The Vaelor estate was quiet in the early morning, the kind of silence that seemed to press against the walls—elegant, hollow, expectant. Sunlight filtered in through tall stained-glass windows that cast colored patterns across the floor like painted ghosts.
Lucien stood alone in one of the gallery halls, barefoot on the marble floor, heart still racing from his morning workout. Sweat clung to his shirt. His limbs ached, but it was a satisfying pain—earned, not endured.
He had started waking before dawn. Running. Strength drills. Mana circulation, although his Codex remained locked. He couldn't afford to wait. Not with how fragile his current body was. Not when eyes would be on him the moment he stepped outside these walls.
He stared at a painting on the wall.
A portrait of his mother—Elira Vaelor.
Painted in full noble regalia, the Duchess stared ahead with the cold serenity of a ruler. Pale gold hair cascaded over her shoulder, eyes sharp as glass. But he could see it now—the faint tension in her smile, the exhaustion behind her proud gaze.
"I wonder if you ever saw what your son was becoming," Lucien muttered under his breath.
The old Lucien had worshipped her. Not loved—worshipped. And in doing so, he had modeled himself after her ruthlessness but none of her grace. He had lashed out at his stepmother, Celeste, everyone... as if hurting them preserved something sacred.
Lucien clenched his fists.
That boy was gone.
"Master Lucien?"
A soft voice broke the silence. He turned to see a servant standing by the archway, one of the older ones—Gerald, he thought. The man gave a respectful bow.
"The Lady Seraphina requests your presence in the greenhouse."
Lucien blinked. That was... unexpected. He had avoided her for days now, intentionally. He hadn't felt ready to face her.
Still, he nodded. "Tell her I'll be there shortly."
He cleaned up quickly, pulling on a simpler set of dark clothing—tailored but less regal. No need for embellishments. He wasn't in the mood for masks.
---
The greenhouse was alive with soft music—the rustle of leaves, the quiet chirp of imported birds, and the hum of mana-charged sunlight that warmed the exotic flora. House Vaelor didn't just grow flowers; it cultivated entire magical ecosystems.
Lady Seraphina stood by a flowering aetherlily, her back turned to him. She wore a long, pastel-blue gown, her dark hair braided down her back, fingers delicately tracing the petals of a bloom that pulsed with faint mana.
Lucien approached, stopping a few feet behind. "You wished to see me, Lady Seraphina?"
She didn't turn immediately. "It's been three days, Lucien."
"I know," he said quietly.
She finally looked over her shoulder.
Her gaze wasn't angry. Nor cold. Just... distant. Guarded.
"You haven't spoken to Celeste. Or to me. You've barely spoken to your father."
Lucien hesitated. "I've had... a lot to think about."
Silence again. Then: "You never used to avoid confrontation."
He flinched at that. "I know. I'm... trying not to be that person anymore."
A pause. A long one.
When she turned to face him fully, her expression had softened—but not entirely.
"You don't get to fix years of cruelty in three days, Lucien," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "But you can start."
Lucien nodded. "That's what I'm trying to do."
"I know." She offered him a small, bittersweet smile. "And for what it's worth... I'm glad you're trying."
Then she walked past him, pausing only once to say, "Celeste has been painting again. You should visit her."
The moment she was gone, Lucien let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.
---
Back in his room, a small package awaited him on the desk. No name. Just a royal seal.
He broke it open.
Inside was a folded parchment and a gleaming bronze token—emblazoned with the insignia of the Imperial Academy of Arcanum.
His name was inscribed in mana-etched ink.
Lucien Drayven Vaelor
Pre-Awakening Evaluation Candidate – Noble Class.
The parchment read:
> By order of the Celestial Conclave and the Imperial Academy, heirs of Count rank and above are to present themselves for early evaluation. This assessment, held one year before formal Codex Awakening, will determine behavioral development, mana affinity readiness, and political aptitude. Attendance is mandatory.
A date was circled in crimson ink.
Lucien stared at it.
Just three weeks.
Three weeks until he would be standing before evaluators—scholars, nobles, and observers—who already expected him to fail.
Three weeks to prepare a body still rebuilding, a mind still adapting, and a name still recovering from disgrace.
But that was fine.
He didn't need to impress them.
He just needed to make sure they never forgot the name Lucien Vaelor again.
He pocketed the token and turned—
Only to pause.
There was paint under the edge of the door.
---------------
-Later that evening, curiosity tugged at him more than pride could resist.
He knocked gently before opening the door to Celeste's room.
She looked up from her easel, startled. Her fingers were streaked with blue and violet, the beginnings of a landscape taking shape in wide arcs of motion. Her brows furrowed in confusion... and caution.
Lucien raised a hand awkwardly. "I just wanted to say... your colors are pretty."
She blinked. "You used to hate them."
"I used to hate a lot of things I didn't understand," he said softly.
She tilted her head, eyes narrowing. "Why are you being nice?"
Lucien paused, then offered a sheepish smile. "Because... I think I owe you a lot more than just nice."
Celeste looked at him for a long moment—really looked, like she was trying to find the cruel older brother she used to know hidden beneath this new version.
Eventually, she turned back to her painting. Her voice was quieter this time.
"…I didn't stop painting, you know. Even when you said it was useless."
Lucien stepped closer, hesitant. "I'm glad you didn't listen to me."
A pause.
Then—without looking at him—Celeste picked up a spare brush, dipped it in pale silver, and held it out to him.
"You can help. But only the sky."
Lucien smiled—an actual, gentle one—and sat beside her.
The brush felt unfamiliar in his hand. The canvas even more so. But he followed her lead, filling in the edges of the twilight sky as best he could.
For the first time in years, they painted together—not as strangers or enemies, but as something closer to what they should've always been.