The morning, just as the first hint of dawn brushed the sky, Solaris Void shot upright in his bed.
Not because he was disciplined.
Because he had gone to sleep thinking about discipline.
He had set his small alarm stone to ring at exactly 4:58 AM—a time he now deeply questioned, but would never admit aloud.
Solaris rubbed his eyes, yawned once, then nodded firmly to himself.
This is fine, he thought. Ordinary boys wake up early. Probably.
Five minutes later, he stood beside his father outside the manor, hair slightly messy, boots on the wrong feet for a full thirty seconds before he noticed.
Lord Alistair was, of course, perfectly prepared.
The family's massive white lion familiar padded beside them, silent and majestic.
Solaris glanced at the lion.
The lion glanced back.
Solaris immediately looked away.
Normal, he told himself. Walking to training with your father and a legendary beast. Very common.
As they approached the training hall, Solaris slowed his steps.
The building loomed before them—huge stone walls, towering doors, carvings of warriors locked in eternal battle.
Solaris tilted his head back.
"…It's a little big," he said carefully.
Inside his mind:
Why is everything in this family built like it expects a war every Tuesday?
The moment they stepped inside, Solaris froze.
Weapons lined the walls. Practice dummies stood like silent judges. The air smelled faintly of steel, wood, and effort.
Solaris nodded again.
Yes. This is reasonable. A child should absolutely start his day here.
He turned to his father, clasped his hands behind his back, and tried very hard to look composed.
"I understand, Father," he said seriously. "We should begin with… simple things."
Alistair blinked.
"Simple things?" he repeated.
Solaris gestured vaguely.
"Stretching. Standing. Not falling."
The white lion let out something that might have been a quiet snort.
Solaris pretended not to hear it.
Alistair placed a hand on his son's shoulder. "Stay close to me."
Solaris nodded again. "Of course."
Staying close is good, he thought. Staying alive is also good.
They began warming up.
Solaris copied his father's movements with absolute focus—and immediately lost balance during the first stretch.
He fell.
Sat up.
Looked around.
No one said anything.
"…I meant to do that," Solaris said calmly.
The lion slowly lay down.
Alistair turned away very quickly, shoulders shaking.
Solaris stood back up, dusted himself off, and straightened his posture.
See? he thought with quiet satisfaction. Perfectly normal training. Everyone falls sometimes.
The training hall, however, seemed to disagree—watching in heavy silence as a three-year-old boy tried very hard to be ordinary…
in a place built for legends.
And somewhere deep inside, destiny sighed.
Solaris listened very carefully as his father explained the basics of archery.
Very carefully.
So carefully, in fact, that he nodded at exactly the right moments, even though half of what was said sounded like, "Hold this… not like that… no, the other way."
Lord Alistair demonstrated with ease. The arrow slid into place. The bowstring pulled back smoothly. Perfect posture. Perfect balance.
Solaris stared.
That looks simple, he thought. Deceptively simple. Like walking. Or breathing.
Naturally, he copied his father exactly.
The arrow immediately fell off the bow.
Clack.
Solaris looked down at it.
"…Hmm."
He picked it up, tried again.
Clack.
The arrow rolled away like it had made a personal decision.
Solaris stood very still.
This is fine, he told himself. Normal boys drop arrows. Probably all the time.
His shoulders slumped just a little, but he straightened again quickly—because giving up would be embarrassing, and Solaris was very committed to dignity.
The white lion watched quietly, tail swishing once.
It released a slow breath that sounded suspiciously like amusement.
Solaris did not look at the lion.
"I'm learning," he said seriously, to no one in particular.
On the third attempt, his fingers finally found the right position.
The arrow stayed.
Solaris froze.
He didn't breathe.
The arrow did not fall.
His eyes widened.
It stayed, he thought, stunned. That means I did it.
A slow, proud smile spread across his face.
He looked up at his father as if to say, See? Completely normal progress.
"Well done," Alistair said, clearly impressed. "Now aim for the target."
Solaris pulled back the bowstring.
Very carefully.
So carefully that the entire training hall seemed to pause with him.
He closed one eye, just like he had seen his father do. His small fingers trembled, not from fear—but from the effort of holding the bow steady.
