Prince Valkas von Thane loved stories as a child. Not the grand tales of summoners that dominated the libraries of the Kingdom of Thane—those were predictable, formulaic. No, what stirred his young heart were the old stories, the forgotten epics of knights who stood against insurmountable odds with nothing but their swords and their will.
The idea of a single man standing against evil, steel gleaming under a dying sun, made his chest burn with a fierce, inexplicable yearning.
He wanted to be that.
He wanted to be a knight.
But even as a child, he had begun to understand that the world was harsh and unyielding to dreams.
"Please, Your Highness," Sir Galahad, Commander of the Knight Order, had bowed low to the young prince. His black hair was streaked with gray, and his eyes bore the weight of years spent fighting battles that left no songs or statues. "Do not say such things aloud."
"Why not, Sir Galahad?" Valkas urged. "You're the strongest knight in the kingdom! They even call you the Sword Saint! If I am to become like anyone, I want it to be you."
Galahad's face, weathered and resolute, softened with something that looked like pity. "Your Highness," he said slowly, "I am but a failed summoner. My Bronze grimoire gave me a Beta Terra summon, nothing more. You, on the other hand, are the son of our King. You will grow to be a Gold-grade summoner, perhaps more. You will have power that men like me can only dream of. Do not waste your path by choosing mine."
Even then, Valkas had seen the sadness in Galahad's eyes as he spoke, a sadness that even his gruff tone couldn't mask. The prince didn't understand it at the time, but the memory stayed with him, burning bright even as the years dulled others.
It was only as he grew older that the truth revealed itself to him.
The world didn't care about knights anymore. Knights were relics, symbols of an age long past. He saw it in the mockery of the court, in the sneers of even Silver-grade summoners who had the gall to laugh at Sir Galahad's flawless swordsmanship. They dismissed him—a man who stood at the peak of human capability—as nothing more than a relic with outdated ideals.
And yet, Galahad had once confided something to him.
"It's a hopeless wish," Galahad had said one evening, his tone lighter than usual, as though mocking himself. "But I dream of a day when a human—a true human—can defeat a Luminara beast with nothing but their body, their technique, and their blade. No summon. No tricks. Just a man and a sword against the impossible."
The prince had felt a lump rise in his throat at the words. Galahad had already achieved the peak of human potential, forming all twelve mana cores within his Alpha Terra body and mastering swordsmanship to the point of perfection. Yet even he understood the vast gulf that lay between humanity and the beings they summoned for protection.
It was an impossible dream, and Galahad knew it. Astra beasts, and certainly Luminara beasts, had techniques that went beyond human comprehension, their bodies built for war in ways humans could never match. But still, Galahad had dreamed.
And then, years later, Valkas had seen Aria take the sword.
It wasn't just the precision of her movements, nor the sheer efficiency with which she swung the blade. It was the transcendence of it, the way her strikes seemed to defy the constraints of flesh and bone. She didn't wield the sword; she became it.
The others saw only her strength. They marveled at her power and chalked it up to her being a Prime Eterna. But Valkas saw deeper.
He saw the ghost of Galahad's dream.
In that fleeting moment, as Aria moved with impossible grace and mastery, Valkas realized the truth. Her technique—her art—had surpassed Galahad's.
She was bound by human limitations. Her body, her size, her reach—they were no different than those of any other twelve-year-old girl. Yet within those constraints, she wielded the sword in a way that defied belief. It wasn't raw power or otherworldly strength that elevated her. It was something else entirely. She had transcended the very concept of swordsmanship, elevating it into something divine.
Valkas swallowed hard as the memory replayed in his mind, over and over. The way the blade had moved, the way her steps had flowed like water over stone. He thought of Galahad, the quiet pride the man carried despite the scorn of the world.
If Galahad had seen Aria's technique, Valkas realized with a pang, he wouldn't have felt jealousy or bitterness. He would have wept. Wept for the beauty of what he had dreamed of all his life, now realized in a way he could never have imagined.
"Sir Galahad," Valkas murmured, his voice barely audible above the soft rustle of leaves. His hand tightened instinctively on the hilt of his sword as though grasping for the memory itself. "You wished for a human to reach the impossible. And she's done it."
A single tear welled in the corner of his eye before slipping down his cheek. He quickly brushed it away, his Infernal Boar snorting softly and letting off a faint shimmer of heat, a wordless effort to shield its master from potential onlookers.
"Do you wish to learn?" Aria's voice broke through his reverie like a whisper from the wind, startling him so much that he nearly stumbled backward.
"Wha—" Valkas started, his heart leaping to his throat. 'How does she keep doing that?' he thought, frustration mingling with awe as he turned to face her. Aria stood there, her head tilted slightly, her expression placid, almost doll-like. And yet, there was something about her gaze that seemed to pierce through him, as though she could see straight into his soul.
