The golden sun peeked over the horizon, spilling light into the grand dining hall of the Velmire estate, one of the most respected noble houses in the Kingdom of Valarian. The table was set with fresh bread, steaming porridge, honey, and a small pitcher of cream. Aromas of toasted herbs and sweet pastries filled the air.
Twelve-year-old Aren Velmire bounced into the hall, eyes bright with excitement. "Good morning, Father! Mother! I finished my morning run!" he called, almost tripping over his slippers.
His mother, Lady Selene Velmire, laughed softly, brushing a stray lock of hair behind his ear. "Careful, Aren. You'll spill your porridge before you even sit down."
His father, Erian Velmire, looked up from the parchment with a proud smile. As the King's Hand and head of the Velmire estate, he bore the weight of the kingdom on his shoulders, yet in this room, he was simply a loving father. "Good morning, son. Did you see the sunrise from the orchard today?"
Aren nodded eagerly, his small face glowing. "Yes! It was amazing! The birds were singing so loudly — I think they were cheering for me!"
His younger sister, Lyra, giggled as she poured herself a glass of milk. "Or maybe they're just happy the sun is out. Aren's always exaggerating!"
The family laughed together, the sound warm and comforting, filling every corner of the room. Aren took his seat between his parents, spoon in hand, savoring the simple joy of honeyed porridge and laughter, unaware that the world beyond these walls was already stirring with shadows.
"Father," Aren began, his voice tinged with excitement, "is it true that twelve-year-olds are admitted to the Academy of Spiritual Arts this year?"
Erian's stern face softened into a smile. "Yes, Aren. Twelve is the age when young bloods are tested for their spiritual potential. Those who pass are trained to become Spiritual Artists — warriors capable of mastering their inner energy for combat and self-defense."
Aren's eyes widened. "Does that mean… I'll learn to control my energy? Like making it flow through my hands or using it in fights?"
Erian chuckled, kneeling slightly to meet his son's gaze. "Some can, yes. But remember — spiritual power is not just about strength. It's about discipline, focus, and control. Meditation is the key. You must learn to quiet your mind, understand your energy, and channel it properly. That is why the Academy trains its students rigorously."
Aren's small fists clenched in determination. "I want to be admitted! I'll meditate every day and become strong like you, Father!"
Erian placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "And I have no doubt you will, Aren. But remember — my position as the King's Hand carries responsibilities. I protect the kingdom, yes, but the choices I make affect not just me, but all of you. Your power will be a tool — and a responsibility."
Aren nodded solemnly, though his mind buzzed with dreams of meditation, energy control, and mastery. "Then I'll make you proud, Father. I'll study hard and… maybe one day, I'll help protect the kingdom too."
Erian smiled, ruffling his son's hair. "That's my boy. Now, finish your breakfast before your admission tests. You'll need all your strength — body, mind, and spirit."
Lyra peeked into the study, giggling. "Don't forget to save me some porridge, Aren! You'll need it more than I do."
Aren laughed. "Yes, Lyra! I'll bring some for you too!"
The Velmire estate was alive with the morning bustle. Servants carried baskets of fruit and loaves of bread to the kitchens, while guards patrolled the outer walls. In the garden, Aren chased Lyra through rows of blooming roses and trimmed hedges.
"Tag, you're it!" Aren shouted.
"Not if I escape first!" Lyra squealed, ducking behind a fountain.
From the balcony, Selene called, "Aren, Lyra… breakfast will be cold if you keep running around like wildlings!"
"Coming, Mother! Just one more lap!" Aren laughed, skidding to a stop near the fountain.
Meanwhile, Erian examined a stack of letters from the palace. The weight of the kingdom rested heavily on his shoulders, yet he paused to watch his children with quiet pride.
"You're growing stronger every day, Aren," he said calmly. "Strength isn't just in your arms or legs… it's in your mind, discipline, and heart. Never forget that."
Aren beamed. "I understand, Father. I'll do my best in everything."
The morning continued, the estate filled with laughter as the sound of approaching carriages announced visitors.
"Father, who's coming?" Aren asked, pausing mid-chase.
Erian straightened. "Ah, my brother is here to discuss estate matters. Come, Aren, Lyra — let's greet them."
From the carriage stepped Lord Darien Velmire, Erian's younger brother, and his son, Kael, an energetic eight-year-old with a mischievous grin.
