A sharp knock at the door broke the stillness of the morning. Kael, now fully dressed and pacing near the window, turned toward the sound. His heart gave an unsteady thud, knowing exactly who the messenger would be.
"Come in," he called, his voice steady despite the tension simmering beneath the surface.
The door creaked open, and Lina stepped inside with her usual composed demeanor. She inclined her head respectfully, her hands folded neatly in front of her. "Good morning, Master Kael. Your father asked me to inform you that he is waiting in the training room. He expects your presence at once."
Kael exhaled slowly, forcing himself to appear calm even as his thoughts swirled. "Thank you, Lina. I'll head there now."
Lina hesitated for a moment, her sharp eyes briefly assessing him as if searching for signs of readiness. Satisfied, she gave a polite nod before exiting the room, the soft sound of her footsteps fading down the hallway.
Kael stood silently for a moment, his gaze drifting back to the window. The estate grounds stretched out before him, bathed in the warm hues of early morning. The serenity of the scene felt like a cruel contradiction to the anxiety coiling in his chest.
"Well, this is going to be fun," Nereia's voice chimed in, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Off to impress the unyielding overlord of this household, are we?"
Kael's lips twitched into a faint smirk despite himself. "Morning to you too, Nereia. Any sage advice before I walk into the lion's den?"
"Sure," she replied breezily. "Don't suffer too much. And, if possible, try not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you struggle."
"Helpful as ever," Kael muttered, his tone wry.
"Hey, I'm the voice of reason here," Nereia quipped. "But seriously, Kael, you've got this. Just remember—you're not that scared little kid anymore. You're stronger now, whether or not your father sees it."
Kael let out a slow breath, her words settling over him like a reassuring balm. "Thanks, Nereia. I'll try to keep that in mind."
"Good," she said, her voice softening slightly. "Now go show him what you're made of. I'll be here, offering my delightful commentary."
Shaking his head with a quiet chuckle, Kael straightened his posture and left the room. The hallway stretched ahead of him, the intricate designs of the Draylen estate catching the morning light. His footsteps echoed faintly, a steady rhythm that matched the resolve building within him.
As he approached the entrance to the training room, Kael paused. The doors before him were not simple oak but instead a marvel of magical engineering. Composed of polished metal overlaid with shimmering runic patterns, the surface pulsed faintly with an otherworldly glow. The runes shifted and reconfigured themselves every few seconds, a security measure designed to prevent unauthorized entry.
This was not a place for ornamentation or pretense—it was a space of discipline and purpose. Placing his hand on the central rune, Kael felt a subtle vibration course through his palm. The intricate patterns reacted instantly, glowing brighter as they recognized his magical signature. With a low hum and a smooth, almost mechanical motion, the doors slid apart, revealing the room beyond.
The training room was illuminated by sunlight pouring in from high, narrow windows. Rows of weapon racks lined the walls, each neatly organized with swords, staffs, and shields. The polished stone floor bore faint scuffs and marks—evidence of the countless battles fought here, a testament to its purpose.
"Well, it's definitely functional," Nereia remarked, her tone lighter this time. "Not exactly cozy, but I guess that's not the point."
Kael ignored the comment, his attention drawn to the center of the room. There stood Darius Draylen, his commanding presence filling the space. He wore a simple but well-fitted training uniform, his stance relaxed yet exuding an air of control. In his hand, he held a wooden staff, its surface smooth and unadorned.
Darius turned as Kael entered, his piercing gaze locking onto his son. "You're late," he said, his voice cold and clipped.
Kael met his father's gaze evenly, refusing to let the weight of his presence unnerve him. "I came as soon as I received word."
As the words left his mouth, the thought hit him sharply, almost louder than his voice. Not that he exactly gave me a time, Kael mused, the frustration bubbling quietly beneath his composed exterior. Typical.
Darius's silence was more cutting than any words, but his next gesture spoke volumes. He motioned toward the weapon racks. "Choose your weapon. Today, we determine if your time away was anything more than a waste."
Kael stepped forward, his expression steady as he scanned the assortment of weapons. Each was plain and unembellished, designed for function over form. His eyes settled on a simple training sword—reliable and well-balanced. It wasn't flashy, but it was practical, just like himself.
Gripping the sword, Kael turned back to face his father. The weight of the weapon felt natural in his hand, a steady reminder of the challenge ahead. Darius studied him, his gaze sharp and unyielding, before stepping forward.
The tension in the room was palpable as father and son faced each other. Kael tightened his grip on the sword, steadying his breathing. This was the moment he'd been preparing for—not just as Kael Draylen, the overlooked son of a powerful family, but as Nate, a man reborn into a new world. This wasn't simply a test of skill; it was a chance to carve his place in this life, to prove that he was more than the weak boy his father remembered. With the sharp mind of Nate and the growing strength of Kael, he intended to show them all that this was his story now—and he would not be dismissed