Aria's petite frame and childlike features made it easy to forget what she truly was—until moments like these. Moments where her very presence felt like the weight of a star pressing against the fabric of the world.
But now, she was simply staring at him, waiting.
Valkas followed her gaze as she reached out, her movements slow and deliberate, toward his Infernal Boar. The beast tensed, its fiery aura flickering uneasily, but it didn't move. Her hand rested gently on its broad, blackened head, and the Boar let out a low, rumbling huff, its shoulders relaxing under her touch.
Valkas swallowed hard. It was a surreal image—this young girl, barely reaching the Boar's flank, patting it as though it were a tame house pet. And yet, he knew. He knew. This was the same being that had obliterated a Beta Luminara beast with terrifying efficiency.
"If I wish to learn," Valkas said slowly, his voice measured, "what would be the point?"
Aria blinked, her head tilting the other way now, like a bird observing a curious phenomenon. "Why does there need to be a point?"
Valkas stared at her, momentarily stunned. Her question wasn't said with scorn or incredulity—it was as if she genuinely couldn't fathom the necessity of a justification.
"Of course there does," he said at last, his voice carrying an edge of exasperation. "I'm the prince of this kingdom. Every moment of my time has to serve a purpose. You may not understand this, but wasting it on something frivolous—"
"I understand," Aria interrupted, her tone calm and devoid of offense. Her hand fell away from the Infernal Boar, and she stepped closer to him, her dark eyes locked onto his. "But you wish to learn, right?"
Her words were simple, direct. But there was an undercurrent of something else, something ancient and profound that made Valkas feel like a child being asked the most important question of his life.
"I…" He faltered, his words catching in his throat. He looked away, his gaze falling to the ground as he tried to wrestle with the answer. Did he? Did he still wish to learn? Was the fire that had burned so brightly in his youth still alive, or had it been snuffed out under the weight of expectations and duty?
"You wish to learn," Aria continued, her tone unchanging. "That is enough."
For a moment, Valkas felt the weight of her words settle over him. The simplicity of her reasoning was both disarming and profound. Could it really be that simple? Could it truly be enough to just want?
He opened his mouth to reply but stopped. His fingers brushed against the calluses on his palm, and he found himself nodding slowly.
"All right," Valkas said, his voice quiet but resolute. "Teach me."
Aria tilted her head, her dark eyes narrowing slightly as if the request was an absurdity. "I don't teach," she said plainly, twirling her fingers in the air. The space in front of her shimmered and fractured like a broken mirror, and with a soft hum, something fell from the rift—a book.
It landed with a muted thud at Valkas's feet, its leather-bound cover worn yet pristine, its pages edged in faint gold.
"This," she said, her tone as matter-of-fact as ever, "is the best sword art you can learn at your level."
Valkas bent down and picked it up, his fingers brushing over the embossed title, written in a language he didn't recognize. He glanced back up at her, his brows furrowing. "At my level?"
Aria nodded, her expression calm, though her words carried an edge of cool detachment. "My world was… different from this one," she said, her gaze drifting as though peering into a memory only she could see. "Here, humans are pathetic and weak. In my world, they were strong."
Her statement was so blunt, so devoid of malice yet utterly damning, that Valkas wasn't sure how to respond. He looked over at Kael, who had walked up during the exchange, his arms crossed and his expression skeptical.
"Strong?" Kael asked, breaking the silence. His tone carried a note of challenge, as if daring her to elaborate.
"Yes," Aria said simply, as though the matter was self-evident. "Humans with swords could kill these Luminara beasts. Like the Sword Emperor of my world. Strongest human."
The words hung in the air, heavy and impossible. Valkas's grip tightened on the book. Humans killing Luminara beasts? Even the most optimistic tales of knights and warriors in Aetheria had never dared to dream of such feats.
"But… how?" Valkas asked, his voice betraying his awe and disbelief. "Humans here can barely scratch an Astra beast without a summon."
"They were evolved," Aria said, turning to face him fully. Her gaze was piercing, as though she were looking not at him but through him. "You are not. Thus, an easy art."
"Easy?" Kael snorted, his arms unfolding as he gestured toward the book. "If that's easy, then what's hard?"
Aria blinked, her expression as serene as ever. "Hard art would break you. You would not survive even the first step."
The bluntness of her words was like a hammer, leaving both boys momentarily stunned. Kael opened his mouth to retort but thought better of it, closing it with a click and shaking his head.
Valkas, however, was undeterred. He held the book up, studying its cover more intently. "What's it called?"
"Heavenly Blade Flow," Aria replied, her tone almost reverent. "It is the sword art for those who are yet to awaken. Adaptable. Efficient. Deadly."
Kael frowned. "And you're just giving this to him? Why not teach it yourself?"
"I don't teach," Aria repeated, her voice unchanging. "I destroy. I devour. That is my nature."
There was no pride or apology in her tone. It was simply a statement of fact, delivered with the same calm detachment as one might announce the weather.