It was the morning after they had bought their weapons.

  For the first time in days, Lucius woke up on his own.

  No deluge from Frigg’s shouts today, he thought with a faint smile.

  He stretched beneath the quilt, the warmth of sleep still clinging to his skin. Sliding his feet into his slippers, he made his way downstairs — slow, half-dreaming steps on the old wooden stairs.

  But the house was silent.

  No clatter of pans. No humming from the kitchen.

  Frigg wasn’t there.

  Lucius froze at the bottom step, the quiet pressing against him in a way that didn’t feel normal. On the kitchen table, something caught his eye — a folded piece of paper resting neatly in the middle, ink glinting faintly in the morning light.

  He picked it up. The handwriting was elegant and deliberate, every loop and curve familiar.

  It was his mother’s.

  “Hello, Lucius.

  I’m sorry I had to leave early today.

  Don’t worry — Melan?e and Reid will come by to take you to school.

  Have fun.

  I love you.”

  Lucius read the note twice. The words settled his nerves a little, but not completely. Frigg never left without saying goodbye. Not even once.

  Still… it was his first day of school. And he didn’t want to spoil it by worrying too much.

  Then came a knock at the door — firm but cheerful.

  He opened it to see Melan?e standing there, her warm smile framed by the morning light. Reid bounced beside her, practically glowing with excitement.

  “Good morning, Lucius!” Reid said. “Come on, we’re walking together!”

  Lucius blinked, then smiled. “Okay, just— give me a second.”

  He hurried to grab his cloak and staff.

  Even though the worry still tugged faintly at his chest, the thought of school — and of seeing Reid’s boundless grin — began to replace it with something lighter.

  When he stepped outside, the air felt crisp, full of promise.

  He thought even though he was scared for his mother, maybe — just maybe — it was going to be a good day.

  They arrived at the school — a towering, light-brown building that seemed older than the village itself. Its stone walls were cracked in places, vines curling along the edges of the windows. At first glance, it looked massive, but after everything they’d seen in Promia, Lucius couldn’t help but wonder how much of its size was real — and how much was illusion.

  They climbed the stairs slowly, their steps echoing faintly against the worn marble. When they entered, the air was filled with the hum of voices — children chattering, parents giving last-minute advice, weapons clinking softly against belts and bags.

  Lucius’s eyes darted around.

  There were swords, daggers, staffs, even a boy carrying a flail far too heavy for him. The sight made Lucius tighten his grip on his own staff — part pride, part nervousness.

  Then, a clear voice cut through the noise.

  “Hello, children and parents! My name is Lindsy Simmons — you may call me Madam Simmons!”

  The woman’s tone was quick, clipped, and far too energetic for the hour. Her ginger hair was tied into a tight bun, and a stack of papers threatened to slide from her arms as she spoke.

  “I hope everyone is well and that no children are missing!” she continued briskly. “Now, as you all remember from elementary training, there are two combat disciplines — melee and ranged!”

  She paused, scanning the crowd, then gestured toward two teachers standing behind her.

  “Those choosing melee, please follow Mr. Hammock! Those taking ranged, please follow Ms. Shamlock! First class begins in twenty minutes. See you all soon!”

  The hall erupted into motion. Children scattered like startled birds, following the two instructors in separate directions.

  Melan?e crouched beside the boys, fixing Reid’s collar and brushing a stray strand of hair from Lucius’s forehead.

  “Have a wonderful day, both of you,” she said softly. “I’ll be here waiting when class is over. Now go— and have fun.”

  Reid grinned from ear to ear. Lucius nodded shyly.

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  Then they turned in opposite directions — Reid toward the clang of steel, Lucius toward the soft glow of magic.

  Reid was bursting with excitement for his first day — and eager to make friends. A dozen children already stood on the left side of the yard where Mr. Hammock had gathered them. Mr. Hammock was a tall, broad-shouldered man with a curly mop of hair and a mustache that looked like a neat bow tie. He towered above the students and called out in a voice that swept across the crowd.

  “Hello, everyone. Today is the first day of school — I expect you’re all excited. Follow me to the training grounds!”

  Reid followed, keeping pace with the others. When they stepped into the yard, his breath caught. The training ground was bigger than he’d imagined: a wide, sun-baked field ringed with practice dummies and target posts.

  “Wow — this place is really cool,” he whispered to himself.

  Mr. Hammock surveyed the gathered children, his hands clasped behind his back. “I see blades, knives, staves, and more. You might wonder: how will we train together when each of you has a different weapon?” He paused, letting the question hang. “Each weapon has its own mind — not thought, exactly, but a kind of harmony. You must learn to move with it, not against it.” He let his gaze travel the rows of eager faces. “Though your tools differ, you must become one with what you hold. And who will teach you that? No one else but yourselves.”

  A boy from near the back raised his hand. “So what exactly will we learn here?”

