Sparks of Rivalry and Shadows

Age 6 — Wooden Swords

The first time I held a real wooden sword, it felt heavier than the weight of my name.

Kael stood across from me in the training yard, his stance sharp, every movement precise. He wasn’t swinging a stick — he was wielding it like a weapon. His eyes locked on mine, steel against fire, daring me to falter.

The instructor barked, “Begin!”

Kael lunged. His strike was clean, decisive. Mine? Wobbly. Clumsy. More like I was swatting a giant bug.

CRACK!
His blade smacked mine aside, vibrations stinging up my arm.

Kael smirked.
“The King’s son, huh? I’ll beat you every time.”

My cheeks burned. I tightened my grip, teeth grinding.
“I don’t care! I won’t let you beat you forever. One day, I’ll win!”

Kael tilted his head, his smirk turning sharper.
“We’ll see.”

Under a shade tree, Lyra giggled. Her green hair shimmered like sunlight on water.
“Haise, you looked so serious! Like a warrior already.”

I turned redder than dragonfire. Warrior? No. More like a flailing toddler with a stick.

Still, in that moment, I carved a vow into my chest:

I won’t lose. Not forever. One day, Kael — I’ll beat you.

Far above, the Crystal Heart pulsed faintly, as if it had overheard my childish declaration.

Age 7 — Training Rivalry

A year later, training grew harsher. The instructors drilled us until our arms ached and sweat blurred our vision.

Kael’s swings were arcs of light, sharp and steady. Mine? Still shaky. Still clumsy. The instructors sighed every time I stumbled.

One morning, Kael knocked me flat again. My back smacked the ground, air punched from my lungs.

He extended his hand, grin smug but not cruel.
“You’re improving. Slowly. But improving.”

“Shut up. I’ll surpass you.”

Kael laughed, certain.
“I’m waiting.”

Lyra ran over, dabbing sweat from my forehead with a cloth. Her gentle smile eased my bruised pride.

And in that moment, I understood:

Kael wasn’t just my rival. He was my measure. My shadow. My fire.
And Lyra? She was the calm between our storms.

Age 9 — Lyra’s Healing

Another sparring session. Another painful fall.

This time, Kael’s strike slammed me down hard. My elbow scraped against the stone, bleeding.

I hissed, clutching it.

Lyra rushed over, kneeling beside me. Her hands glowed faint green, pouring warmth into my skin. The wound closed as if it had never been there — her soul-born gift, a Divine healing power she’d carried since birth.

I stared.
“You… you healed me.”

She pouted softly.
“You’re reckless. Stop making me fix you every time.”

Her voice was like soft rain. Her eyes steady, as if she had already endured storms.

Everyone whispered about her: the prodigy, the healer born with power since birth.

But me? I whispered only to myself:

She’ll be mine.

Kael rolled his eyes at the way I stared, but said nothing. Maybe he understood. Maybe he just enjoyed watching me squirm.

Either way, Lyra’s touch lingered long after the wound was gone.

Age 10 — Lessons in Mana

At ten, the instructors introduced mana training.

We sat cross-legged, breathing slowly, told to imagine rivers flowing through our veins.

Kael sparked light instantly, faint arcs glowing around his hands. Lyra’s aura pulsed naturally, steady and bright.

Me? I sweated. Strained. Hours passed before I managed a flicker.

The instructor frowned.
“Strange. The King’s son should find this easier.”

The words cut deep. Expectations pressed against me like chains.

That night, staring at the ceiling, I clenched my fists.

“I’ll get it. I don’t care how long it takes.”

Age 11 — The Incantation Grimoire

On my eleventh birthday, Father handed me a gift.

A heavy tome bound in star-leather, etched with glowing runes.

The Incantation Grimoire.

His voice rumbled deep.
“Power answers not to blood, but to voice. Speak with intent, Haise, and the world will listen.”

I opened it with trembling fingers. The pages shimmered, words twisting like fireflies. Fire, water, wind, earth — incantations written into scripture.

I whispered the simplest spell.

A spark flickered in my palm… and died instantly.

“…Seriously?” I groaned.

Father chuckled.
“Even sparks are beginnings. One day, they may become stars.”

From the doorway, Kael muttered:
“Work harder.”

Lyra leaned closer, smiling softly.
“You’ll get it. I believe in you.”

That faith burned brighter than the spark ever did.

Age 12 — Rumors and Shadows

By twelve, whispers followed me everywhere.

Servants bowed lower, but their eyes lingered. Other god-born stared with awe and suspicion. Every mistake spread like wildfire.

I overheard soldiers one evening:

“Do you think he’ll awaken like the others?”
“No. The King’s son must surpass them. Otherwise… disappointment.”

Disappointment.

That word gnawed at me.

I clutched the Grimoire tighter, teeth grinding.

I won’t be disappointment.

Age 13 — The Ripple

That day changed everything.

Kael and I clashed again, swords cracking like thunder.

Sweat blurred my vision. My arms ached. My chest roared.

Desperation surged.

Kael struck. I blocked. And then—

BOOM!

A ripple burst from me. Not just light. Not just shadow. Both.

It tore across the courtyard like a storm made of glass. The air bent. The ground shivered.

Kael froze. Lyra gasped. The instructors stared pale-faced.

My hands trembled. My chest hammered.

What the hell did I just do?

After that, Kael stopped smirking.

He didn’t mock me. Didn’t shove another sword in my hands. Didn’t laugh when I stumbled.

Instead, he trained harder. His strikes sharper. His eyes colder.

But his gaze had changed.

Not rivalry. Suspicion.

And for the first time, I realized: I hadn’t just shaken the ground. I’d shaken Kael.

Nightmares of Earth

That’s when the nightmares returned.

Ray. My cousin. His grin. His voice.

“You’ve got me. Always.”

Then headlights. Screeching tires. Blood.

I woke gasping, sheets tangled, throat raw.

The golden towers of Heaven looked like cages. The whispers like chains.

I whispered into the dark:
“I won’t waste it this time. I’ll live properly.”

But the shadows hissed back:
You already failed him.

Age 14 — The Mirror

On my fourteenth birthday, I stood before a silver mirror.

At first, it was just me. Messy hair. Tired eyes. Wooden sword.

Then my reflection shifted.

Golden eyes. Then black. Then both.

Light and shadow swirled in my irises.

I reached to touch my face.

My reflection smiled… before I did.

My heart stopped.

Because for a split second — it wasn’t me.

It was Ray.

His grin. His voice in my head:
“You can’t save me.”

I stumbled back, fists trembling.

The whispers thundered: Blessed. Cursed. Dangerous.

I clenched my jaw.
“I’m not cursed. I’m not.”

The mirror said nothing.

The Coming Trial

The announcement spread.

The Crystal Forest would open.

At fifteen, every divine child would enter. Face illusions. Confront fears. Awaken their essence.

All would find Light and their first Element. Some, through trial and soul-cultivation, might awaken a second Element or a rare Divine gift. Beyond that, only rumor and myth remain.

And me?

I stared into that silver mirror again. My storm-lit eyes stared back.

The Trial wasn’t tradition.

It was judgment.

“This time… I won’t break.”

Closing

That night, the Crystal Heart pulsed brighter than ever.

I stood on my balcony, its light painting me in both gold and shadow.

Whispers chased me.
Kael’s silence haunted me.
Ray’s ghost lingered.

And tomorrow, the Trial would begin.

The world would finally see what I was.

Blessed.

Cursed.

Dangerous.

Maybe all of them.

The Heart throbbed once — hard enough to rattle the air.

And I knew, whether I was ready or not—

Everything was about to change.