The manor's library was a quiet, sun-dusted hall shelves stacked high with old tomes that smelled of parchment and resin. To Ikurus, it was a temple of strange symbols and silent stories.
He'd sit cross-legged on the soft rug while Allec, ever patient, perched nearby with a book in his lap.
At first, Ikurus couldn't read a single word. He knew the elven tongue and the ancient runes of his kind, the languages of spirits and the forests but the written letters of Airevein twisted before his eyes like a puzzle meant for mortals alone.
So Allec read to him. Slowly. Carefully.
"The Lord of Ash," the boy said one afternoon, opening a thick, weather-worn volume bound in cracked leather. "It's one of my favorites."
Ikurus tilted his head. "What's it about?"
Allec smiled, unaware of the weight behind the answer. "A war. A man who wasn't quite a man, a god in mortal flesh. They say he was born in a storm of violet fire and vanished in one just the same. The book calls him Yohan, the Lord of Ash."
The name struck Ikurus like a whisper from an old life. He didn't flinch, but his hands tightened slightly against his knees.
As Allec's voice filled the room, the words painted pictures in Ikurus' mind, the blood-red sky over the broken spires of Barbarus, the black banners burning, the clash of titans that tore the stars apart.
He remembered it all.
The sound of his own roar splitting mountains.
The fire that refused to die, even when he did.
To the world, it was a story. To him, it was a memory carved into his bones.
When Allec paused to take a breath, Ikurus asked softly, "And what happened to him?"
Allec flipped a page. "They say he vanished after the last battle. Some think he ascended. Others say he was killed by the very gods he challenged. No one really knows what happened to him but shortly after he disappeared something weird happened, random planets across the galaxy kept collapsing in on themselves, 16 planets every 100 years.
Stranger still, not too long after these planets were destroyed, they had been found intact. A few theories pointed to the ash lord going on a rampage, but as I said, nobody really knows."
Ikurus stared into the open pages, his reflection caught faintly in the ink. "Maybe," he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper, "he just wanted to rest."
Allec smiled again, thinking nothing of it. "Maybe so. Still, he was incredible. I'd have liked to meet him."
Ikurus chuckled quietly, the sound hollow but gentle. "Maybe one day you will."
From that day on, the two met every afternoon. Allec would read while Ikurus listened, learning each word, each sound, each symbol. Over time, he began tracing the letters with a clawtip, whispering them under his breath until they made sense.
And though the Lord of Ash faded into myth for most of Airevein, for one boy in the manor's quiet library, the legend lived again sitting cross-legged on the floor, hidden behind golden eyes and a child's smile.
Morning light drifted through the halls of Veythros Manor as everyone slowly woke and gathered for breakfast. Servants hurried through corridors with trays and linens, Celine was already seated with her children, and Lith's parents chatted quietly near the far end of the long dining table. The manor felt peaceful, warm, and alive.
Everyone arrived on time except Ikurus.
He had fallen asleep in the library again, curled up beside Allec after hours of reading. The servants had searched nearly every room before finally discovering him tucked between shelves, half-buried in blankets and books. They guided him toward the dining hall while scolding him gently, although none of them could hide their fond smiles.
As Ikurus approached the doorway, the butler noticed him immediately. The old man straightened, then bowed with a warm smile.
"Good morning, young master. I trust your night was pleasant."
Ikurus returned the smile and shook the butler's hand. The simple gesture surprised the butler, who blinked in mild confusion. Ikurus rarely extended his hand to anyone outside the forest lords or his mother. The warmth of that moment lasted only a second.
Because then it hit him.
A sting.
A pulse of energy.
Ventris.
The faint signature rolled through the air from inside the dining hall. His pupils thinned. Every instinct in his body screamed for him to tear the room apart and eliminate the threat. His heart pounded, his breath sharpened, and the animal inside him rose with violent purpose.
He forced it down.
Ikurus lowered his head slightly and whispered to himself, barely audible.
"Investigate before you accusate."
Only then did he push the door open and step inside.
"Good morning everyone!"
The moment Ikurus stepped into the dining hall, the air shifted.
Conversation died. Chairs scraped softly as people straightened. Even those who had been smiling moments before became tense, unsure, instinctively alert. Ikurus tried to walk with calm steps, tail flicking behind him in quiet rhythm, but the instant his eyes met Celine's, something inside him surged.
A flash of bloodlust crossed his gaze.
It lasted less than a heartbeat. It was faint, sharp, and cold but everyone in the room felt it.
Everyone except Celine and her sons.
Rokash's hand went straight to the hilt of his sword. His instincts screamed danger. For a moment he saw something impossible in that little boy, something ancient and predatory, something that did not belong in the body of a child. His fingers almost tightened around the blade before he forced himself to relax.
"Please remember he's your grandson, love." Arria smiled at him, hand on his sword under the table.
Across the table, Kealith sensed the same thing. The beast lord straightened in his seat and a quiet tremor of power stirred in his aura, ready to rise if needed.
Rokash met his wife's eyes. She looked surprised at first, then worried.
"I guess he still has his guard up," Rokash murmured under his breath.
Arria nodded slowly. "Yes, love. But what kind of things has this boy experienced for him to carry such a heavy aura?"
Ikurus walked farther into the room as if he had not shaken the hearts of an entire table. His face stayed neutral, almost blank, but his golden eyes were cold and sharp, watching everything. He took in every aura, every scent, every movement.
The Ventris signature still pulsed faintly from somewhere near the children, but he forced himself not to look directly at them yet.
Abella placed a gentle hand on his back as he reached her side. Ikurus leaned into her touch, a silent signal that he was calm and not a threat. The tension in the room began to loosen.
But the adults did not forget the feeling that had just brushed against their souls.
Not fear.
