Ten years had passed since the night the basket appeared at the gate of Manachy. The city had grown quieter in some ways, yet still hummed with life—the markets bustling, the servants rushing about their duties, and the royal guards ever vigilant.
But within the walls of the imperial mansion, a different kind of energy crackled: the energy of youth, ambition, and a promise yet untested.
In the vast imperial gardens, morning sunlight draped across manicured lawns and flowering shrubs. Lady Sabrina sat on a carved marble bench beneath a blossoming cherry tree, her posture poised yet relaxed. Her eyes followed the children running across the green expanse.
Ragna and Rita, the princess of Manachy, were a striking pair. Ten years old, inseparable, their laughter ringing like wind chimes through the garden. Though their hair and eyes reflected their different bloodlines—Rita with the golden sheen of Manachian nobility, Ragna with darker, calmer tones—they moved together as if guided by a single rhythm.
The royal magic instructor barked out commands. Ragna's flames danced from his palms in small arcs of controlled intensity. Rita, more naturally gifted, wove fire and wind together, sending tiny whirlwinds of flame spiraling elegantly around her.
Lady Sabrina's heart swelled as she watched.
"So precise," she murmured to herself, "and yet, Ragna still grows steadier with each day. And Rita… her dual affinity… even I could never have imagined such harmony at their age... She's they're truly talented."
Chalvin, standing silently at the edge of the garden, frowned. He watched Ragna's focus, the boy's careful, steady control of fire. His arms remained folded, posture rigid. Though he had never allowed himself to show it, he could not deny the boy's talent. But the thought of accepting him as part of the family—part of his household—still resisted him. Pride and protocol warred within him, and he turned away discreetly, concealing the faint tremor in his chest.
Ragna's fire flared higher for a moment, sending a tiny wave of sparks into the air, then extinguished it perfectly. He wiped his brow and looked toward Lady Sabrina. His expression was earnest, eyes shining with determination.
Walks towards her "Mother," he called, bowing slightly as he approached, "may I… learn swordsmanship?"
Lady Sabrina's eyes narrowed slightly.
"Swordsmanship?" she asked, tilting her head. "You have spent years mastering magic. Why wish to wield steel? ... The difficulty of learning both, will put a lot of strain on your body"
Ragna clasped his hands tightly. "Because… because I want to protect, I want to be more dependable. If magic is enough, then it is good—but if it isn't, I want something I can rely on with my own strength. Please, Mother. I… I will practice every day, I promise, no matter the strain, I'll even try harder and I'll eventually make you proud."
Sabrina studied him carefully. She could see the spark of the boy she had once cradled at the gate—a spark that had grown quietly over the years, never loud, but always burning.
"You are persistent," she said finally, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Very well. You may begin swordsmanship training. But I warn you—magic will remain your foundation. Do not neglect it."
Ragna's face lit up. "Thank you, Mother! I won't let you regret it!"
Princess Rita watched from nearby, fire and wind coiling around her fingers in idle practice. She tilted her head and smiled faintly, her eyes following Ragna's excitement. "You always seem to find trouble, Ragna," she teased, though her voice carried affection." I thought mother will decline, but you still managed to convince her"
"I'm not seeking trouble!" Ragna said defensively, though a grin broke across his face. "I'm preparing to face it!. Mother said , practicing swordman ship And magic will put strain on my body, but I'll welcome it."
Lady Sabrina chuckled softly, shaking her head. "He reminds me of someone I once knew… calm, gentle, and calculating. That same stillness, that drive… it grows stronger every year."
Chalvin remained at the edge of the garden, still uneasy, still resistant, yet he could not stop the pride from creeping into his chest when he saw the boy approach Lady Sabrina with such courage.
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The next morning,
Right after breakfast.
The morning sun shone brightly over Manachy, glinting off the boy's dark hair, the princess's golden locks, and the glimmering sparks of their magic. The air was filled with laughter, shouts of command, and the faint hiss of flame and wind colliding.
Ragna bent forward and made a small bow to Lady Sabrina again. "Mother… I will be ready for anything. I'll make sure you don't regret letting me learn the sword."
Sabrina studied him quietly, a shadow of thought passing over her face. There was a weight in Ragna that went far beyond his years—a promise, a destiny, and perhaps, even danger.
"Very well, Ragna," she said softly. "You may begin your training… but remember, power without wisdom is a curse, not a gift."
Ragna's eyes gleamed with determination. "I understand, Mother. I will be ready."
As he turned to begin his first lesson, sparks of fire danced across his palms once more. Rita followed, her wind and fire intertwining, forming an elegant spiral. The two children raced across the garden, laughter mixing with magic, unaware of the silent figure watching from the shadows beyond the cherry trees.
A figure whose gaze lingered on Ragna… and whose knowledge of destiny ran deeper than any of them could imagine.
The garden was peaceful, but fate… had already begun to stir.
Instinctively, lady Sabrina turns to the cherry tree, unfortunately the figure already vanished.
" What was that? ... More like, who's that?" She stares for awhile before rising to her feet.
"I have business to attend to" she smiles " but keep on watching, I'll be waiting for you, when you make your move" walks into the Mansion.