( Grant )

The morning breeze carried the scent of salt and damp wood, the telltale signs of a village nestled against the sea. Sunlight danced across the waves, casting a shimmering glow that reflected onto the training ground—a patch of open dirt behind the Anderson home.

Kaizer stood there, feet planted wide, gripping a wooden sword that felt just a little too big for his hands. His breathing was steady, his expression determined.

"Hold your stance, boy," Grant instructed, his voice firm yet warm. "Wider feet, lower your center. A strong foundation keeps you standing when the wind blows."

Kaizer adjusted, shifting his stance the way his father had taught him countless times before. His heart pounded with excitement. He had been waiting for this moment all morning.

Grant raised his own wooden sword—scarred from years of use—and took a slow, measured step forward. "Alright then. Show me what you've got."

Kaizer didn't need to be told twice. He lunged, swinging with all the force his small arms could muster. Grant barely moved, sidestepping effortlessly.

"Too predictable," he said. "Again."

Kaizer gritted his teeth and swung again, this time aiming lower. Grant parried with ease, the wooden blades clacking sharply against each other.

"Better," Grant nodded. "But not enough."

Before Kaizer could react, his father stepped in and knocked the wooden sword from his grip with a precise strike. It hit the dirt with a dull thud.

Kaizer stared at it for a moment, his frustration bubbling up. "How am I supposed to hit you if you're so fast?"

Grant chuckled, resting his sword on his shoulder. "You think strength is just about swinging harder? A real warrior reads their opponent, adapts, finds the right moment." He crouched down, placing a firm hand on Kaizer's shoulder. "Power is nothing without control, son. Strength without purpose? That's just recklessness."

Kaizer looked up at him, still frowning but listening.

Grant ruffled his hair. "You'll get there. But you have to be patient."

Kaizer picked up his sword again, determination flaring in his eyes. "One more round."

Grant grinned. "That's the spirit."

The morning sun cast a warm glow over the training ground, but Kaizer barely noticed. All he could focus on was the man standing across from him, wooden sword resting lazily on his shoulder.

Grant Anderson looked like he belonged in a noble's portrait rather than a humble fishing village. He had sharp, almost regal features—his jawline crisp, his golden-amber eyes catching the light like molten metal. His black hair was a little unkempt, his bangs falling just slightly over his gaze, making him look younger than his years. At twenty-five, he didn't carry the air of a hardened veteran, but that only made the stories about him all the more legendary.

The Shining Star Grant.

That was what people called him. The Commander of the Crescent Moon Knights. A hero spoken of across Nocturnastra. Kaizer had heard the tales—how his father had cut down a dozen men in a single breath, how he could move faster than the eye could track, how even the vampires feared his name.

Yet here he was, dressed in a simple tunic, rolling up his sleeves to train with his eight-year-old son.

Kaizer was a striking child, even at his young age. He had wavy black hair, untamed yet soft, framing his face in loose curls. His black eyes were sharp, holding a quiet intensity beyond his years. He took after both of his parents in appearance—his father's refined features, his mother's natural elegance—giving him a look that was almost too pretty for a boy who dreamed of being a warrior. Though still small, there was a fire in him, a determination that shone through his delicate features.

Kaizer was just about to charge when a sharp voice cut through the morning air.

"Oi!"

Grant lowered his wooden sword and turned, his golden-amber eyes narrowing as he took in the figure approaching from the dirt path.

Standing there, arms crossed, was Tyrus Croft, the former Commander of the Crescent Moon Knights. Even in simple traveling clothes, the man carried an undeniable air of authority. His stance was firm, his presence commanding. A hard grin stretched across his weathered face—like he found amusement in everything, even the unexpected.

Kaizer had never seen his father caught off guard before.

"Sir!" Grant straightened instinctively, his face momentarily perplexed before he snapped into a sharp salute, placing his right fist over his heart.

Tyrus scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "At ease, soldier. You're technically the boss now."

Grant hesitated, then let out a short chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Wh-what are you doing here, sir?"

Tyrus' grin didn't fade. "Why, I came to see the Commander of the Crescent Moon Knights. I have urgent news for you. Would you like to speak now or alone, inside?"

Kaizer glanced between them, sensing the weight behind those words. His father was always relaxed, always confident. But now… there was something else in his eyes.

Grant gave a firm nod. "By all means, you can come inside. You're always welcome, sir. I can get Alessia to put on some tea."

With that, he set his wooden sword aside and gestured toward the house, his mind already shifting from morning training to whatever "urgent news" awaited him inside.

Grant sighed, rubbing his temple as a group of kids ran up, their energy infectiously chaotic. Kaizer's friends were as loud as ever, their voices overlapping in a chorus of greetings.

"Hi, Mr. Anderson!"

"Hey, Mr. Anderson!"

"Hello, old dude!"

Grant narrowed his eyes at the last one, lips parting to scold them for their lack of manners, but before he could speak, a booming laugh erupted beside him.

Tyrus threw his head back, laughing heartily. "Hey, I'm not that old! I still got some spirit left in me!" He flexed an arm dramatically, grinning. "Bet I could still take down your dads in a duel!"

The kids erupted in laughter, clearly enjoying the former Commander's easygoing nature.

Grant shook his head, but even he couldn't help but smirk. "Don't encourage them, sir."

Tyrus clapped him on the back. "Ah, let 'em have fun. They remind me of you when you were their age—loud, reckless, full of dreams." He then turned to Kaizer's friends with an amused glint in his eye. "So, which one of you is the troublemaker?"

The kids immediately pointed at each other. "He is!" "No, she is!" "Hey, I'm the good one!"

Kaizer just crossed his arms, shaking his head at their antics. "They're all troublemakers, Commander."

Tyrus grinned. "Good. That means they'll grow up into fine warriors."

Grant exhaled, watching as the kids continued their playful bickering. Despite the lingering unease from Tyrus's sudden arrival, for now, the moment felt lighthearted—like the calm before the storm.

Grant crossed his arms, giving Kaizer a pointed look. "Alright, go on and play with your friends. But listen to me, Kaizer—don't go past the lake. That's too far for you."

Kaizer groaned. "But Dad—"

"No 'buts.'" Grant's tone was firm but not unkind. "Stay where I can find you if I need to, got it?"

Kaizer sighed, but he knew better than to argue when his father used that voice. "Fine…"

His friends had already started running off, laughing and shoving each other. One of them, a lanky boy with wild ginger hair, cupped his hands around his mouth and called back, "Come on, Kaizer! Last one there's a rotten fish!"

Kaizer shot his father one last glance before dashing after them, kicking up dust as he went.

Grant watched until they disappeared over the small hill, then turned back to Tyrus, his expression shifting. Whatever news the former Commander had for him, it wasn't something he wanted Kaizer overhearing.

"Shall we?" Grant gestured toward the house.

Tyrus nodded, his usual grin fading just slightly. "Yeah… let's talk."