"Erian!" Darien called warmly, clasping his brother's shoulder. "It's been too long."
"Not at all," Erian replied. "Come inside — the children are… already making the most of the day."
Lyra ran ahead, waving excitedly. "Kael! Want to play tag?"
Kael grinned. "You're going to have to catch me first!"
Aren joined them, and the three tumbled among the rose bushes, their laughter echoing through the estate.
Inside, Erian and Darien spread maps and ledgers across the oak table. "The southern trade routes are expanding," Darien said. "If managed correctly, the estate will prosper — but the King's decree on taxes must be considered."
Erian nodded. "I'll assign stewards to monitor the shipments. Every decision we make affects the kingdom as well."
Darien leaned back. "And Aren… soon he must begin proper training. The Academy of Spiritual Arts might be the right place. It will teach him discipline, control, and responsibility — skills no playtime can give."
Erian's gaze softened toward the garden. "Yes… he is gifted, and he will need guidance. But for now, let him enjoy these days."
That evening, the moon hung low over the estate, casting a silvery glow across the courtyard. After dinner, the Velmire family gathered to bid farewell to Darien and Kael. Lanterns flickered along the path.
"Kael, be careful on the way back!" Lyra said, hugging her cousin.
"I'll be fine! Don't let Aren beat me next time!" Kael laughed.
Darien shook Erian's hand firmly. "It's always a pleasure, brother. The estate is in excellent hands. By the way… about Aren. The Academy may soon accept young students like him. If you're considering it, this is the time to decide."
Erian nodded thoughtfully. "I'll weigh the timing carefully. Let him enjoy these peaceful days for now, but you're right — discipline and skill must begin soon."
With a final wave, Darien and Kael climbed into their carriage. Aren stood near the gate, watching them fade into the distance, unaware that the mention of the Academy marked the first step in his journey toward power, discipline, and challenges beyond the Velmire estate.
Erian watched quietly, the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders. The peaceful night seemed endless, yet he knew — Aren's path would be long, difficult, and life-changing.
The next morning, Valarian City awoke beneath a golden sun. Merchants shouted, spices filled the air, and banners fluttered from tall marble towers.
Aren Velmire walked between his mother, Lady Selene, and his younger sister, Lyra, his eyes wide with wonder. "Mother, look at all these shops! And the lights! And… oh, is that a crystal lamp for sale?"
Selene smiled, keeping a careful hand on Aren's shoulder. "Yes, Aren. But remember, we're here for supplies — not to buy every pretty thing we see."
Lyra skipped ahead, pausing at a stall selling colorful ribbons. "Mother! Can we get these for the garden? Aren, look! They'd match the roses perfectly!"
Aren grinned, tugging Lyra's hand. "Those would be perfect! Mother, please?"
Selene laughed softly, shaking her head. "Perhaps we can choose a few. But focus, children — we have errands to run before noon."
As they walked, the bustling streets gave glimpses of the Kingdom of Valarian's grandeur. Towering spires crowned with golden accents reached toward the sky, and engraved statues of past kings stood proudly in the plazas. Soldiers drilled in the courtyards of the king's palace, their synchronized movements precise and disciplined. Street performers juggled flaming torches, and scholars pored over scrolls at the steps of academies tucked between merchant buildings.
Aren's eyes sparkled with awe. "The city is amazing! So many people, so many things to see… and the guards are so strong! Mother, do you think I could be that strong one day?"
Selene glanced down at him, her expression tender yet serious. "Strength is more than physical, Aren. It comes from discipline, knowledge, and control over yourself. You'll learn that soon enough at the Academy."
Lyra tugged on Aren's sleeve, pointing at a street performer tossing glowing orbs into the air. "Aren! Watch! That's magic, right?"
Aren squinted, curiosity piqued. "Not exactly magic… but it's similar. The way he controls the energy inside the orbs is like a small glimpse of spiritual arts. Maybe one day, I'll be able to do something like that."
Selene smiled, leading them past a stall where artisans crafted intricate jewelry and fine silks. "See, Aren, Lyra — this city is alive with creativity and ambition. Every person you see has a role to play. One day, you'll find your path too, and it will be up to you to make your mark."
