Eight months had passed since Drakon opened his eyes to a second chance.
Eight months since he was betrayed.
Eight months since death claimed him—by his own brother's blade.
Eight months since fate hurled him back into a tiny, frail body.
Now, at only eight months old, Drakon could walk short distances and speak a few simple words. Most would see a curious baby—but behind those childish eyes was a soul tempered by blood and vengeance.
Today, something would shift again.
---
The Arclight nursery was not a place of lullabies and lullabies. It was built like a fortress. Discipline and strength were instilled early—even in the youngest of children.
At this moment, the training room echoed with the rhythmic clash of wooden swords.
Two five-year-old boys—Deren and Kael, the 11th and 12th sons—were sparring under the gaze of the instructors. The twins were fast, even fierce. Born to fight, trained since they could hold a blade.
High above them, hiding in the wooden beams of the ceiling, was a baby.
Drakon.
He had escaped his crib again, using careful breath control and muscle memory from his past life. Even in this infant body, he moved with eerie coordination—just enough to climb up and observe. He watched every movement, memorized every step, every flaw in their technique.
But fate never let him stay quiet for long.
His grip slipped.
Drakon plummeted through the air, right between the sparring twins. Their swords were swinging in full motion—just seconds away from striking.
But before a scream could echo, before blood could spill—
A flash of silver.
A figure moved like lightning.
The butler—Sir Alfor—appeared. Not just a servant, but a 12-star Knight, the strongest in the Arclight household after the Patriarch himself. He caught the baby mid-air with ease and halted the twins with a glance so fierce it made their knees buckle.
Then the doors rumbled open.
Boots thundered.
Eight 8-star Knights entered, armor gleaming, forming a path down the chamber.
And then—
He arrived.
The temperature dropped. The world seemed to pause.
The Patriarch.
Kael'thar Arclight.
One of the five 25-star Warriors in the entire continent.
Draped in black and silver, his presence was a weight that pressed on the very air. His eyes scanned the room—calm, cold, absolute. Behind him trailed ten of Drakon's older siblings, all dressed for formal training, their auras intimidating even in stillness.
He walked forward slowly.
Then stopped—when he saw Drakon in Alfor's arms.
The Patriarch turned, slowly, and looked down upon the baby. His lips curled slightly as he released a wave of pressure—immense, suffocating, crushing. The knights around him tensed. Even the twin boys began to cry under the weight of it.
Drakon felt it all.
It was only a fraction—maybe one percent of the Patriarch's full might—but it was like standing beneath a collapsing mountain. His baby body trembled, lungs barely catching breath.
But he remembered.
He had faced this man's pressure before.
And died under it.
Not this time.
Drakon summoned a breathing technique from his past life—Drifting Wind Form. His muscles relaxed. His breathing evened. He centered his spirit.
The pressure faded.
He stood firm in Sir Alfor's arms, meeting the Patriarch's gaze.
Kael'thar narrowed his eyes for a heartbeat.
"…Interesting," the Patriarch finally muttered. "The youngest is a genius."
A rare smirk touched his lips.
He turned and walked away.
---
But not all eyes had softened.
Among the siblings, one lingered behind.
Voster.
The eldest. Fourteen. The golden star of the clan. The one who had taken Drakon's life in the previous timeline.
He stared at Drakon now—not with curiosity, but with cold hatred.
Drakon didn't flinch. He stared right back.
Then raised a chubby finger and said in a slurred, baby voice:
"Stupid… idi-od."
Gasps filled the room. Some stifled laughter.
Voster's smile twitched—but he said nothing. He turned and walked away.
Another figure stepped forward.
She was sixteen. Graceful. Her eyes warm, her aura soft.
Valyria Arclight.
The second child.
The only sibling who had ever protected Drakon in the past.
She knelt beside Alfor and gently placed a glowing necklace around Drakon's neck.
"A protective charm," she whispered. "It'll shield you… three times. You're already causing trouble, baby brother."
She smiled and pinched his cheek.
"So cute."
Alfor gave a respectful nod. "Milady, the Patriarch awaits."
Valyria stood. "See you again soon, baby brother."
And with that, the room emptied.
---
Alfor stood still, holding the baby against his shoulder.
Drakon didn't cry.
He simply looked up at the charm around his neck. A small token… of warmth in a family of daggers.
This time, he would survive.
And this time—he would rise.
---
EXTRA - World Building
AERTHROS KNOWLEDGE 404
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The Path of Power: Knights and Mages of the Continent
In the war-scarred lands of Aerthros, strength is the only language that all nations speak—and in the Arclight Family, it is the sole measure of a person's worth.
From birth, every noble child is judged by their potential to walk either of the two great paths: the Sword or the Spell, each governed by their own divine system of growth.
---
The Knight's Path – The Starbound Ascension
Knighthood is the sacred path of warriors, built upon Stars—symbols of martial power and spiritual force. A Knight's strength is measured not in years lived, but in the number of stars they have forged within themselves.
Star Levels:
Each Star represents a complete breakthrough in both physical strength and combat mastery.
Most warriors across the continent struggle to achieve even 3 stars in their entire lifetime.
Only the elite ever reach 5 stars, and those who go beyond are whispered of in legends.
Stages of a Star:
1. Novice – The star awakens. Strength surges, but control is minimal.
2. Advanced – The knight gains mastery of their body and weapons.
3. Peak – The knight nears transcendence, their star reaching its fullest form.
It is said that each star takes an average of five years to forge through relentless training, battle experience, and spiritual refinement. Most begin forming their first star at the age of 13.
In the Arclight Family, however, mediocrity is not tolerated. Every child must form at least three stars before the age of 15—or face exile, disgrace, or worse.
---
The Mage's Path – The Circle of the Arcane
For those with an affinity for magic, the path of the mage lies open. Mages are measured not by stars, but by the number of Magic Circles they carve into their soul—a grueling, mystical process requiring both immense intellect and spiritual precision.
Circle Levels:
Most mages are considered average if they reach three circles in their lifetime.
Each Circle is not merely a number, but a gateway to deeper layers of arcane knowledge, elemental control, and forbidden spells.
Stages of a Circle:
1. Beginner – Awakens basic spells and elemental senses.
2. Novice – Gains reliable casting abilities and basic affinity control.
3. Expert – Wields powerful spells and mid-level enchantments.
4. Advanced – Gains elemental shaping, barrier breaking, and more.
5. Peak – Unlocks the full potential of the circle, reaching legendary status.
Mages typically begin forming their first circle at age 10, and it takes around ten years to master each. Few ever make it beyond the third.
---
Hybrids and Exceptions
Rarely, a prodigy will walk both paths—forming stars while also carving circles. These hybrids are anomalies, often feared, hunted, or revered as gods in the making.
Among such legends, the name Drakon Arclight would one day rise.
A baby reborn with memories of battle and betrayal.
A soul cursed in one life and sharpened for vengeance in the next.
And now, with knowledge of both paths, he would carve a future never written in any scroll.
_____