The door closed behind him.
The silence in his room felt heavier than the training grounds.
Lucian walked toward the mirror, exhaustion pulling at his limbs—
And the memory struck without warning.
—
The Awakening Hall.
High ceilings carved with the sigil of House Vale — a silver blade piercing a crescent moon.
Five-year-old hands trembling against the crystalline orb.
Mana surging.
Light expanding.
Then stabilizing.
From the upper platform, Lady Elara Vale sat perfectly composed.
His mother had never been loud.
She was not a warrior like the previous matriarchs.
She was something sharper.
Political.
Perceptive.
The crystalline orb dimmed.
"B+ potential."
The words echoed across the hall.
Silence followed.
Lucian remembered lifting his head slightly.
Looking upward.
His mother remained composed, fingers resting lightly against the arm of her seat. No visible reaction. Only that quiet, almost imperceptible pause in her breathing.
Then his gaze shifted.
Lucian swallowed.
He had never noticed that nuance before.
To Ardyn.
His elder sister stood beside their mother, already tall for her age. Already disciplined. Already certain of her place.
For a brief moment—
Their eyes met.
He had expected reassurance.
Encouragement.
The same firm nod she used to give him in the training yard.
Instead—
He saw it.
Pity.
Not exaggerated.
Not dramatic.
Just subtle.
A softness in her gaze that hadn't been there before.
His chest had tightened in a way he hadn't understood at five.
Now he did.
Pity is worse than disappointment.
Disappointment expects better.
Pity does not.
He looked away first.
Behind him, Livia clapped loudly, oblivious to the tension thickening the air.
"Brother is shining!"
Her voice had echoed brightly through the quiet hall.
No pity.
No comparison.
Just pure belief.
Lucian inhaled slowly in the present.
That look from Ardyn had changed something.
Not immediately.
But slowly.
Quietly.
He began training harder.
Then angrier.
Then defensively.
Every correction felt like confirmation.
Every loss felt like proof.
And when she reached out—
He pushed her away.
Because it was easier to reject her than endure that look again.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Awakening Hall faded.
But another memory surfaced.
Not ceremonial.
Not grand.
Smaller.
More personal.
The training yard.
Ardyn standing behind him.
"Your wrist is too stiff," she had said gently.
Five-year-old Lucian had frowned.
"It doesn't matter."
"It does," she replied, adjusting his grip herself.
She had stayed after her own training sessions.
Helped him memorize forms.
Even carried him back once when he had tripped and scraped his knee.
That warmth had been real.
Then came B+.
At first, he trained harder than ever.
Desperate.
Obsessive.
Ardyn had supported him.
Until the day he lost control during sparring.
He remembered it clearly now.
He had lost again.
Lost to someone with lower potential.
Frustration burned too hot.
And when Ardyn stepped in to correct him—
He shoved her hand away.
"I don't need your pity."
The words had been sharp.
Cruel.
Unfair.
Her expression had changed in that instant.
Not anger.
Not hurt.
Just something closing.
After that, she stopped correcting his stance.
Stopped waiting after her sessions.
Stopped calling him "Luci."
She addressed him formally.
"Lucian."
Distance built quietly.
The original Lucian mistook it for pride.
But now—
Now he understood.
She hadn't hated his B+.
She hated that he let it define him.
Lucian stared at his reflection.
In the original story, their final conversation before his execution had been brief.
Cold.
Professional.
No reconciliation.
Because by then—
He had already pushed her too far away.
His jaw tightened slightly.
This time…
He wouldn't repeat that mistake.