Around them, the air grew quiet.
Even the white lion stopped moving.
Servants passing near the hall slowed their steps.
Everyone held their breath.
Solaris released.
The arrow flew.
It flew bravely.
It flew confidently.
It flew with hope.
And then—
Thunk.
It landed on the ground.
Not near the target.
Not halfway.
Not even impressively wrong.
It landed almost two feet in front of Solaris.
Silence.
Deep, heavy silence.
Solaris blinked once and stared at the arrow.
"…Oh."
Someone somewhere inhaled sharply.
Lord Alistair froze for exactly half a second—then immediately cleared his throat.
"That's normal," he said quickly. "Very normal. Completely normal. First shots are always like that."
Solaris visibly relaxed.
Ah, he thought. Good. Normal.
He nodded to himself, satisfied.
Inside his mind, however, something stirred.
A bow…
A memory flashed—distant, blurred.
A battlefield. A woman standing against him. CRONOA, the Fourth Strongest God, wielding a strange bow that bent space itself.
Solaris stiffened.
"No," he thought firmly. No, no, no.
He shook his head—physically, very noticeably.
The lion tilted its head.
That's dangerous, Solaris continued internally. Remembering is dangerous. Thinking is dangerous. Also, I'm three.
He looked back at the arrow on the ground.
Failing is fine, he reassured himself. Children fail. Children miss targets. Children do not destroy reality with bows.
He picked up another arrow.
Lord Alistair smiled encouragingly, though his eyes lingered just a moment too long on the distance the arrow had fallen.
"Try again," his father said gently.
Solaris nodded.
"Okay."
He adjusted his stance, took a breath, and prepared for his second shot.
I'm doing great, he thought confidently. This is exactly how an ordinary child learns archery.
Behind him, the white lion lay down, resting its chin on its paws—watching very closely.
And somewhere deep within Solaris, something ancient sighed…
then went quiet again.
For now.
In training hall,
Solaris tried again.
Miss.
He adjusted his grip.
Tried again.
Miss—this time in a slightly different direction, which he counted as progress.
"I am improving," Solaris muttered seriously.
By the tenth attempt, the situation had developed a certain… rhythm.
Shoot.
Miss.
Arrow lands somewhere embarrassing.
The white lion had stopped pretending to be dignified.
It sat nearby, tail flicking, letting out a low huff that—while technically a breath—sounded suspiciously like laughter.
Solaris glanced at it.
"…You're not helping."
The lion blinked innocently.
Lord Alistair, meanwhile, watched with folded arms and a thoughtful expression.
Inside his mind, he smiled proudly.
Look at my boy, he thought. So stubborn. Just like me.
Solaris shot again.
Miss.
eighteen attempt.
Miss.
He wiped sweat from his forehead, took a deep breath, and nodded.
Still acceptable, he reassured himself. Learning takes time. Lots of time. Possibly more time than this universe has.
Alistair's smile stiffened.
…Perhaps, he amended internally, a little more stubborn than me.
Solaris continued.
Twenty-five.
Twenty-six.
Twenty-seven.
The white lion had now fully laid down, resting its head on its paws.
By the thirtieth shot, it was asleep.
Softly snoring.
Solaris noticed and frowned.
"Rude," he said quietly.
Lord Alistair closed his eyes.
Not out of anger.
Out of self-preservation.
I may have hoped too much, he thought gently. He really is an ordinary child—
His thought was violently interrupted.
Solaris drew the bowstring back again.
Thirty-first attempt.
His arms trembled slightly—not from exhaustion, but from determination.
He squinted one eye.
Breathed in.
Released.
BOOOOM—!
The training hall exploded with sound.
The ground shook violently.
Dust and wind erupted outward in a shockwave that rattled weapon racks, shattered windows, and sent practice dummies flying.
The white lion was lifted clean off the ground.
"…Huh?"
It landed with a thud several feet away.
Silence followed.
Thick dust filled the air, swirling dramatically.
Solaris screamed internally:
THIRTY-ONE ATTEMPTS IS VERY NORMAL FOR A THREE-YEAR-OLD CHILD.