  Mr. Hammock smiled, confident and steady. “We will learn how to fight. I’ll teach you the skills, the strength, and — most importantly — the heart to fight. As Sir Baranor said, ‘Glory is only glory when the heart accepts it.’ ”

  On the other side of the school, Lucius sat in a wide, echoing classroom under the watchful gaze of Ms. Shamlock. The room wasn’t as enormous as the training grounds, but its arched ceiling and rows of polished desks still made it feel grand — a place built for magic.

  “This,” Ms. Shamlock began, pacing slowly before them, “is your Conjuring Class.”

  Her voice was steady, precise — every word balanced like a spell. She spoke of mana and its flow, of how it lived in all living things, invisible yet constant.

  “The first step in controlling mana,” she said softly, “is learning how to feel it.”

  She stopped, letting her gaze sweep across the rows of students.

  “Close your eyes. Hold your breath, and count to ten — slowly, in your head. The pounding you’ll feel first is your blood.”

  She lifted a finger. “But beneath it, there’s something still — something calm. That quiet current flowing through your body… that is mana.”

  The room fell silent.

  Even the air seemed to pause.

  Lucius followed her words carefully. He could feel his heart’s rhythm — the rush and pulse of blood — and, beneath it, a gentler tide, slower and deeper. It felt ancient. Alive.

  When he opened his eyes, Ms. Shamlock nodded.

  “Every great spell begins there,” she said. “Not with power — but with control.”

  The lesson continued quietly, the hum of discovery filling the room like soft wind through glass.

  When class ended, a girl with short blonde hair and bright, kind eyes walked up to Lucius. She smiled, her presence almost glowing.

  “Hi! My name’s Lexy. What’s yours?”

  Lucius hesitated for a moment, his voice quiet.

  “...Lucius.”

  “Nice to meet you, Lucius!” she said, her smile so radiant it almost felt like sunlight. “Wanna eat lunch together?”

  Lucius blinked, surprised. He didn’t know what this feeling was — warm, light, and strangely calming.

  “Sure,” he said softly, his usual stiffness easing.

  They sat together in the courtyard, sharing lunch and small talk — nothing remarkable, yet something Lucius knew he’d remember.

  The rest of the day passed quickly.

  Reid’s training with Mr. Hammock was filled with sweat and laughter, while Lucius learned new spells in the art of conjuring.

  When the school bell rang, Reid lingered to say goodbye to his new friends. Lucius, quiet and thoughtful, walked to the gate with his staff in hand.

  Melan?e was waiting there, her face warm as the evening sun.

  “Goodbye, Lucius! See you tomorrow!”

  He turned — it was Lexy, waving with both hands.

  Lucius froze for half a second, then smiled shyly and waved back.

  Reid noticed and snickered, nudging him with a grin, but said nothing.

  Melan?e caught the moment and laughed softly. “I see both of you made friends,” she said. “How was your day?”

  Reid burst forward immediately. “Mom, Mr. Hammock is so strong! He broke a metal shield with his bare hands!”

  Melan?e chuckled. “I can tell yours went well. What about you, Lucius?”

  Lucius looked down, hiding the small smile tugging at his lips. “It was… really fun,” he said quietly — then, after a pause, asked, “Ms. Melan?e… did my mom come?”

  Her smile faltered slightly, her eyes softening. “No, dear. But she said you can stay with us tonight, alright?”

  Lucius nodded slowly. “If it’s not a problem.”

  “It’s never a problem,” she said, touching his shoulder gently. “Come on. Let’s go home.”

  That evening, the house was warm and full of laughter.

  Reid showed off the new chain nunchaku he wasn’t supposed to use indoors; Melan?e laughed as she caught it mid-swing, and Lucius, for once, joined in the laughter.

  When Lucius entered the room, he found baby Arttu asleep, his breathing soft and even. He smiled and leaned down to gently pat his head—

  Then stopped.

  The moment his hand brushed Arttu’s forehead, a memory flashed — the red book, the whisper of dark words: Accept your hunger.

  Lucius jerked his hand back, heart pounding. Arttu’s eyes opened— and the baby began to cry.

  Melan?e rushed in, startled. She gathered Arttu into her arms, humming softly. Almost at once, the crying stopped.

  Lucius stepped back, pale. “I didn’t do anything,” he said quickly, fear trembling in his voice.

  Melan?e looked at him with kind eyes. “I know, Lucius,” she said gently. “It’s alright. Nothing happened.”

  She knelt down and pulled him into a hug.

  A second later, Reid appeared at the doorway. “Hey! Group hug without me?” he said, grinning, and wrapped his arms around both of them.

  The tension melted. The rest of the evening was peaceful — laughter, little games, and stories shared until nightfall.

  When the house grew quiet, Lucius and Reid lay side by side in their beds.

  “Goodnight, Lucius,” Reid murmured, already half asleep.

  “Goodnight, Reid,” Lucius replied.

  But sleep didn’t come easily.

  His thoughts lingered on his mother… and on Arttu.

  He didn’t know what had just happened, or what it meant — only that, somewhere deep inside, it felt dark. And hungry.