Four days.
That was all it had been since Caelis had named him a Spark, yet Lux's body felt as though it had lived through several seasons of punishment in that short span of time.
Every night ended the same way.
He would return to his room, shut the door behind him, and stand there for a moment—just long enough to confirm that nothing inside him was still moving when it shouldn't be. Then he would collapse onto the bed, muscles trembling, bones aching with a deep, pervasive soreness that felt less like injury and more like being slowly ground down.
It reminded him of a blizzard.
Not the cold itself, but what came after—when the wind had finally passed and everything ached simply because it had endured.
Only now the pain was heatless. No sharp burns, no surges of runaway Hlyr. Just exhaustion layered on exhaustion, until even lifting his arms felt like an act of intent.
Caelis had not exaggerated. Training had changed immediately. The first thing to go was balance.
Not physical balance—Lux still stood, still moved—but the balance of his days. Where once his schedule had been neatly divided between study, instruction, and rest, Hlyr training now dominated everything. Entire mornings vanished into the training hall. Some afternoons followed. On more than one occasion, Caelis dismissed him outright from other lessons without explanation.
"Your body needs to grasp it," was all he said. "Books can wait."
The training itself was relentless.
Combat came first.
Not sparring in the way Lux had imagined it, but repetition stripped of ceremony. Stances drilled until his legs burned. Strikes thrown slowly, then faster, then under strain. Caelis corrected angles with a tap, timing with a word, posture with a quiet shake of the head. Lux learned quickly that strength meant nothing if his breathing collapsed under pressure.
"Enhancement amplifies flaws," Caelis said once, watching him struggle through a sequence. "Fix the flaw, or Hlyr will make it worse."
They practiced integrating circulation into movement—never explosively, never carelessly. Lux was taught to feel how much Hlyr he allowed into his limbs, how to pull it back before it overwhelmed his muscles. More than once, he overcommitted and paid for it, his body trembling as Caelis forced him to stop and recover.
Weapons followed.
Only the basics, Caelis had emphasized. Grip. Balance. Weight distribution. Lux handled simple blades and short staves, learning how different materials responded when Hlyr brushed against them. Some resisted. Others carried the flow too easily. Lux found smaller daggers to be more comfortable. They also reminded him of back in the Outter Sectors.
Pathfinder theory filled what little time remained.
History, purpose, structure. Why Pathfinders existed. Their impact on the world. Why they are loved and why they are sometimes feared.
By the end of each day, Lux felt hollowed out.
Four days had stretched into something far longer in his perception. It felt like months of effort compressed into a narrow span of time, his body forced to grow accustomed to demands it had never known.
And yet—
He was still standing.
Tonight, however, training was not what occupied his thoughts.
Tomorrow was the Party as Lux still called it. The word itself sat uncomfortably in his mind. Lux had done everything expected of him. He had attended Geltry's lessons each evening despite his exhaustion, standing straight while she corrected posture, practicing speech until his voice no longer wavered, memorizing etiquette that still felt unnecessarily complex.
Forks, spoons, order of address, eye contact—rules layered atop rules. He understood why they mattered. He simply found them absurd.
"A spoon was a spoon."
Still, this night was his last lesson before the event, and he was grateful when it ended. Geltry dismissed him with a gentle smile, reminding him to rest, to breathe, to trust that preparation had its purpose.
Now Lux lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, hands folded loosely over his chest.
Sleep did not come immediately.
He thought of tomorrow—of faces he didn't want to know, conversations he didn't want to have, clothes that would feel too tight and too formal. Not fear, exactly. Just reluctance. He didn't want to perform. He didn't want to be assessed.
He wanted to train.
Somewhere in that spiral of thought, another image surfaced.
Silver hair.
The quiet canopy of the garden. Tea steaming gently in porcelain. A voice soft enough to linger long after it had faded.
He realized, distantly, that he hadn't seen her since that day.
Lux frowned slightly, not in disappointment but in curiosity.
i wonder who she is.
The thought surprised him with how easily it came. He shifted beneath the blankets, the ache in his muscles finally dulling into something manageable. As his breathing slowed, another realization followed—quiet, almost amused.
If not for her, he might not have understood his mistake with circulation. He might not have felt that moment of clarity.
The corners of his mouth lifted faintly.
"Thanks," he murmured to no one in particular.
Sleep claimed him shortly after.
Tomorrow awaited. And it came with a regretful beeping.
Lux woke to sound.
Not shouting, not an alarm bell, not the cold claw of hunger or pain—but a soft, persistent chime vibrating near his bedside. It took him a moment to realize what it was. The sound threaded through his sleep, tugging at him gently at first, then with growing insistence.
He groaned and rolled onto his side, one arm fumbling blindly until his fingers brushed the device resting on the nightstand. His hand closed around it clumsily, and with a careless tap the sound ceased.
Silence returned.
Lux lay there for a few seconds longer, eyes closed, breathing slow. His body felt heavy—bone-deep fatigue clinging to him like damp cloth. Training had done that. Not the sharp exhaustion of a single hard day, but the cumulative weight of the past week of strain without proper reprieve.
"I see what Instructor Caelis meant now."
He exhaled and pushed himself upright.
The room was already warm. Light filtered in through the tall windows in pale bands, catching dust motes midair. Lux rubbed at his eyes, then paused, remembering.
The Gathering.
His stomach twisted faintly—not with fear, exactly, but with something close enough that it shared the same space. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat there, shoulders slumped, letting himself wake fully.
So this is what nobles wake up to, he thought distantly.