Lord Alistair slowly—robotically—turned his head toward his son.
The dust parted just enough to reveal Solaris.
Still holding the bow.
Standing perfectly still.
Unharmed.
Blinking.
Solaris looked up at his father and smiled nervously.
"I missed again," he said calmly.
Behind him, the target had ceased to exist.
The wall behind it had a new hole.
The lion sat up slowly, eyes wide.
Alistair stared.
Solaris tilted his head.
"…Was that one close?"
Inside his mind, Solaris nodded firmly.
Yes. Very close.
Also, he added helpfully to himself, the explosion was probably unrelated.
Because obviously—
Missing thirty-one times?
Totally normal.
The aftermath?
…Well.
That part was weird.
Lord Alistair moved instantly.
In one swift step, he crossed the distance and grabbed Solaris by the shoulders, lifting him just enough so their eyes met.
"WHAT WAS THAT?!"
Solaris blinked.
Nearby servants and guards rushed into the training hall, weapons half-drawn, eyes wide as they took in the cracked floor, broken walls, and the white lion slowly standing back up with a deeply offended expression.
Solaris looked around.
Then back at his father.
"…Sorry," he said sincerely. "I missed again."
Alistair stared at him.
"I am not talking about the miss," he said carefully. "I gave you a bow and arrows. NOT SOME KIND OF EXPLOSIVE."
Solaris frowned, confused.
"Oh. That."
He thought for a moment, then explained honestly.
"You taught me earlier," Solaris said, gesturing with the bow, "that when using a weapon, I should think of it as part of my body. So I did."
Alistair's eye twitched.
"And…?" he asked slowly.
"Well," Solaris continued, "after using the bow for a while, it started merging with my energy. I thought that was normal, so I didn't say anything."
The training hall went very quiet.
"…Merging your energy with weapons is NORMAL?!" Alistair shouted.
Solaris's face visibly relaxed.
"Normal?" he repeated. "Oh. Thank goodness."
Alistair released him and pressed his fingers to his forehead.
I did not say it was normal, Alistair screamed internally.
I ASKED IF YOU THOUGHT IT WAS.
He inhaled slowly.
Energy… Mana…
He's using mana.
At three years old.
Normal people sensed mana at five.
Learning to control it took years.
Using Mana For Magic is one think. But Mana fusion is on it's another level.
It took me twenty-five years to understand mana-weapon theory, Alistair thought grimly. And he casually "merged" it.
Outwardly, he stayed calm.
"Solaris," he said gently, kneeling down, "don't ever do that again."
Solaris nodded immediately.
"This isn't something a normal person can do," Alistair continued. "If you keep doing things like this, your future won't be safe. Do you understand?"
Solaris frowned.
Then nodded again, relieved.
"I understand," he said seriously. "Thirty-one tries and still failing is embarrassing. It's below normal level."
Alistair froze.
"…That's not what I meant."
Before Solaris could say more, Alistair stood and turned sharply toward the servants and guards.
"You saw nothing," he said coldly. "Forget what happened here—or you will be forgotten by everyone."
No one questioned it.
They bowed and left immediately.
The white lion quietly pretended it had been asleep the whole time.
Alistair exhaled.
Then reached for a small wooden sword resting near the wall.
He knelt again and gently placed it into Solaris's hands.
"This is from me," he said. "A gift."
Solaris's eyes lit up.
"A sword?"
"We'll practice swordsmanship for now," Alistair said firmly. "No energy. No mana. No… anything glowing."
Solaris nodded solemnly.
"Yes, Father."
"Using energy is permanently banned," Alistair added.
Solaris thought for a moment.
"…Like forever?"
"Like forever."
Solaris smiled, satisfied.
"Good," he said. "Swords look simpler."
Alistair stared at him.
He thinks this is a downgrade, he realized.
He thinks this is safer.
Solaris held the wooden sword proudly.
Finally, he thought. Something truly normal.
Behind him, the training hall quietly cracked a little more.
---
["From that day onward, Solaris Void was forbidden from using mana—for the sake of the world.
But… was that enough?"]
---
⭐ Author's Note
[ Next Time: A Normal WILD SLASH ]