Kael was falling.
The sensation was terrifying—like the ground had vanished beneath his feet, and he was being pulled into an endless abyss.
Around him spun fragments of light and shadow, strange patterns unraveling like reality itself was coming apart, dragging him into the storm.
He tried to breathe, but the air was gone—his lungs constricted, and invisible hands gripped at him, dragging him deeper.
The world shattered—
—then shifted.
A bridge.
Kael exhaled sharply, his boots landing on wooden planks.
A breeze brushed through his hair.
He looked around.
The Vectan Order.
But something was wrong.
The buildings were too new.
The stone glowed white, untouched—no cracks, no weathering.
Everything looked freshly built. Pristine.
Kael frowned, turning around.
At the far end of the bridge, among fallen leaves, stood a boy—no older than ten.
He gripped an enormous broom, nearly twice his size, and was diligently sweeping the scattered leaves, brow furrowed in concentration.
Kael took a step forward—
and heard nothing.
No footsteps.
He looked down.
Then slowly raised his hand in front of his face.
Transparent.
His body was see-through, ghostlike.
What the hell?
Kael looked back at the boy with the broom.
The child still hadn't noticed him—he just kept sweeping with stubborn focus.
But then—
From the tall tree arching over the bridge, a shower of leaves and small branches rained down.
The boy looked up sharply, frowning.
"Hey! Who's up there?!"
And then, from the thick canopy of leaves, a second head appeared.
Silver hair—soft, almost silk-like—shimmered in the sunlight.
Eyes… sapphire-deep, clear as water.
Kael froze. He forgot to breathe.
That child.
That boy—
He looked exactly like the young man in the laboratory portrait.
But younger. Much younger.
A ten-year-old, hanging upside down from the tree, laughing freely.
He clung to a branch with just his legs, swinging back and forth like it was second nature.
"Hi! I'm Lucius!"
Kael couldn't move.
Lucius.
The name rang through the air like a bell, leaving a faint tremor in its wake.
The boy with the broom frowned, muttering under his breath:
"Great. Just perfect. The Headmaster's son."
Lucius, still hanging upside down, simply grinned.
"And what's your name?"
Erios gripped his broom tighter, as if it might protect him from this unexpected intrusion.
"Erios."
Lucius laughed, throwing his head back so far that his silver hair shimmered midair like a comet's trail.
"Wow… that's such a beautiful name, Erios."
Erios swept even faster now, clearly trying to focus on his task—
but Kael could see it.
That faint blush coloring his cheeks.
Lucius dropped from the branch with effortless grace, as if the wind itself slowed his fall.
He landed softly on the bridge, right in front of Erios.
Resting in his palm was a large, ripe apple—
deep red, like the last light of sunset.
"Erios, want an apple?"
The boy with the broom snapped his head up, surprise flashing in his eyes.
"I'm busy, actually."
Lucius tilted his head to the side, genuinely puzzled.
"Doing what?"
Erios flung his arms out toward the leaf-strewn bridge.
"Do you not see?"
Lucius gave the bridge a thoughtful glance, then nodded with exaggerated seriousness.
"Ahh… you're collecting leaves."
Erios rolled his eyes.
"How very clever of you, son of the Headmaster, Lucius."
Lucius paid no attention to the sarcasm.
Instead, he took a big bite of his apple, smiling contentedly.
Mouth half-full, he mumbled:
"Want me to help?"
Erios eyed him, skeptical.
"I only have one broom."
Lucius burst out laughing—bright and genuine, like the very idea amused him beyond reason.
"Erios, brooms are for idiots."
Kael arched a brow instinctively.
All right, little prince… and what exactly are you planning to do?
Lucius tossed the apple high into the air—
and in the same moment, his fingers shifted into an intricate seal.
Light bloomed around him—warm, gentle, golden,
like morning sunlight streaming through leaves.
It wasn't blinding; it enveloped the space around them,
filling the air with soft radiance, like the night itself had begun to glow.
Kael blinked, briefly mesmerized.
Beside him, Erios stood frozen, eyes wide with awe.
And then—
the bridge sparkled.
Clean, immaculate, gleaming like divine servants had spent days polishing every plank to perfection.
Lucius casually caught the apple as it dropped back into his hand.
Took another bite, chewing contentedly—
as if he hadn't just performed something miraculous.
Erios stared—first at the bridge, then at Lucius.
"How… did you do that?" he asked, his voice trembling with awe.
Lucius shrugged, as if it were nothing special.
"Want me to teach you too?"
Erios clutched his broom tightly, frozen—
then nodded so quickly Kael half expected his head to fly off.
