At years of age, Solaris Void was far too young to understand destiny, prophecy, or the weight of forbidden power.
But he understood one thing very clearly.
Something was wrong.
He sat alone in his room, the late afternoon sunlight spilling across the floor in long, quiet shadows. The manor was calm—too calm. No footsteps, no voices, no servants hovering nearby. Lady Isolde had allowed him this solitude, believing it important for a growing child to learn independence.
Solaris sat on his bed, staring down at his chest.
The seal was there again.
A faint, necromantic sigil etched into his skin, glowing softly beneath the fabric of his shirt—its light no longer stable, no longer obedient. Thin red lines pulsed slowly, like strained veins, as if something beneath them was pressing outward.
Solaris's small fingers clenched the bedsheet.
"I almost lost control back then," he murmured quietly.
Nearly two years had passed since the incident in the library. He remembered it clearly—not as fear, but as imbalance. Knowledge had flooded him too quickly, emotions had tipped the scale, and the power sealed within him had responded.
Not violently.
Instinctively.
Solaris lifted his shirt.
The sigil responded immediately, glowing brighter, the red light at its edges flickering unevenly.
"I reforged you," he whispered, more to himself than to the seal. "I made you stronger."
Back then, he had used everything he understood—structure, restraint, balance—to rebuild the seal into something more stable. Something appropriate for a mortal body.
And yet—
The edges trembled.
A thin thread of crimson energy leaked outward, evaporating into the air like mist. The room grew slightly colder. The silence thickened.
Solaris exhaled slowly.
"So it's happening again."
There was no panic in his voice.
Only acknowledgment.
His power was growing—not explosively, not recklessly—but steadily. With every fragment of memory regained, with every instinct resurfacing, the seal bore more strain than it was designed to hold.
"I can't pretend this isn't happening," he said quietly.
He raised one small hand.
Cyan energy gathered in his palm, controlled and precise. It did not roar or surge—it formed carefully, condensed into a smooth, glowing sphere no larger than an apple.
The air hummed.
Images flickered at the edges of his awareness—ancient structures, complex sigils, systems of magic layered upon one another. He ignored them.
Focus first.
Solaris pressed the cyan orb against his chest.
The moment it made contact, the seal reacted.
Red and cyan light intertwined, clashing briefly before stabilizing. The sigil restructured itself—lines reinforcing, symbols tightening, the unstable glow smoothing into a steady, controlled radiance.
Slowly, the crimson light faded.
The cyan blue remained.
Balanced.
Contained.
Solaris lowered his hand, breathing evenly as the seal settled into a calm, rhythmic glow.
"…Better," he said.
He did not smile.
He did not celebrate.
Because he understood the truth.
"This will not be the last time."
He pulled his shirt back down, hiding the seal from view.
At that exact moment, the door creaked open.
A maid peeked inside.
"…Young Master?" she asked cautiously. "Did you… move something just now?"
Solaris looked up.
Blink.
Innocent.
"No."
The maid hesitated.
The room felt normal again. Warm. Quiet.
"…I see," she said slowly, unconvinced but unable to explain why.
After she left, Solaris lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Good, he thought. No one noticed.
He yawned.
I handled it properly. Calmly. Responsibly.
A very reasonable thing for a normal child to do.
The candle on the shelf flickered—then went out on its own.
Solaris turned his head.
"…Huh."
He shrugged, rolled over, and hugged his pillow.
I'll deal with it later, he decided.
After all—
today's problem was solved.
And as far as Solaris Void was concerned,
that was enough.
---
But in next moment he thinks, "…my old strength and knowledge are returning to me, bit by bit. I cannot deny it," Solaris thought quietly.
"But I will not let it consume me. I will master it—calmly. Responsibly."
Having reached this very mature conclusion, Solaris immediately did the next logical thing.
He went to ask his father for permission.
Solaris stood in front of Lord Alistair Void's grand desk, which—objectively speaking—was much larger than Solaris himself. The desk looked like it had opinions. Serious ones. Possibly judgmental.
Lord Alistair was busy. Quill scratching. Papers stacking. The calm, terrifying productivity of a noble lord in full administrative mode.
Solaris cleared his throat.
Nothing happened.
He cleared it again.
Still nothing.
His father turned a page.
…Okay, Solaris thought. This is harder than resealing ancient power.
In his past existence, he would have simply declared his intent and reality would have adjusted accordingly. Here, however, reality required something called "asking nicely."
Solaris inhaled.
"Father."
Alistair paused mid-sentence on the parchment.
"Yes?" he replied, not yet looking up.
Solaris straightened his posture—about as straight as a three-year-old could manage.
"I want to train with you."
The quill stopped.
Silence followed.
Solaris continued quickly, before courage escaped him.
"I know you go to the training hall every day. I don't need special treatment. I won't interrupt. I won't cry. I won't—" he hesitated, then added honestly, "—probably fall over… much."
Lord Alistair finally looked up.
And froze.
There stood his son: small, serious, cyan blue eyes shining with determination, fists clenched like he was about to negotiate a peace treaty.
For several long seconds, Alistair simply stared.
Solaris waited.
His confidence began to wobble.
Did I say something wrong? Was 'probably' too much honesty?
Then—slowly—Alistair smiled.
A proud, dangerous smile.
"Very well," he said warmly. "I will train you."
Solaris's eyes lit up.
"But," Alistair added calmly, "you will meet me at the training hall at 5:00 AM sharp."
Solaris blinked.
Once.
Twice.
"…Five?"
"In the morning."
Solaris nodded immediately. "Of course."
Internally, his mind screamed.
What kind of monster schedules training before sunrise?!
Alistair placed a hand on his shoulder, amused and affectionate.
---
The boy's face lit up instantly.
Solaris's lips curved into a bright, honest smile, his cyan eyes squeezing shut as if the joy might leak out otherwise.
"Thank you, Father," he said, voice high and soft, overflowing with relief.
Outwardly, Lord Alistair Void merely nodded.
Calm.
Composed.
Noble.
Inwardly—
AAAAAAA—
MY BABY BOY.
LOOK AT HIM.
Standing there all serious, asking to train like a grown man—who gave him permission to be this adorable?!
Alistair's arms twitched.
I should hug him. No—scoop him up. Just once. Maybe twice. Spin him. Tell him how proud I am.
His expression did not change.
A true noble.
Solaris, unaware of the emotional battlefield happening two feet above his head, smiled to himself.
Good, he thought. That went smoothly. Very ordinary. Just a child asking his father for training.
Meanwhile, Alistair was fighting for his life.
Control yourself, Alistair. You are a lord. Not a doting mess.
He cleared his throat instead.
"Go rest," he said firmly. "Training begins tomorrow."
Solaris nodded obediently and turned to leave.
Alistair watched him go.
I raised that, he thought proudly.
I absolutely raised that.
The moment the door closed—
Alistair grabbed the edge of his desk and whispered fiercely:
"…I'm buying him a practice sword."
---
["The decision was small, almost harmless…
but it was the first step toward a future that could no longer be stopped."]
---
⭐ Author's Note
[ Next Time: Energy Using Permanently Band ]