The last two weeks did not feel like training.
They felt like air.
Each morning, Lucien returned to the clearing alone.
No shouted corrections.No stance drills.No formations barked into existence.
Just him—and the quiet presence that followed him like breath.
He would stand still for long minutes, wooden sword resting loosely in his hands, eyes half-closed as he focused inward. When he moved, it was slow. Intentional. Less about form, more about response.
Sometimes the air cooled faintly around him.
Sometimes it didn't.
But every time, something inside him stirred—aware, patient, watching.
Elaira trained differently.
She sat cross-legged beneath the trees, fingers resting lightly on the grass, eyes closed as the wind flew around her in soft loops. Her movements grew smaller, sharper. No wasted motion. No excess grace. Precision refined until even elegance bowed to control.
Rogan remained with Darius.
And those mornings were… loud.
Wood struck wood.Impact echoed.The ground groaned.
Rogan learned what it meant to hold space—to plant himself so firmly that nothing behind him could be touched. Darius spoke little during those sessions. When he did, it was always exact.
"Angle.""Brace.""Don't retreat. Redirect."
By the end of the second week, Rogan stood taller than before.
Not because he was stronger.
But because he finally trusted himself to be there.
And then—
The morning came.
The Arcelion home had never been this lively.
Lanterns hung from the ceiling beams, glowing with soft blue light that looked like frost. Ribbons in shades of silver and sky-blue decorated across the walls. Every surface seemed to filled with warmth, laughter, and movement.
The scent of freshly baked cake wrapped the house in sugary comfort.
Today wasn't just any day.
It was Lucien Arcelion's eighteenth birthday.
And the final day of the three-month training promise.
Elena cleaned the tablecloth one last time, stepping back to admire her work.
"Everything looks perfect."
"It is better," Seris said, arms crossed proudly. "I spent half the day making this place beautiful."
Lucien raised an eyebrow.
"You spent half the day ordering me to make it beautiful."
"That's called leadership," Seris replied without shame.
Darius chuckled from his seat near the window.
"Don't argue with your sister on your birthday."
Lucien sighed."Yes, Father."
The door creaked open.
Rogan stepped inside, holding a large box wrapped in paper so neatly folded it looked like it belonged in a museum display. His posture was stiff, like he was bracing for something.
"Uh… happy birthday, Lucien."
Lucien's face brightened instantly.
"Rogan! You didn't have to get me anything!"
"I didn't," Rogan said honestly.
Lucien paused.
"…Oh."
"Elaira wrapped it," Rogan added quickly.
As if summoned by the mention of her name, Elaira stepped in behind him, carrying a small bag of her own. Her silver-gold hair was tied loosely today, eyes calm but warm.
"Happy eighteenth," she said, offering the bag. "May this year bring you clarity and strength."
Lucien's heart did something deeply inconvenient.
"Th-thank you," he said, accepting it carefully.
From the side, Seris leaned toward Elena and whispered loudly,
"Smooth."
Lucien pretended not to hear.
Before he could recover, Rogan cleared his throat.
"There's… also cake."
Lucien's eyes lit up.
"You brought cake?"
Rogan nodded."Yeah."
He set the box down and opened it.
Inside sat a round, carefully frosted cake. It looked perfect—clean edges, pale icing, even decoration.
Lucien didn't hesitate.
He grabbed a fork and took a massive bite.
The smile vanished instantly.
Lucien froze.
His face contorted.
Then—
He gagged.
And spat.
"What—WHAT IS THIS?!"
Silence.
The room stared.
Seris's eyes widened.
Lucien coughed violently."Why is it bitter?! Who puts this much bitterness into cake?! Is this poison?!"
Rogan burst out laughing.
"I told you," he wheezed, "E–Elaira made it."
The world stopped for Lucien.
Lucien turned slowly.
Elaira stood perfectly still.
Very perfectly still.
Her eyes were not on him.
Her head was turned slightly away.
Her lips were pressed into a thin, offended line.
Lucien's soul left his body.
"I—WAIT—ELARIA—NO—"
She turned further away.
Just enough to be devastating.
"I followed the recipe," she said calmly."…Mostly."
Seris slapped the table.
"Oh this is fantastic."
Lucien scrambled forward.
"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean— It's not bad! It's just— intense!"
Elaira remained unmoved.
Rogan wiped tears from his eyes."She thought 'bittersweet' meant commitment."
Lucien clasped his hands together desperately.
"I will eat the entire thing! I swear! Please don't be mad!"
Elaira finally glanced at him.
Just once.
Then looked away again.
"I spent two hours on it," she said quietly.
Lucien's heart shattered.
"I'm sorry," he said again, softer this time. "Truly."
Seris leaned in, voice dripping with mischief.
"Oh wow. Birthday guilt. Delicious."
Elena cleared her throat diplomatically.
"Perhaps," she said, "we move on before Lucien digs himself deeper."
Darius nodded solemnly."Wise."
The doorbell chimed.
Neighbors and vendors entered one by one—familiar faces from the merchant district.
"Lucien!"
"Happy birthday!"
"Eighteen already—time flies!"
Lucien accepted each greeting with embarrassed gratitude, cheeks still red from both praise and shame.
Elaira stayed close—but just out of reach.
Still not looking at him.
Finally, Elena brought out the true centerpiece.
A towering, three-layer cake decorated in icy swirls, tiny sugar snowflakes, and a small wooden sword topper.
Lucien gaped.
"This is… huge."
"It represents your appetite," Seris declared.
"It represents your future," Elena corrected.
"It represents my hard work," Darius added calmly.
Everyone laughed.
They gathered around as the candles were lit.
Eighteen flames.
Warm light danced across Lucien's face.
Elaira stepped closer at last.
"Make a wish," she said.
Lucien closed his eyes.
He didn't wish for strength.
He didn't wish for glory.
He didn't wish for the Tower's favor.
He wished—
for all of them to stay together.
For many birthdays to come.
He blew.
The candles went out in a soft wave.
Cheers erupted.
Elaira leaned toward him quietly.
"…I forgive you."
Lucien nearly cried.
The last day of training had ended.
And a new horizon waited.