The Royal Palace of Solaris, also known as Palace Sarna, is the crown jewel of the golden capital. Its white stone, polished by centuries of sun, shimmered under the first kiss of dawn, and its gilded spires seemed to pierce the very clouds. Sunlight poured through countless tall windows, casting dazzling shafts across marble floors that shifted through hues of amber and rose. The air, fresh and clean, carried the sweet scent of roses, lilies, and lavender from the palace gardens. Within its vast halls, maids moved with a quiet, practiced grace, their movements so fluid they almost seemed like a subtle form of magic.
Inside Prince Johan's chambers, the morning began with a gentler rhythm.
Marie, his personal maid since her teenage years, moved with an ease born of long familiarity. Her long dark braid swayed as she set a silver tray on the low table by the window—honeyed pastries, sliced fruit, and a steaming pot of spiced tea. Two younger maids assisted her, their movements less refined, one drawing a warm bath, the other carefully laying out Johan's deep-blue training tunic and leather guards.
"Good morning, Young Master," Marie said, her voice warm and comforting, wrapping around him like a familiar blanket. Her rich brown eyes, holding a depth beyond mere duty, conveyed a quiet, enduring devotion.
Lifting the tunic, she let her gaze drift to the faint scar above his left eyebrow. Her hand rose instinctively, her thumb brushing lightly over the mark. "You pushed yourself again yesterday, didn't you? Your arm's still sore—I can tell."
Johan sighed, intercepting her hand with a soft groan. "Alright, alright. I'll be careful. Stop pestering me already."
He stepped into the steaming bath, the lavender scent rising to soothe his sore limbs. When he emerged, Marie was already waiting with a towel.
"Shall I help you change, Your Highness?"
Johan flushed slightly, his voice tight with mild exasperation. "I'm not a child anymore, Marie."
She chuckled, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "Oh, the days I still remember bathing you and dressing you."
"God, enough," Johan groaned, covering his face with a hand. *Why is she such a dunce can't see she i am a man now*.
Marie laughed, the sound light and clear like distant bells. "As you command, Master Johan." She bowed playfully and stepped back.
Palace Courtyard – Training Grounds
The palace courtyard was already alive with the clash of steel and bursts of mana. Soldiers sparred with wooden blades, grunting through heavy swings. A few younger mages practiced fire lances in the far corner, the air shimmering with heat.
And right in the center of it all—looming like a lion among cubs—stood Sir Kael.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Arms crossed. That devilish grin? I could spot it from a mile away.
He saw me instantly.
"Oh look," Kael barked loud enough for half the yard to hear. "His Highness finally decided to grace us peasants."
I rolled my eyes. "Cut me some slack, will you? I'm only five minutes late."
"Shut it, brat."
Kael's grin sharpened. "If you knew that, you've got balls showing your face at all."
A wooden sword came flying at my face.
I barely caught it mid-air. My wrist stung.
Dead. I'm so dead.
Kael was already striding over, grabbing a blade for himself.
"Let's see if your sword's any sharper than your mouth."
The sparring circle cleared. All eyes turned to me.
"At least wear your armor, old man," I said, flashing a grin. "Wouldn't want to snap a rib."
"Come at me, you little bastard," Kael growled, grinning back.
We clashed.
Wood cracked. Mana flared. I channeled it through my limbs—light, fast, just enough to keep up. A flicker of blue flame danced along my blade—Azure. Rare. Instinctive.
Kael's eyes narrowed.
He swung low—I jumped back. Countered. My blade hummed as I pressed the attack, slamming strike after strike, forcing him to give ground.
One last blow. I lunged—
CRACK.
His sword split mine in two. The impact threw me back—I hit the dirt hard.
"Again," Kael snapped.
I groaned, spitting dust. "You broke it!"
He tossed another sword at my feet.
"So break mine. If you're gonna use magic, make it count."
We went again.
I let my mana surge—flames curled around the blade. I struck, pushed him back, blade glowing hotter, brighter—
And he decked me. Straight in the gut.
Air gone. Vision blurred. My back slammed the ground.
Pain lit up my ribs like a bonfire.
"Son of a bitch," I wheezed. "You trying to kill me?"
Kael didn't answer. Just tossed me another sword.
"Again."
Later, lying in the dust
I coughed and dragged myself to the edge of the yard. Everything ached. My ribs throbbed. My pride had a limp.
Magic swordsman, they called me.
Sounds cooler than it feels.
The truth? Only a handful of people in Solaris can even use mana. The rest live and die without sensing a single drop.
But those of us who can… we're split.
There are the mages—those who can feel the mana around them, bend it, shape it, cast it into spells. They're rare, and dangerous.
Then there are the swordsmen—the ones who pull mana inward. Into their muscles, their bones. Makes them faster, stronger, harder to kill.
Me? I'm both.
I can feel it and pull it in. I can light my blade and strengthen my body.
Everyone says it's a gift.
Still doesn't stop me from getting beaten like a dog.
Footsteps crunched toward me. Kael's silhouette blocked the sun.
"Sir Reinhart's coming tomorrow," he said, tossing me a waterskin. "Get yourself patched up by a healer."
He turned, but paused.
"And don't be late again. Or I'll really break your ribs for real.