— Morning of Discipline
Morning light slipped through the crystalline windows of the Crown Prince's chamber, scattering delicate blue-white reflections across the marble tiles. The palace was quiet — that rare hour when only the wind and the mana-lamps whispered to each other.
Arcanis opened his eyes.
No rush.
No hesitation.
Just a steady breath.
He rose, movements smooth and composed, and stretched lightly. There was a familiar heaviness in his muscles — the kind earned not from awakening, but from years of secret dawn training he had put himself through long before today.
He bathed, letting warm water roll across his skin, then dressed in light training attire. The simple ribbon Aria had given him — white with faint blue embroidery — tied his hair loosely behind him.
He fastened his wrist guard—
knock knock.
"Your Highness," his butler called respectfully from outside. "The Captains await you for this morning's session."
Arcanis exhaled once, calm and centered.
"Tell them I'm coming."
He stepped out.
The palace corridor responded — crystal sconces brightening in a soft wave as if acknowledging him. Servants bowed with a reverence that felt warmer today.
Two captains waited near the junction.
They bowed deeply.
"Your Highness."
Serion Valehart
— Captain of the Royal Sword Guard
— A blade sharpened by discipline itself
Lyris Marinel
— Captain of the Waterborne Division
— Gentle-seeming, but with the quiet strength of the sea
Arcanis nodded once.
His mind drifted briefly to the captains who were not present:
Vareth Stonecrest
— The kingdom's immovable shield
— Guarding the city's perimeter today
Seraphine Luma
— Lost somewhere in ancient texts already studying his awakening phenomena
Rheon Nightvale
— Probably standing in a shadow behind someone right now, unseen, unheard
Arcanis respected each one — for their loyalty, their strength, their purpose.
Serion stepped forward.
"Your Highness," he said with the straightforward respect only a warrior could carry, "where shall we begin?"
Arcanis didn't hesitate.
"The Royal Training Ground."
Serion bowed.
"As you command."
Lyris dipped her head with a soft smile.
"It has been prepared."
Together, they walked toward the spiral descent into the palace depths.
---
— Descent Into the Royal Depths
They descended along a curved staircase, lit by floating mana-orbs that dimmed behind them and glowed ahead, guiding their path like soft starlight.
The walls were etched with ancient Vael runes — sharp lines depicting kings, battles, oceans, and the first founding of Aravell.
Arcanis traced the carvings with his eyes.
This was the spine of the Frostglass Palace — a place built for forging rulers, not sheltering them.
Lyris spoke quietly as they descended:
"This basement was constructed during the First Dynasty. Every stone here has absorbed centuries of mana."
Serion added without slowing, "It's said even a Level 120 strike cannot damage these walls."
Arcanis brushed a fingertip over a runic groove.
"…A good place to grow."
Serion's lips twitched — barely — but it was a smile.
At the final step, a massive silver door waited. Twelve elemental symbols shimmered across its surface.
Serion placed his hand on the plate.
—ACCESS GRANTED—
The runes pulsed.
The door slid open without a sound.
Light spilled out.
---
— The Royal Training Ground
The chamber inside stretched wider than any arena in the kingdom.
A battlefield crafted for royalty.
● Obsidian floors polished to a mirror sheen
● Weapon racks filled with practice blades
● Flowing water channels for elemental training
● Ceilings reinforced with mana-steel beams
● A natural mist of mana drifting like morning fog
Arcanis stepped onto the obsidian.
His reflection stared back — calm, poised, ready.
Serion walked forward and stood opposite him.
"Before mana," Serion said, "before elements or Codices or potential—comes the sword. The foundation of every warrior."
Arcanis nodded. He had expected this.
"Show me your stance."
Arcanis lifted a practice blade.
Feet adjusted.
Shoulders aligned.
Breath steady.
Serion circled him once.
"You've trained," Serion murmured. Not a question. A fact.
Arcanis answered simply:
"I didn't want to begin from zero."
Serion's eyes warmed for a flicker of a moment.
"…Good."
---
Training Begins
Arcanis swung.
Clean arcs.
Precise breaths.
Shoulders steady.
Serion corrected small flaws — foot placement, wrist angle, weight shift — and each correction was absorbed immediately. Arcanis adjusted not like a student, but like someone who expected to evolve.
After fifteen minutes, sweat beaded at Arcanis's brow.
But his breathing remained even.
Serion finally stepped back.
"You remember more than most nobles learn in years."
Arcanis lowered his blade.
"Most nobles don't try to remember."
Serion huffed a quiet laugh.
"That is true."
Arcanis lifted the sword again.
"Again?"
Serion nodded, tightening his grip on his own blade.
"Again."
Wood struck wood — sharp, echoing like sparks against stone — as Arcanis carved his first step toward becoming the kingdom's sharpest blade.
---
— Water & Ice with Lyris
After a short rest, Lyris approached.
"Your Highness," she said softly, "shall we begin your elemental practice?"
Arcanis followed her to one of the flowing water channels.
Lyris knelt beside it, motioning for him to do the same. The water shimmered faintly, reacting to her presence.
"Water listens," she said. "To breath. To intention. To emotion."
Arcanis extended his hand over the surface.
Nothing at first.
Then — a subtle tremor.
Lyris blinked.
"That's unusually fast for a beginner…"
Arcanis's voice stayed calm.
"Water doesn't resist unless it has reason to."
Her smile widened gently.
"Well said."
She handed him a bowl of water.
"Try focusing your intent into this."
Arcanis held it steady.
Seconds passed.
The surface rippled — gentle, rhythmic.
Lyris inhaled softly.
"You have a quiet touch, Your Highness. Most beginners either splash the bowl or freeze it entirely."
Arcanis lowered his focus.
Thin frost crept along the rim.
This time, she didn't flinch.
"You're balancing them," she whispered. "Water and Ice at once."
Arcanis studied the frost patterns.
"…It feels natural. Like breathing. But also… distant, somehow."
"Your resonance is complex," she said. "Give it time. You are already progressing exceptionally."
Arcanis straightened the bowl.
"Again."
Her smile warmed.
"Yes. Again."
---
— Silent Growth
Training concluded.
The captains stepped aside to discuss privately while Arcanis remained seated on the obsidian floor, catching his breath.
His muscles ached faintly.
His palms were raw.
His core felt drained.
But his eyes held steady conviction.
The Ancient Imperial Codex stirred.
[TRAINING DATA ABSORBED]
[BEGINNING INTERNAL OPTIMIZATION]
Golden runes drifted across his vision.
Every misstep in sword form…
Every breath fluctuation…
Every ripple he invoked in the water…
The Codex recorded.
Analyzed.
Refined.
Arcanis absorbed the feedback silently.
If I lower my center of gravity by two inches… If I synchronize breath with water pulses… If I reduce mana output by four percent…
He opened his eyes.
Tomorrow— he would improve.
Not through miracles.
Through discipline.
Through clarity.
Through quiet, unstoppable growth.