No frostbitten breath. No aching cold gnawing at his fingers before the day even began. Just… quiet.
"I might be getting too comfortable here," he murmured to himself.
Lux stood and crossed to the washroom, splashing water on his face until the haze lifted. He stared at his reflection for a moment longer than usual. His features had sharpened slightly over the past weeks—less gaunt, more defined. His posture had changed too, straighter now, as if his body had finally learned that it was allowed to take up space.
A knock came at the door, measured and polite.
"May I enter, Young Master?" Geltry's voice followed, light as ever.
"Yes," Lux replied, clearing his throat.
She entered carrying a neatly folded set of clothes draped over her arms. Even after weeks, Lux still found it strange how effortlessly she moved through the room, how naturally she treated this space as something she was responsible for rather than merely assigned to.
"Good morning," she said brightly. "You slept through your first alarm."
Lux winced. "Sorry."
She waved it off. "That's why we set a second one. Today will be long."
She laid the clothing out carefully across the bed, smoothing the fabric with practiced hands. Lux approached slowly, eyes drawn to the colors first.
Midnight blue.
Deep, rich, almost black in low light—but unmistakably blue when the light caught it properly. Silver accents traced the seams and cuffs, not embroidered extravagantly but woven into the fabric itself, subtle enough that they only stood out if one looked closely.
"It's… nice," Lux said before he could stop himself.
Geltry smiled. "Truly."
She helped him dress, adjusting the fit with quiet efficiency. The clothes were tailored to him—fitted without being tight, structured without being stiff. The fabric moved easily when he did, lighter than it looked, warmer than it should have been. No excessive ornamentation. No loud declarations.
"House Achrion believes that presence should speak before adornment," Geltry said as she fastened the last clasp. "Those who rely too heavily on display rarely have much else to offer."
Lux nodded, though he wasn't sure if he fully understood. He thought he might someday.
She guided him to the chair by the mirror and began working on his hair, combing it back carefully, smoothing it into a restrained, slightly swept style that framed his face without drawing attention to itself.
He barely recognized himself by the time she finished.
"You look the part," she said approvingly.
Lux swallowed. "I don't feel it."
"That's fine," she replied easily. "Most people who truly matter rarely do."
There was no training that morning. No drills, no breathing exercises, no aching muscles pushed beyond their limit. Lux felt strangely unanchored without the routine, as if something essential had been removed from the day.
Geltry escorted him through the halls toward the central lounge.
The mansion felt different today—quieter, but charged. Servants moved with purpose. Doors opened and closed softly. The estate was preparing itself, just as he was.
The lounge was vast, its ceiling arcing high above, supported by dark stone pillars traced with faint silver inlays. Tall windows overlooked the inner grounds, letting pale daylight spill across polished floors.
Vincent Achrion stood near the center of the room, hands clasped behind his back.
He turned as Lux approached.
For a moment, Lux had the strange sensation of being weighed—not harshly, not critically, but thoroughly. Vincent's gaze passed over him, lingering briefly on the colors he wore, the way he stood.
Then the Patriarch nodded.
"You wear the house well," Vincent said.
"Thank you, Patriarch," Lux replied, bowing slightly.
Vincent's expression softened just a fraction. "I've been informed of your progress."
Lux straightened. "I'm still inexperienced."
"Undoubtedly," Vincent agreed calmly. "Even so, advancement remains advancement. You reached a milestone faster than I did."
Lux blinked. "I did?"
Vincent nodded once. "It took me a month actually."
That startled Lux more than he expected. He didn't know why—it wasn't pride that stirred in him, but something like disbelief. He pushed it aside quickly.
"Will the rest of the family be attending?" Lux asked, then hesitated. "I mean—if that's not—"
Vincent regarded him thoughtfully. "Are you asking out of obligation, or curiosity?"
Lux stiffened. "Curiosity."
"Then I see no reason not to answer."
Vincent turned slightly, gesturing as he spoke.
"There are five children of House Achrion."
Lux listened carefully.
"My eldest son, Kairen," Vincent continued, "is currently on an expedition in the Deadlands."
Lux's breath caught faintly. He'd heard of the Deadlands. Everyone had.
"My second son, Lotris, is completing his final year at the Academy."
Vincent's tone remained even, but Lux sensed weight there—expectation, perhaps.
"My eldest daughter, Loriel," he said next, "is Lotris' twin. She graduated early and is currently pursuing advancement to Luminous Rank."
Lux's eyes widened slightly despite himself.
"My third son, Jarien, is a third-year student at the academy ."
Vincent paused.
"And my youngest daughter…"
A presence shifted behind Lux.
He felt it before he saw her.
Lux turned.
She stood a few steps behind him, framed by the light from the hall beyond.
Silver hair, long and soft, catching the light as it moved gently with her breath. Olive skin so clear and luminous it looked almost unreal, as if shaped rather than born. She wore a dress in the same midnight blue as Lux's attire, silver woven delicately through the fabric—not ornate, not ostentatious, but impossibly elegant in its restraint. The cut was simple, flowing naturally, accentuating her figure without drawing attention to it.
She smiled.
Lux's heart dropped straight through his chest.
For a brief, horrifying second, his mind went completely blank.
"This," Vincent said calmly, "is Cylia Achrion."
Lux stood frozen, pulse roaring in his ears, the world narrowing down to the quiet curve of her smile and the calm poise with which she regarded him.
Cylia tilted her head slightly, eyes warm with amusement.
"Good morning," she said.
Lux forgot how to breathe.
What is this situation?!