! PROMISE YOU WON'T DIE!"
"I promise."
The twins just tackled him in a hug, shouting about monsters and dragons and how cool their eldest brother was.
After they all left—Casmir scowling, Lyanna quiet and thoughtful, Theron sobbing, the twins bouncing—Arden stood alone in his room with his collection of gifts.
A butterfly pin from his perceptive younger sister who finally understood boundaries.
A carved lion from his anxious youngest brother.
Aggressive encouragement from his berserker younger brother.
Enthusiasm from the twins.
Family, Arden thought. They're real people now. Not just characters I wrote. Real siblings who care about me—even when they're suspicious, aggressive, or catastrophizing.
And I'm responsible for their futures too.
He packed the gifts carefully alongside his equipment.
Tomorrow, he'd leave for Northern Military Academy. Four years of intensive training. Four years to build his power base, claim Integration cores, prevent disasters.
But tonight, he was just Arden Valekrest—the eldest brother of a complicated, dangerous, deeply caring family.
And somehow, that felt more real than anything else.