Three Years Later
Steel rang.
Not the sharp, lethal clang of battlefield weapons—
but the heavy, disciplined sound of training blades colliding with intent.
The courtyard of the Lockhart estate was alive.
Morning sunlight spilled across polished stone tiles, refracting through Aether-reinforced pillars. Training arrays glowed faintly along the perimeter, runes humming as they absorbed excess force. The air itself felt tight, compressed by repeated impacts.
At the center—
Lex Lockhart stood barefoot.
Six years old.
Shorter than his brother. Smaller frame. Lighter build.
Yet the ground beneath his feet was cracked.
---
● Third Person —
Rand Lockhart lunged first.
His wooden training sword carved a clean arc through the air—precise, aggressive, the kind of strike drilled into a prodigy raised in the Lockhart household.
Lex moved.
Not fast.
Not flashy.
He shifted.
A half-step to the side. Heel turned. Weight redistributed. His blade rose just enough to redirect, not block.
Clack.
The impact echoed.
Rand frowned. "Stop dodging like that!"
"I'm not dodging," Lex replied calmly. "You're overcommitting."
Rand clicked his tongue and pressed harder.
This time, the strikes came in a flurry—vertical cut, diagonal follow-up, thrust aimed center mass.
Lex's body responded before thought.
Not because of speed.
Because he'd already seen this exchange end…
hundreds of times.
---
● Lex POV —
My arms burned.
My wrists screamed.
Six-year-old muscles were still six-year-old muscles, no matter how much Aether I fed them.
Annoying.
But pain was data.
I inhaled slowly.
(Breathe… Stabilize.)
Aura gathered—not explosively like before, but thin, refined. Micro-circulation. Just enough to reinforce tendons without triggering detection arrays.
Rand's next thrust came in—
—and I let it.
The blade passed my ribs by a hair's breadth.
I stepped inside his guard.
Tapped his wrist.
His sword fell.
Silence.
A shadow fell across the courtyard.
Heavy. Absolute.
Alexander Lockhart stood at the edge of the training grounds, arms crossed.
197 centimeters of disciplined pressure.
Golden eyes sharp. Evaluating. Calculating.
He hadn't intervened. He never did.
Rand clenched his teeth. "Again."
Alexander spoke instead.
"That's enough."
Rand froze. Lex lowered his blade.
Alexander's gaze rested on Lex—not proud, not disappointed.
Interested.
"You're not sparring," Alexander said.
"You're dismantling."
Lex said nothing.
Alexander continued, voice even. "You're using predictive movement. Minimal output. Maximum control."
A pause.
"That's not something you learn at six."
Lex wiped sweat from his brow, shoulders rising and falling.
"…I fall a lot at night," he said lightly. "Helps me remember where not to step."
Rand stared at him. "That doesn't make sense."
Alexander's eyes narrowed slightly.
It made too much sense.
The training array flickered.
Just once.
Alexander noticed.
Lex noticed faster.
Damn it.
Too much refinement. I'm leaving a signature.
Alexander stepped closer, towering over Lex. He knelt, bringing his gaze level with his son's.
"You're holding back," he said.
Lex met his eyes.
"Of course," Lex replied. "If I didn't, you'd ground me."
A beat.
Then Alexander laughed—low, brief, dangerous.
"Good answer."
He stood. "Rand. Recovery drills. Lex—inside. Your mother wants you."
Lex bowed his head obediently.
Inside, he clenched his fists.
---
● Lex POV —
Three years.
Three years of gathering Aether in fragments. Three years of adjusting variables. Three years of pretending my growth curve was normal.
And still—
They're starting to notice.
As I walked toward the estate doors, my arms trembling faintly from exertion, one thought lingered beneath the calm.
This timeline is tightening.
And next time…
I won't be sparring with wooden swords.