Aren looked around, imagining himself training at the Academy, mastering his energy, and walking proudly through these streets as a Spiritual Artist. The possibilities felt endless, and for the first time, the idea of leaving the safety of the Velmire estate didn't seem frightening at all.
As they moved deeper into the shopping district, a carriage rolled past, carrying a nobleman adorned in golden insignias, reminding Aren of the responsibilities of his father's position and the legacy that awaited him.
The morning in Valarian City buzzed with life, but for Aren Velmire, it was not just a simple trip to the shops — it was the first time he felt the pulse of the Empire, and a spark of ambition began to light in his chest.
Aren's eyes sparkled as he watched his mother and Lyra linger over a stall of glittering jewelry. "Mother," he said hesitantly, "may I explore the district by myself for a little while? I promise I won't go far."
Selene glanced at him, weighing his curiosity against caution. After a moment, she nodded. "Very well, Aren. Stay on the main streets, and come back when the bells chime for noon."
Aren's heart leapt with excitement. "Thank you, Mother!" He waved and carefully stepped away, weaving through the bustling crowd.
Street vendors shouted their wares, children darted past playing tag, and the smell of baked goods mixed with the earthy scent of the cobblestones.
As he wandered, a small, tucked-away tent caught his attention. The fabric was deep purple, embroidered with silver symbols that shimmered faintly in the sunlight. A fortune teller sat at a table, a crystal orb glowing softly before her.
"Ah… young master," the fortune teller called, her voice low and melodic. "Come closer. The threads of your fate stir already. I can see much in you."
Curiosity overtaking caution, Aren stepped inside. The tent smelled faintly of incense and parchment, shadows flickering across the walls from tiny enchanted lanterns.
"Sit," the fortune teller said, gesturing to a low chair. Aren obeyed. She placed her hands gently over the crystal orb and closed her eyes, murmuring words in a language Aren did not understand. The orb pulsed faintly, and for a moment, the air grew chillier.
Then her eyes snapped open, wide and filled with a sudden intensity.
"You… child… your path is… cold… dark… unyielding…" she whispered, her voice trailing off.
Aren tilted his head, frowning. "Cold? Dark? I don't understand… What does that mean?"
The fortune teller blinked, her expression serious. "It's… hard to explain. You will see… later. A dark path awaits you, boy… a shadow that swallows light itself."
Aren rubbed the back of his neck, feeling confused. The words sounded important, but he couldn't make sense of them.
Shaking his head, he muttered to himself, "I don't get it… maybe it's just nonsense."
With a shrug, he stepped out of the tent, the warm sunlight and cheerful sounds of the shopping district washing away the strange chill inside. Children ran past, vendors shouted their wares, and the city felt just as lively as before.
Aren turned back toward his mother, brushing the strange encounter from his mind. "Mother! Lyra! Look, I found a new stall!" he called, letting the confusion slip away as quickly as it had arrived.
Aren soon caught up with his mother and Lyra, who were still admiring a row of sapphire necklaces displayed beneath a shimmering awning.
Selene smiled when she saw him. "There you are, Aren. Did you enjoy your little adventure?"
Aren nodded quickly. "Yes, Mother! I just looked around a bit — there's so much to see here!"
Selene chuckled softly. "I'm sure there is. Just don't wander too far next time."
As they moved to the next stall, a gentle voice called out from behind them.
"Selene? Is that truly you?"
They turned to see a tall woman dressed in elegant, pale-blue silk. Her dark hair was pinned with a silver brooch, and beside her stood a boy around Aren's age — sharp-eyed, confident, and carrying himself with quiet pride.
"Liraine!" Selene exclaimed warmly. "It's been so long!"
The two women embraced fondly, laughing as if years had melted away.
Lyra tugged on her brother's sleeve. "Aren, isn't that—"
"I know," Aren whispered with a grin. "That's Daren, right?"
The boy smirked. "You remembered."
Aren nodded. "Of course! We met at the midsummer banquet last year."
The mothers exchanged smiles at their sons' recognition.
"It seems they've grown since then," Liraine said, glancing fondly at Daren. "He'll be taking the entrance exam for the Academy of Spiritual Arts next month."
Selene's eyes lit up. "Truly? Aren will be taking it as well! Perhaps they'll even be classmates."
Aren's heart jumped with excitement. "Really? You're applying too?"
