Chapter 8: The butler of House Nirvoro

*Kiro's POV* 

The courtyard was bathed in the golden morning sun, the wooden floorboards of the training platform warming under my bare feet. I gripped my wooden rapier tightly, fingers flexing around the hilt, every knuckle tense. Father stood opposite me, his steel-blue eyes narrowing with quiet amusement, a real rapier in his hand—but he let me keep my wooden one. “Ready, Kiro?” he asked, voice calm but edged with challenge.

“Yes, Father!” I answered, adopting the en garde position, my rapier tip raised just above eye level, feet angled, weight balanced.

Father lunged first, a straight thrust aimed at my chest. I deflected with a high parry, feeling the satisfying snap of the wooden blades. “Good, good,” he said. “Now, watch—what about this?” He followed with a flurry: a feint to my right, a rapid flick to the left, and then a vertical cut descending from above, each movement precise and deadly if this were real steel.

I danced back, pivoting on my toes, keeping my rapier angled to intercept each attack. Feints, thrusts, ripostes—the motions blurred in my young mind as I mimicked what I’d been taught. Father’s eyes twinkled as he increased the pace. “Atta boy! Excellent reflexes! But timing is everything, Kiro!”

I waited, breathing shallow, feeling the rhythm of his strikes. Then, a slight opening appeared—a tiny hesitation between a descending cut and a thrust. I stepped forward, parried his next strike, and with a precise flick of the wrist, sent his rapier blade sailing upward. My heart jumped—he was exposed.

Seizing the moment, I thrust, aiming for the chest.

But Father was lightning incarnate. In a heartbeat, he angled his own blade, catching mine in a cross and redirecting the tip away. My chest rose and fell with excitement and frustration. “Switching to Lakoran’s feint offense, hmm?” he said with a grin, reading my tactics. “Not bad, but not enough!”

Another flash of motion—a snap of his wrist, a pivot, and suddenly his rapier parried my attack. The tip of his blade pressed lightly but firmly against my throat, a checkmate in sword and timing. I froze, a grin splitting my face despite the lesson in humility.

Melinda’s voice cut through the tension. “Kiro! Darling! Lunch!” she called from the veranda, laughter threading through her words. Father’s eyes softened, and he lowered the rapier, stepping back. “Brilliant timing on that parry, son,” he said, ruffling my hair. “You’re learning faster than I imagined. One day, you’ll make me sweat.”

I laughed, lowering my wooden rapier as the adrenaline ebbed. Father’s smile was warm, teasing, and full of pride. I felt a rush of joy—not from winning, but from learning, from the dance of blades and the challenge of matching him.

“Next time,” Father said, “we go for speed drills. You’ll have to anticipate, Kiro, not just react.”

“Yes, Father!” I said, already imagining the next bout, my young mind alive with strategies, feints, and thrusts yet to master.

Even with the wooden rapier, the thrill of the duel—the push and pull of timing, the dance of attack and defense—felt like magic. And in that courtyard, beneath the bright sky, I realized I was no longer just his son. I was his student, and one day, perhaps his equal.

The morning air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of pine and dew. The courtyard felt quieter than usual, the only sound my bare feet made on the wooden boards was a soft scrape as I adjusted the grip on my wooden rapier. Father stood before me, eyes serious but warm.

“Kiro,” he said, sheathing his rapier. “Tomorrow, I leave for the Capital. But before that…” He reached into a leather scabbard, lifting a steel rapier, the sunlight glinting sharply off its polished blade. “It’s time you had this. You’ve earned it.”

My jaw dropped. Steel? Real steel? My hands shook as he held it out. “Father… I—”

He ruffled my hair with a grin, then pressed the hilt into my palms. “I trust you to look after Mother while I’m gone. And… you’re about to become an older brother.”

I froze. “Older… brother?”

Father nodded, a quiet pride in his voice. “You have a sibling on the way, Kiro. Keep her safe, both Mother and the baby.”

Mother, standing behind him with a gentle smile, leaned forward and kissed Father on the lips. “Go well, my love. I’ll see you soon.”

Father’s hand drifted to her belly, placing a soft kiss there, and then he crouched slightly to ruffle my hair again. “Take care of them, Kiro,” he said softly. “Both of you.”

I could only nod, still stunned. My thoughts spun between steel blades, the responsibilities I had, and this new life growing inside Mother.

A week later, the morning sun filtered through the windows of our modest home. I was helping Mother prepare breakfast when the sound of hooves struck the courtyard. Father had returned.

