The clang of steel echoed through the open courtyards of the Ardyn estate, a chorus of blades and grunts that had played since dawn. Sunlight filtered in through Kael’s chamber window, warming the worn floorboards, but it did nothing for the cold settling in his bones.
He sat still, staring at the polished bronze mirror in silence.
The reflection looking back wasn’t unfamiliar—but it wasn’t his.
His features were younger, skin smooth and untouched by time. Yet behind those pale gray eyes was the soul of a man who had once towered above kings and generals. Archmage Lucian. A name once uttered in reverence… and fear.
Now forgotten.
He leaned closer to the mirror. The corner of his lips curled in quiet mockery.
“You fell from a stormbreaker to this... a ten-year-old brat from a backwater sword family,” he muttered. “Kael Ardyn, third son of the South.”
He sighed, leaning back. His memories were still sorting themselves out—his death had been sudden, the betrayal sharp as the blade that pierced his back.
The prince... that wretched prince. I raised him like a younger brother.
And yet, in his final moments, it had been that very boy who whispered the execution order.
Kael flexed his fingers. They trembled—not with weakness, but with something buried and stirring.
Let’s see if it still answers me.
He muttered under his breath, a word older than the language of this world.
“Luminous.”
A spark bloomed above his palm—soft, bluish-white, like a distant star flickering to life.
He held his breath, mesmerized.
It’s still here. Dormant… but alive.
Then—a sound.
A sharp crash echoed from below.
Kael jumped and rushed to the window. From his second-floor chamber, he could see the stone training yard. Servants were bustling around, and in the midst of them was an elderly man—grey-bearded, hunched slightly, holding a tray with shattered plates at his feet.
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Kael’s heart lurched.
That face.
Even after twenty years and countless corpses, he remembered that face.
The servant looked up—just for a second. His eyes swept the manor, then paused.
Right here. Directly at Kael’s window.
The contact was brief. But in that instant, Kael knew.
One of the Emperor’s shadows… alive. Here. Inside the Ardyn household.
Then, the man looked away, stooped to gather the broken dishes, and vanished into the corridors.
Kael leaned back, the spark in his hand long gone. His fingers curled into a fist.
He’s watching. Not just me. The entire house.
Before he could spiral deeper into thought, the door creaked open behind him.
He turned, ready to scold another servant—until he saw her.
A woman stepped inside with a basin of water and a jar of herbal balm. Her clothes were plain, sleeves rolled, her steps practiced and quiet like one used to being overlooked. Her hair was tied in a simple knot, and a few strands clung to her forehead from hours of labor.
But her eyes—
Those eyes.
Kael blinked.
Something inside him shifted. A strange warmth surfaced from deep within his memories. He clutched the edge of the bed as pain bloomed in his temple, then dissolved like a ripple in still water.
He knew her.
But as Kael .... not Lucian
The threads of memory rewove themselves.
She was the woman who used to sit beside a window at dusk, weaving while her son slept across her lap. The woman who once stood silent during family feasts, never addressed, but whose gaze never left her child.
His mother.
Not the noble wife. Not one of station.
But a concubine—little more than a maid in this house. Powerless. Invisible. Yet... loving.
“Kael,” she said gently, placing the basin down. “You’re awake.”Her voice trembled with concern, not authority.
“I… I am,” he answered, his voice softer than intended.
She stepped closer, dabbing his bruises with practiced care. Her hands were rough, her fingers calloused. But her touch was gentle.
“You shouldn’t push yourself after a loss like that,” she whispered. “You’ve always been fragile.”
Kael looked at her again, this time not as the past Lucian, not as the reincarnated archmage.
But as a son.
And something in his chest tightened.
“…I’ll be fine,” he said.
She smiled faintly but didn’t answer. She only applied the balm, then rose and gathered the cloths.
“I’ll bring you some broth later,” she added. “Your father… he expects you to attend the test.”
Kael nodded, and looked at her .
He saw her—and something told him she was more than what she seemed. More than the forgotten concubine. The green balls of magic stirred faintly around her—subtle, like an echo. The proof of existence of a legendary race .
He had only read about it , being who are capable of using spirit magic and summoning ....... The elves .
How can that legendary race, the believers of world tree be here .......?
Kael turned back to the window.
The training ground was alive again—steel clashing, barked commands, the hum of routine.
He casted his magic.....
"Luminous ."
Then came the sound.Again .
Clang!
A tray crashed against the stone below, startling a few servants. One of them—same older man with a limp—stood frozen, staring up at Kael’s window. His face betrayed nothing. But his eyes lingered too long. His hands trembled slightly.
Kael’s brow furrowed.
It wasn’t the spell. He was sure of that now. What he’d cast was too subtle to notice from that distance.
No—this was something deeper.
Something inside him had stirred when he channeled mana—something not magic, but forged in steel and blood.
It was faint… like a locked gate rattling against its chains.
And someone had heard the rattle.
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