Inside a grand training hall of the noble family's estate.
A young boy who seemed to be around ten years old, with striking crimson hair and the same sharp features as the current Julian, stood in the center of the blood-stained floor.
His small body was covered in bruises and burns.
His breathing was ragged, and his hands trembled as he clutched a training sword that was far too big for him.
PAK!
A powerful strike from his instructor sent him flying across the hall, crashing hard into the stone wall.
"Again!" the instructor barked coldly.
"Your flames are too weak and your control is garbage. At this rate, you'll never catch up to the blessed children of the other houses."
Young Julian slowly pushed himself up, blood dripping from his split lip.
His crimson eyes burned with a mix of pain, shame, and fierce determination.
"I… won't lose…" he muttered through gritted teeth.
The brutal training continued for hours.
Strike after strike.
Flame after flame.
