The morning was crisp, the sky painted in shades of soft blue and silver. Snow blanketed the training grounds, fresh and untouched—until I stepped onto it.
There was something about the first frost of the season. The way the cold clung to the air, how each breath turned to mist, how the silence felt almost sacred. It reminded me that this place was not just home—it was mine to grow into.
Ser Rowen stood at the edge of the clearing, wrapped in his dark cloak. He inclined his head as I approached. "Your Highness."
"Good morning, Ser Rowen."
He gestured to the glimmering snow. "It's a good day to train. The frost sharpens the senses."
I stepped forward, boots crunching lightly beneath me, and held out my hand. The Knight's Focus bracer gleamed at my wrist, the mana within already humming to life.
The cold felt different now. Not just a biting edge against my skin, but something deeper—something that answered a call I hadn't known I'd made. The flow of mana was steadier now. Where it once sputtered and slipped through my grasp, it now responded to my will like a stream bending to the shape of its riverbed.
"You've grown more attuned," Ser Rowen observed, arms crossed as he studied me. "Tell me, Your Highness—what does the cold mean to you?"
I blinked, caught off guard by the question. "…It feels like silence. Like stillness. But also strength. It doesn't shout, it just is."
He nodded slowly. "Good. That quiet strength is the heart of your bloodline. The Vinterheims do not rage like fire or whirl like wind. You endure. You remain."
I turned toward the dummy, raising my hand. I let the mana build—not in a burst, but a slow, deliberate release. A swirl of frost gathered at my palm, and with a sharp exhale, I unleashed it in a spiral. The dummy froze instantly, its wooden limbs creaking with frostbite.
"Again," Ser Rowen said, a faint note of approval in his voice. "Push yourself. Broaden the spread, then narrow it. Control is your foundation. Power will come later."
I practiced again and again. Ice like spears, ice like chains, ice like a misty fog meant to obscure. Ser Rowen critiqued each one, his tone firm but never unkind. When I faltered, he reminded me, "You carry the blood of Valerius and Vinterheim both. You are not allowed to be ordinary."
Eventually, the training slowed. My breath came in clouds, arms heavy and cheeks flushed against the cold.
"Enough for now," Ser Rowen said at last. "But tomorrow, we'll begin structured forms—proper magical combat techniques."
I nodded, catching my breath as a new kind of excitement stirred within me. I was finally doing more than shaping magic. I was learning to fight.
Later that evening, wrapped in a thick fur cloak, I sat before the hearth in the family lounge. My hair was damp from melted snow, the raw ache in my limbs a good kind of sore.
Father glanced up from his book, the firelight catching the silver-blonde of his hair. He had changed into more casual attire, though his presence never lessened.
"Training went well, I see," he said with a half-smile.
"It did. Ser Rowen says we'll start combat forms tomorrow," I replied, settling across from him.
Mother looked up from her embroidery, golden hair warm in the glow. "Be careful not to overexert yourself, Claude."
I looked between them—two figures of quiet strength. The Archduke of the North, a peak Transcendent whose power shaped storms in silence. The former imperial princess, the Ascendant light of the empire.
"Did you both always know how powerful you were meant to become?" I asked hesitantly.
They exchanged a look. Father closed his book, resting it on the table.
"Power doesn't come with knowing," he said. "It comes with choosing to carry it, day after day."
Mother nodded gently. "And not everyone who carries it does so with grace. That is what matters more than strength."
I let their words settle like fresh snow, quiet and heavy with meaning. Then I smiled, letting the fire's warmth seep into my fingers.
I had a long way to go, but I was no longer afraid.
Not of the names I bore. Not of the magic in my blood. And certainly not of the cold.
It was later, after dinner and the quiet had returned to the manor, that I felt it.
At first, I thought it was just the lingering hum of training—a tingle in my chest, a whisper beneath my skin. But as I stood alone in the quiet garden behind the manor, snowflakes drifting lazily around me, I knew this was different.
The cold didn't bite anymore.
It welcomed me.
I closed my eyes. My breath slowed, heart steady.
There it was again—mana, flowing not just through me but within me. A deeper current now, no longer scattered or wild. It spiraled toward the center of my being, pressing inward like a heartbeat growing louder.
Then, all at once—
A click.
Not a sound I heard, but something I felt. A subtle, certain click, as if something had locked into place within my chest.
The mana settled. My body warmed, even in the middle of snow.
And I knew.
I had formed my core.
I was no longer just manipulating mana through instinct. I had taken the first step on the path of true magic.
Awakened—Stage V.
When I returned inside, snow still clinging to my boots, Ser Rowen met me in the corridor. He stilled the moment he saw me.
"Your Highness… something has changed."
I nodded, heart still beating with quiet awe. "I can feel it. It's… clearer now."
He studied me, then gave a rare, quiet smile. "Then allow me to be the first to congratulate you. You've awakened."
Before I could respond, the door behind him opened. Father entered the hall, his presence like a sudden winter wind. He paused, eyes falling on me.
He didn't need to ask.
Mother followed a moment later, her golden hair a gleam in the corridor's light. She saw me—and smiled.
"You've done it," she said softly, her voice full of pride.
"I wasn't sure it would happen today," I admitted. My hand drifted over my chest. "It just… happened."
"That's how it is," Father said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "The core forms when you're ready. Not when you think you are. The body—and the soul—knows."
Mother brushed a few snowflakes from my hair. "You've taken your first true step, Claude. Most children your age haven't even begun proper training. But you… you carry more than potential. You carry legacy."
Father's gaze sharpened, amused. "And expectations."
I smirked. "No pressure."
They both laughed.
That night, in the quiet of my room, I watched frost creep gently along the windowpane. But something else settled in me too—quieter than pride, stronger than excitement.
It was certainty.
I was no longer standing at the threshold.
I had stepped through.
The snow was still falling by morning, blanketing the courtyard in a fresh layer of white. Even the servants moved softly, their steps muffled by snow.
I stood at the edge, breath misting, hand raised to the air.
Mana pulsed within me now—steady, calm. It didn't slip away anymore.
'Let's see if this works.'
I gathered mana at my fingertips, the flow cool and smooth. A shimmer sparked above my palm.
A crack—soft and sharp. Frost spiraled across my skin, delicate and slow, like ivy blooming in winter. The air dropped in temperature as a snowflake of ice began to form—fragile, beautiful, mine.
I grinned.
It was small. But it was mine.
I added more mana. The snowflake grew, turning to a crystal shard that hovered above my palm, spinning gently.
"Not bad," came a voice behind me.
I turned to see Ser Rowen beneath the archway, arms folded. His eyes held something new—approval.
"You've taken to your core quickly, Your Highness," he said. "Many initiates struggle to control their first spells. But you… you shape it as if you've done it before."
"I guess I kind of have," I murmured, letting the shard dissolve into mist. "In here."
I tapped my temple lightly.
Ser Rowen regarded me for a moment. Then he nodded. "Ice magic responds to clarity of mind. Control and will. You have both. But be careful. Power without discipline can destroy its wielder as easily as its enemy."
"Then teach me," I said. "I want to understand it. I don't want to hurt anyone."
That seemed to please him.
"Then we will begin formal lessons with your magic tomorrow. I'll inform His Grace."
I nodded.
But even after he left, I couldn't stop. Alone in the quiet courtyard, I practiced—small flurries in my hand, frost dancing along the stone floor, little shards of ice forming and vanishing with a thought.
It wasn't perfect. A few spells froze my sleeve. One chilled deep into my arm.
Still… I laughed.
For the first time in both my lives, I felt like something truly belonged to me.