He strode through the door, armor gleaming faintly, cape fluttering behind him. His face carried both urgency and calm authority. “Melinda. Kiro. Gather your things. Tomorrow, we leave for the Capital.”

Mother’s brows furrowed in worry. “But… it’s so sudden. And the border… the Kingdom of Lakoran… the war—”

“I know,” Father said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “The enemy is advancing from Lakoran’s side. It is not safe here. The Capital of Astailis is a much safer choice. You will be protected there.”

Her worried glance softened slightly, but still lingered. “And your battle?”

“I go to the front with your brothers and father. Your family will be safe. I swear it,” he said firmly.

Mother exhaled, glancing at me. “You know how stubborn my relatives are. They won’t abandon their homes.”

Father’s lips twitched, amused despite the tension. “You know how they are, yes. They won’t leave their home.”

“Are you implying I abandoned my house?” she said, mock accusation lacing her tone.

Father raised both hands, eyes wide, catching the humor in her expression. “No, no, no! I meant… your mother… my mother-in-law… isn’t as practical as you.”

Mother’s eyes narrowed, playful yet sharp. “Are you saying my mother is stupid?”

“Think of the baby, darling,” Father said quickly, shaking his head with a grin. “Stop stressing yourself.”

I stood to the side, gripping my steel rapier now feeling heavier in my hands than ever before. I watched the playful bickering and couldn’t help but smile. It was rare to see them like this—light, affectionate, chaotic in the best way. And yet, in the back of my mind, a shadow loomed. The war. Our relatives scattered. The uncertainty that stretched like a thin veil over our lives.

Still, in this moment, the warmth of my family, the laughter, and the little arguments about mothers and babies gave me a strange sense of peace. I ran my fingers along the blade of my rapier, imagining strategies, thinking about books I had read on military tactics, and quietly plotting how, one day, I might navigate this chaos and perhaps even find a way to return home if the world demanded it.

But for now, I stayed quiet, enjoying the scene—watching Father charm Mother, her playful scolding, and feeling the weight of responsibility settle firmly on my shoulders. Tomorrow, the journey to the Capital would begin, and everything would change.

As I watched Father and Mother bicker and laugh in the warm morning light, a thought tugged at the edges of my mind, sharp and persistent. My hands gripped the hilt of my steel rapier tighter—not for combat, not for sparring—but for focus. Even here, in this life of nobility, of borders and wars and family, there was a part of me that didn’t belong.

I thought of Miya. Of Aoi. Of the streets and alleys and homes I had left behind, of the battles I had fought in another life, and the promises I had made. I had sworn to carry the weight of my family, to protect them, to never let them suffer. And yet… there were people in another world who depended on me too. People I could never abandon.

Magic. It had to be magic. There had to be a way back. I had seen the threads of the world bend before, had glimpsed what Romantica could do. I knew—somewhere, somehow—there must exist a path to return, to reconcile these two lives.

But the problem was simple and cruel: here, I had responsibilities I could not ignore. My father, Jargo, was preparing for the frontlines. My mother, Melinda, relied on me to maintain the household, to train, to be ready for whatever threats came from the borders. And soon, my sibling would arrive—a new life that needed me fully.

I clenched my jaw. The thought of abandoning them, even for a chance to return to my old world, made my chest tighten. My heart ached with the impossibility of it all. Yet the tug from the other world, the echo of my promises and the warmth of Miya and Aoi’s faces in my mind, refused to fade.

I would find a way. Somehow, I would master the threads of magic, explore the ley lines and currents of this world and others, and carve a path that allowed me to honor both lives. I wouldn’t betray my parents here—but I couldn’t betray my other family either.

I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of steel in my hands, the solidity grounding me. For now, I would play my part, study, train, and grow stronger. I would learn everything this world had to teach me about power, magic, and strategy. And one day, when the time was right, I would try to bend fate itself to reunite the lives I could not abandon.

The rapier felt alive in my hand, a bridge between past and future, responsibility and ambition. And as I watched Father organize our departure, mother fuss over the packing, I felt the resolve settle in me like iron. No matter what it took, I would find a way to protect everyone I loved, in every world that called to me.

For now, I would be Kiro Lifesworn, the boy of the borderlands, a student of sword and strategy, a son and soon-to-be older brother. But the fire in my chest—the memory of another life, of promises I had made—would not be extinguished. One day, I would return.