The next morning, the skies above Vinterheim were pale and still, blanketed in soft snow. I stood in the middle of the inner courtyard, bundled against the cold, breath puffing in white clouds as Ser Rowen approached with calm, measured steps.
A set of chalk-drawn circles had been etched into the stone beneath me—concentric lines and ancient runes I didn't yet understand. They pulsed faintly, like they were waiting.
"This will be your training ground for now," Ser Rowen said, his tone steady. "A place to learn discipline, not display. Remember that, Your Highness."
I nodded. The warmth in my chest was still faint, like an ember, but it hadn't gone away since yesterday. It had settled into me—real and undeniable.
He stepped into the edge of the circle with me and crouched down, pressing a gloved hand to the stone. The runes flared gently under his touch, responding to his mana.
"First, we shape your awareness. No weapons. No movement. Just sensing."
He stood and gave a quiet command. "Sit."
I obeyed, crossing my legs, hands resting on my knees.
"Close your eyes."
The cold faded as I focused inward. I remembered that warmth again—that flickering presence inside my chest, buried just beneath my heartbeat.
"Mana," Ser Rowen began, his voice low and even, "is the soul's breath. It is born in the core, deep within you, and flows through your veins like a second blood."
I listened, breathing slowly.
"Each person's mana responds differently. Yours will likely carry traits from both your bloodlines—sharp and cold like your father's ice… but also deep and radiant, like the imperial light your mother once wielded."
I furrowed my brows. I could feel it—barely, like reaching through fog—but it was there. A thread. A current. Shy, unformed.
"It's… like a whisper," I murmured. "A river I can't see. Just feel."
"Good," Ser Rowen said. "You are already ahead of most your age."
I opened my eyes slightly, peeking. "You really think so?"
He gave a faint smile. "I know so. You are Claude Lysander de Valerius Vinterheim. The names you carry alone would shake courts. But names do not make the strength—they only warn the world of the one who might carry it."
I sat with that thought for a long time.
So many expectations, titles, bloodlines…
But I wasn't afraid.
Because for once, I didn't feel like I was chasing something I couldn't grasp. I wasn't just surviving anymore. I was growing. Becoming.
My hands curled slightly against my knees.
'I'll learn. I'll master it. Slowly, steadily… I'll earn the names I carry.'
The lesson stretched into late morning. My legs were numb from sitting too long, my fingers tingled from trying to guide a force I barely understood. Still, I could feel it now—mana. Faint and quiet, like a hidden current beneath still water.
I collapsed back onto the training grounds, staring up at the snow-dusted sky. Breath came in soft, steady clouds as snowflakes drifted lazily down.
Ser Rowen stepped beside me, the snow crunching under his boots. "Tired already, Your Highness?"
"A little," I admitted, voice muffled against the cold stone. "It's not like anything I've ever done. It's… like trying to grab light with my hands."
"That's how it begins," he said, kneeling beside me. "You've taken your first step—one most don't take until they're nearly twice your age."
I turned my head slightly. "Ser Rowen… how strong are my parents?"
There was a short silence.
Then, quietly, "His Grace, your father, is a peak Transcendent. That alone would place him among the most formidable beings alive. And Her Grace, your mother… stood at the peak of Ascendant before she withdrew from the imperial court. She could shape light with the ease of breathing."
I blinked. "So they're both just one step below the legendary realms?"
He nodded slowly. "From Paragon and beyond, power becomes something else entirely. Your parents have walked the edge of that threshold. There are few who can speak their names without weight."
I sat up slowly, brushing snow from my sleeves.
"All this time… I just thought Father was quiet. I didn't realize people feared him."
"They don't fear him, Your Highness," Ser Rowen said. "They respect him. Because he does not use his strength to command attention. He simply is. And that carries more weight than any title."
I looked down at my small hands, mana still buzzing faintly under the skin. So much power in my blood… and yet I could barely keep a thread of mana steady.
"It's a little overwhelming," I said softly. "Like I'm expected to be someone already."
Ser Rowen placed a gloved hand on my shoulder. "You don't need to become anyone overnight. Your names—Valerius, Vinterheim—they're not chains. They're legacies. And you'll carve your own place among them, in time."
I gave a small nod. I wasn't sure if I believed it yet… but I wanted to.
I took his hand and let him help me to my feet.
The courtyard was silent except for the snow falling softly around us.
I stood again, legs a little wobbly from sitting too long, but I didn't want to stop. Not yet. I brushed snow from my sleeves and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly the way Ser Rowen had shown me.
"Again," I said.
Ser Rowen raised an eyebrow. "Already?"
"I want to try again while I can still feel it," I said. "It's like it'll slip away if I wait."