Lucius laughed again—light and clear,
like the first spring breeze carrying the scent of blooming flowers through the air.
"But first…"
He held the apple out in front of him.
"Help me pick some more?"
Erios frowned, visibly torn.
Apparently, the idea of assisting the Headmaster's son wasn't exactly appealing.
But Lucius, as if he'd already anticipated the hesitation, waved his hand—
and golden light sparked to life in the air before him.
A woven basket materialized on the ground.
Kael froze again.
So did Erios.
But Lucius just smiled, all innocent mischief,
as if conjuring baskets from thin air was the most ordinary thing in the world.
He gently placed the half-eaten apple inside—
and the basket lifted off the ground, floating behind him like a loyal pet.
Erios's eyes went wide.
"You made the basket fly?!"
Lucius gave a modest little shrug, utterly casual.
"Yeah."
Then his sapphire-blue eyes sparkled with playful delight.
"I can teach you that too. Want to learn?"
Erios practically choked on excitement.
"Yes!"
Lucius leapt back into the tree, glowing like the morning itself—
effortlessly, as if the air had lifted him, eager to help him rise.
His silver hair streamed behind him, catching the sunlight,
while the basket floated after him like a tame bird.
He glanced down with a smile—warm, wide, and impossibly kind.
A smile that could melt the night itself.
"So?" he called out. "Want to help me pick some apples?"
Erios let out a dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes—
but the sharp edge in his voice had faded.
"…Fine."
And then—
as if surrendering to the sunlight breaking through the cold—
he climbed up after him.
Lucius moved through the tree like sunlight itself,
leaping from branch to branch with effortless grace—
as if balance and footing were things for other people.
He was weightless, windborne, chased by the golden rays of morning.
Each motion felt like part of a dance, not labor.
Erios… not so much.
He wasn't wind or sunlight.
He clung to the bark, climbed with caution, breath coming hard,
his muscles straining with every reach for a new apple.
"You're slow!" Lucius laughed, perched on a branch like a cat,
flicking an apple into the floating basket with a flick of his wrist.
"I'm not slow," Erios muttered, plucking another apple and tossing it awkwardly.
It hit the rim of the basket—
then fell.
Lucius let out a bright laugh, jumped off the branch,
and caught the apple just before it hit the ground.
"Oops—almost escaped!"
He tossed it into the air, juggled it playfully,
then dropped it into the basket without even looking.
"See? That's how it's done!"
Erios scowled.
"Yeah, yeah. Let me try!"
He grabbed an apple, weighed it in his hand—
then hurled it toward the basket with all the determination in the world.
Lucius grinned wide—
but instead of catching the apple, he simply opened his palm.
The fruit hovered in midair, suspended by nothing,
as if held by invisible threads.
Erios froze, mouth falling open.
"How are you doing that?!"
Lucius shrugged, as if it wasn't even worth explaining.
"It just listens to me. That's all."
He snapped his fingers, and the apple floated gently into the basket.
Erios scowled again—
but this time, there was fire in his eyes.
"Okay, watch this. I can do it too!"
He grabbed another apple, narrowed his eyes, took aim—
and hurled it into the air with every ounce of focus he had.
Naturally, it missed the basket completely.
Lucius burst out laughing—so hard he nearly fell off the branch.
"You're terrible!"
"Shut up, Headmaster's son !"
"Okay, okay!" Lucius giggled. "Let me help you!"
Lucius reached out his hand—
and the basket floated closer, adjusting its position for the next throw.
Erios grabbed another apple, tossed it—
and this time, it landed perfectly.
"Yes!"
"Much better!" Lucius grinned and gave an approving nod.
They kept tossing apples—at first carefully, with focused aim.
Then with more laughter. More chaos.
Lucius started shifting the basket mid-throw,
making it harder and harder for Erios to score.
Erios yelled and grumbled,
but ended up laughing louder than before as he launched the next apple.
Apples spun through the air,
dancing between them like fireflies—
and their laughter echoed through the trees,
filling the world with warmth and weightless joy.
Kael watched, motionless.
Lucius—radiant, sunlit.
Erios—stubborn, fiery, and alive.
Two children turning something as simple as apple-picking into a game.
As if the world had always been this way.
Full of sunlight.
And honest laughter.
With the basket full, Lucius leapt gracefully from the tree—
drifting down like a feather caught in the wind.
Erios, panting and clumsy, landed beside him with far less elegance.
Lucius grabbed the basket with both hands and bounced on his feet,
his silver hair flaring in the golden light of the setting sun.
"Erios! We got a whole basket of spirit apples!"
Erios turned to him, blinking—
unsure if he'd heard that right.