The instinctive awareness that the small boy now taking his seat might be capable of violence beyond anything they had seen in years.
Lith cleared his throat, breaking the heavy silence. "Ikurus, these are your brothers. Lucien and Demetrius. No need to be shy."
At the far end of the table, Demetrius sat with his hands folded tightly in his lap. His blonde hair fell over red eyes that looked far too similar to Ventris for Ikurus's comfort. The boy managed a small hello, barely above a whisper, timid and almost afraid to speak.
Beside him, Lucien was the opposite. Calm. Straight-backed. Black hair neatly combed, golden eyes sharp and bright like Lith's. He gave Ikurus a respectful nod.
"It is good to meet you, little brother," Lucien said. "You look strong for someone so small. Would you like to spar after breakfast?"
Ikurus blinked at him, uncertain if he should be amused or offended. Technically, by the circumstances of his conception, he was older than both boys. But elf pregnancies did not follow regular time, and his five-year gestation had placed him firmly as the youngest in this family.
Abella rested her hand on Ikurus' shoulder, silently reminding him to stay calm. The Ventris signature still clung faintly to Demetrius, but Ikurus forced himself to remember his earlier words.
"Investigate before you accusate."
He gave Lucien a slow, polite nod in return. His tail flicked once, a small sign of interest.
"If Mother allows it," he said, voice quiet but steady, "I don't mind."
Rokash and Kealith exchanged another glance, both silently wondering how a child so young could carry himself with such composure after releasing an aura that could freeze grown warriors.
Even Lucien hesitated for a moment. The confidence in his eyes flickered as if he sensed something beneath Ikurus's calm exterior, something heavy.
Demetrius shrank in his seat.
Ikurus sat down beside Abella, expression unreadable. The two boys observed him with growing curiosity, unaware of the storm he was holding back inside.
The youngest brother by time.
The eldest by spirit.
Breakfast went smoothly enough, though the tension between Abella and Celine sat thick in the air. Both women exchanged polite smiles that were just a little too stiff, a little too sharp. In the end they agreed to talk later over tea, leaving the boys to follow Lith and Rokash toward the training grounds.
Lith and Rokash began a light spar as warm-up, their weapons clashing in smooth, practiced rhythms. The boys watched from the sidelines, eyes bright with excitement. Lucien and Ikurus, however, watched each other.
Lucien smiled first. Ikurus returned it.
It was not a friendly smile.
Before leaving the dining hall, Lucien had been told by his mother to establish dominance, subtle or not, and he intended to follow through. He disliked her games, but even he felt something unusual about Ikurus.
The child radiated no mana at all, not a trace, yet Lucien had seen him shift into a panther the moment he arrived at the manor. He saw his father and grandfather freeze at the sight of him as if sensing danger from the boy.
He wanted answers. And he wanted to test Ikurus himself.
For Ikurus, the situation felt simple. He needed to fight. He needed an outlet. And he already suspected Lucien called him out because Celine wanted to put him and his mother down through her son's victory. But Ikurus welcomed the challenge. He had never fought anyone his own size, until now his only sparing partners had been the forest lords. This would be fun.
Demetrius sat silently in the stands, fingers curled into his sleeves. He remembered clearly the moment he first locked eyes with Ikurus. The surge of instinct had been immediate and overwhelming. Even without the ability to sense mana, his beast-kin blood screamed danger.
He watched from a safe distance as the thirteen-year-old lord and the seven-year-old forest child stared at each other, poised between excitement and challenge.
Lucien stood tall and confident.
Ikurus stood calm but hungry.
Everything in the air, from the way the grass bent to the way the sparring adults paused to glance over, carried the same message.
A clash was coming.
And no one, not even Lucien, understood what he was truly stepping into.
Lith and Rokash finished their exchange with a sharp clash of metal that echoed across the courtyard. The sound rolled through the manor walls like a shockwave, and within moments servants and knights began gathering around.
Everyone knew what that sound meant. Their favorite pastime had begun again. The residents of Veythros Manor loved the family sparring matches and often placed quiet bets, each bout inspiring them to train harder themselves.
But when they noticed Lucien and Ikurus locked in a silent stare, whispers spread through the growing crowd. Something else was about to start.
Rokash turned toward the boys, laughter booming from his chest. He waved a hand toward the center of the arena. "The stage is yours boys. Choose your weapons and warm up. Keep it light."
He pointed to a rack of wooden training weapons. Lucien walked over with sure steps and lifted a wooden greatsword designed for his size. He tested the weight, swung it twice, and nodded with satisfaction.
Ikurus did not move toward the rack at all.
Instead he stepped forward barefoot, rolled his shoulders once, and dropped into a stance.
His feet spread apart but not wide, knees bent slightly, one leg angled behind him for balance. His fists rose in front of his chest with his elbows tight, one hand closer for quick strikes and the other pulled back for power. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were sharp and fixed entirely on Lucien.
Rokash and Lith both felt their pulses jump.
"Well now," Lith whispered with a grin, "this kid has some stones."
Rokash laughed loudly in response and handed his son a sandwich and a drink as if settling in for a show. He motioned for little Demetrius to join them, placing food in his hands too. Servants and knights crowded the edge of the courtyard, some already whispering bets under their breath.
The courtyard went quiet.
Lucien tightened his grip on his sword. Ikurus inhaled once, calm and steady.
Then the two boys looked at each other with the same spark in their eyes.
They were ready to collide.
In the garden, Celine, Abella, and Arria settled around a low stone table. Steam curled from their cups of Moonberry Jasmine tea, and a plate of small cookies and treats sat between them. For a moment they drank quietly, until Arria took a slow sip, set her cup down, and looked at the two women.
"Alright," she said. "Both of you have something to say. Get it out."