He gave a short nod, then motioned for me to take my stance. "Very well. Remember what we practiced—clear your mind. Let the mana respond to you. Don't force it."
I focused, hands open at my sides. I tried to picture the way mana felt earlier—like warm threads beneath my skin, humming softly with each breath. It flickered, faint and trembling.
"Good," Ser Rowen said. "Now guide it. Just a spark, nothing more."
I reached for that warmth.
My fingers tingled. A flicker of pale blue light danced along my palm before sputtering out. I winced.
"Too tense," Ser Rowen said. "You're holding your breath."
I let out a shaky exhale. "Right."
"Again."
This time, I focused on my breathing. One inhale. One exhale. I found the mana again—it was easier now, like a tiny stream flowing through me.
The light returned, softer this time. It didn't last long—just a few seconds—but it held.
I grinned. "I did it."
"You did," Ser Rowen said, arms crossed. "A minor light conjuration, but it's a start. Not many children your age can call on mana directly, even less without guidance stones."
"I still don't get how I'm supposed to do anything with it," I said. "How do you turn it into spells? Or magic?"
"That comes later," he replied. "First, you must learn to command your mana. Control is everything. Without it, even the strongest core is useless."
I nodded, taking that to heart. One step at a time.
As we continued, he explained more about focus, visualization, and internal flow. He walked me through basic mana exercises, guiding me when my breathing stuttered or when I lost concentration. It was frustrating, humbling—and exhilarating.
Eventually, the snow stopped. The sun peeked weakly through the clouds, casting a pale light over the courtyard.
"You've done well today, Your Highness," Ser Rowen said at last. "We'll build on this in the days ahead."
I was tired, but I didn't want it to end. Not yet. My hands still tingled from the mana I'd drawn, and deep in my chest, something stirred—excitement, maybe. Or hope.
For the first time since understanding what power truly meant in this world, I felt like I could reach for it too.
And one day… I'd stand beside the legends I called Mother and Father.
Evening found the halls of Vinterheim bathed in amber light. Golden chandeliers flickered softly above tall windows, the snow outside still falling in gentle sheets.
I walked quietly toward the parlor, cheeks still flushed from training, my fingers twitching every so often with the memory of that faint glow.
Mother was seated near the hearth, reading a letter, while Father stood by the window, arms crossed behind his back as he stared into the snowy courtyard. The warmth of the room wrapped around me instantly.
Seraphina de Valerius Vinterheim glanced up first, her blonde hair catching the firelight.
"Claude," she said, her voice gentle. "How did your lessons go?"
I grinned, barely holding it in. "I did it. I conjured a spark. Just for a few seconds."
Father turned then, blue eyes narrowing slightly with interest. "With no channeling crystal?"
I shook my head proudly. "Just me. Ser Rowen said it's rare."
"It is," Mother said, setting her letter aside. "Especially at your age."
Father gave a quiet hum of approval. "Good. But don't chase power too quickly, my son. Power without discipline burns everything in its path."
"I know," I said. "I just… wanted to show you. I wanted you to know I'm trying."
His hand ruffled my hair gently as he passed. "We can see that."
Mother patted the space beside her. I sat, and she smoothed the sleeve of my tunic absently. "Do you feel the mana clearly now?"
I nodded. "It feels like… a thread. Or a stream. It's always moving."
"That's a good way to describe it," she said softly. "It means your affinity is awakening."
"What kind of magic do I have?" I asked.
Mother glanced at Father, then back to me. "Your father commands the ice, passed through the bloodline of Vinterheim. While I wield light, passed through the bloodline of Valerius. You carry both of our lineages within you."
"It's rare," Father added, kneeling beside us. "For a child to inherit both. Magic runs deep in the blood, but often, one side asserts itself more clearly."
He brushed a strand of hair from my eyes. "And your appearance already speaks volumes. Silver-blonde hair and eyes like the northern sky... Vinterheim runs strong in you."
"So… ice magic?" I asked.
"Most likely," he said with a nod. "But the light sleeps within you too. Time will tell if it ever wakes."
---
Later that night, after dinner and quiet laughter over a book with Father, I found myself awake long after the palace had gone still.
I slipped from my bed, padded across the cold floor, and pulled open the balcony doors. The air bit at my skin, but I didn't care.
I sat down cross-legged on the marble and closed my eyes.
In the dark, I reached inward.
The mana was there—faint, quiet, but alive.
I called to it, and it answered.
A soft flicker of pale blue shimmered across my palm. Cold and unsteady, but real. My breath caught.
I shaped it again, more slowly this time, trying to make it linger.
The magic pulsed, then faded.
I grinned to myself in the silence.
No matter how far behind I was, I could feel it now.
This time… I wasn't powerless. I wasn't forgotten.
This time, I had a place.