Daren grinned. "Yeah. My father says the Academy's training will make us strong enough to serve the kingdom one day. I've been practicing every morning."
"Me too!" Aren said eagerly. "Well… I'm trying to meditate more. Father says control is the key."
"That's true," Daren replied with a nod. "But a little competition doesn't hurt either. When we get to the Academy, let's see who ranks higher."
Aren laughed. "Deal! But no backing down when I win!"
The two boys exchanged a firm handshake, sealing the promise of a friendly rivalry. Their mothers watched with soft smiles, proud yet amused.
"Looks like the next generation of the Velmire and Kaelion families will continue their friendship," Selene said warmly.
"Or their competition," Liraine added, laughing.
As the sun began to dip toward the horizon, the market lights flickered to life — golden orbs glowing softly above the stalls. The scents of roasted almonds and spiced bread filled the air, and the sounds of laughter and music drifted through the streets.
Aren walked beside his mother, still thinking about Daren's words. The thought of the Academy filled him with excitement — and a hint of nervousness. He didn't know what awaited him there, but for the first time, the path ahead felt real.
And somewhere in the back of his mind, faint and forgotten beneath the noise of the city, the fortune teller's trembling voice echoed again:
"Cold… dark… unyielding…"
Aren blinked, shaking off the memory and smiling at his mother. "I can't wait to go to the Academy."
Selene smiled back. "Then work hard, my son. The future begins sooner than you think."
The sun dipped low behind the golden rooftops of Valarian's capital, painting the streets in hues of amber and rose. The once-bustling marketplace began to quiet as shopkeepers packed their wares and families strolled home with baskets of goods. Aren walked beside his mother and sister, the weight of the day's excitement — and that strange encounter — still lingering faintly in his mind.
Lady Selene smiled, her hands full of parcels. "Did you enjoy the market, Aren? You were gone quite a while."
Aren nodded quickly, not wanting to worry her. "Yes, Mother. I just looked around… there were some interesting people there."
Lyra beamed, holding up a small silver brooch shaped like a bird. "Look, Aren! Mother got this for me! Isn't it pretty?"
Aren smiled softly, his earlier unease fading at her innocent joy. "It suits you, Lyra."
By the time they returned to the Velmire estate, the sky had deepened into twilight. Lanterns flickered along the paths, casting soft glows across the marble walls. Servants bowed as the family entered the grand hall, where Erian Velmire waited by the fireplace, a cup of tea in hand.
"Welcome back," he greeted, setting aside his papers. "How was the shopping?"
Selene chuckled. "Peaceful, for once. The children behaved themselves — mostly."
Erian's gaze landed on Aren. "Mostly, hmm?"
Aren rubbed the back of his neck, grinning sheepishly. "I may have… wandered off for a bit. But I didn't go far!"
Erian raised a brow but smiled nonetheless. "Curiosity is good, Aren. But remember, not everyone in the capital is what they appear to be. Even within the Kingdom of Valarian, the shadows of greed and deceit still linger."
"I'll be careful, Father," Aren promised.
"Good." Erian rested a hand on his son's shoulder. "You'll need that awareness when you enter the Academy. The world beyond our estate won't protect your innocence."
Dinner that night was warm and lively — roasted meats, fresh vegetables, and honeyed bread filled the table. Lyra chattered about the jewelry shop, Selene teased Erian about his endless work, and Aren listened with a quiet smile. For a while, everything felt perfect again — safe, familiar, and full of love.
Afterward, Aren retreated to his room. The gentle hum of night insects filled the air outside his window. He changed into his nightclothes and lay on the bed, staring up at the carved wooden ceiling.
But as his eyes began to close, the fortune teller's trembling voice echoed in his mind:
"A dark path awaits you, boy… a shadow that swallows light itself."
Aren's eyes snapped open. His heart thudded in his chest, a chill crawling down his spine. The old man's terrified expression flashed before him — the way his hands shook, the way his words faltered.
"What nonsense…" Aren muttered under his breath, rolling over. "No one can see the future. He was just trying to scare me."
He pulled the blanket tighter around himself, forcing his eyes shut.
But as the moonlight spilled softly across his room, a faint unease lingered in his chest — like a whisper he couldn't quite silence.
And though he didn't know it yet, the fortune teller's words would one day echo through his fate, shaping everything he was meant to become.