"Spirit apples?"
But before he could even process it,
a voice thundered behind them—heavy, commanding, furious.
"Lucius!"
Kael turned with them—
and even he felt his chest tighten.
A tall man was marching toward them with stormclouds in his eyes.
His steps were fast, hard, filled with barely-contained fury.
His dark hair was slightly tousled,
his brow drawn low,
and his mouth pressed into a severe line.
Gods…
Even Kael felt a shiver.
Immortal Master Nik.
The Headmaster's right hand.
Lucius, instead of panicking, simply bit his lip and whispered quickly:
"Erios, we need to hide the basket."
"Where?"
Lucius turned around—
and placed it directly behind his legs.
Kael dragged a ghostly hand down his face.
Brilliant camouflage.
Lucius straightened like nothing had happened,
meeting Nik's gaze with perfect innocence.
Nik stopped in front of them, staring him down.
He took a long breath—
the kind that said "I already know this will give me a headache."
"Lucius…"
His voice was deep, stern.
Even Erios shrank back against the railing,
clearly wishing he could melt into the background.
"Did you just pick the spirit apples?"
Kael covered his face with both spectral hands.
This is it. They're dead.
But Lucius, instead of looking even remotely guilty,
flashed a dazzling smile and stepped forward—
as if he'd just been praised for academic excellence.
"Master Nik! It was all for science!"
Nik rubbed the bridge of his nose, slowly shaking his head.
"Lucius, those apples are reserved for sacred rituals."
"Yes, I know, but…"
Lucius clasped his hands behind his back,
tilting his head with the kind of innocence that should've come with a warning label.
"Science demands sacrifice."
Kael could've sworn Nik's eye twitched.
"For science. Right."
Nik crossed his arms.
"What is it this time?"
Lucius practically radiated enthusiasm, stepping forward with open arms.
"These are spirit apples, right? Full of spiritual power?"
"…Let's say yes."
"Exactly!"
Lucius threw his hands up triumphantly.
"So I thought—what if we make a pie out of them? A spirit pie!
And if we feed it to the students, their spiritual energy will increase!"
Nik looked skyward, visibly praying for strength.
"Gods… a spirit pie…"
Lucius, unfazed, lifted the basket and approached him.
"Master, come on. We can share!"
Nik stared silently at the overstuffed basket—
then, without a word, took it and turned away, walking off.
Lucius stomped his foot, flinging his arms up in disbelief.
"Hey! I said we should share, not that you could take everything!"
Nik didn't stop.
He only called over his shoulder:
"Stay away from the spirit trees."
And vanished.
Lucius threw his hands dramatically into the air.
"You grumpy old man!"
"Bratty little gremlin!" came Nik's voice from the distance,
before he disappeared into the shadows of the trees.
Lucius turned back to Erios with a sigh.
"Well. My experiment failed."
Erios finally stepped away from the railing, frowning.
"So what now?"
Lucius crossed his arms and shook his head.
"But we learned something very important."
Erios squinted at him.
"And what's that?"
Lucius winked, his sapphire eyes glinting with mischief.
"That Nik is super possessive when it comes to food."
And a new wave of laughter burst across the bridge.
A sudden jolt yanked Kael from sleep.
He gasped, eyes snapping open—
only to find himself still lying on the couch in the library.
Silence wrapped around him like a heavy blanket,
the soft glow of moonlight slicing through the narrow windows,
casting silver ribbons across the endless rows of books.
Beside him, Naros was still sleeping peacefully.
His breathing slow and steady,
as if nothing in the world could reach him now.
Kael turned his gaze to the ceiling,
a strange, unshakable warmth lingering in his chest.
Laughter still echoed in his ears—
light and clear, like wind in the treetops.
Laughter filled with joy. With sun.
Lucius.
What was that dream?
…Or was it a dream at all?
That boy… was he Kirion's son?
Then Lucius had truly lived in the Order—
grown up here,
run through these halls,
laughed under these trees,
crafted his little mischiefs.
Nik knew him.
More than that—he had watched over him.
Raised him.
And that abandoned laboratory…
It all made sense now.
The letter "L" carved above the door.
Of course.
L for Lucius.
But why had Kael seen him?
Why him—that boy, so bright, so warm, like a beam of sunlight?
Was it truly just a dream, born from the depths of his subconscious—
or was it something more?
Something deeper, hidden in the tangled threads of time?
A thousand questions buzzed in his mind,
and not a single answer.
The echo of laughter in his chest slowly faded,
leaving behind a quiet, aching emptiness.
Kael let out a heavy breath,
closed his eyes,
and surrendered to the quiet pull of sleep once more.