"Uaaah… Uaaah…"
The cry of a newborn echoed through the chamber, cutting through the stillness of the noble estate.
It was a small sound.
Yet it marked the beginning of a new life… and perhaps the beginning of a new era.
Within the Kingdom of Onix, inside the prestigious household of the Royal Drifters, a child had just been born.
The third son of Lord Brome and Lady Glassy.
Golden candlelight flickered across the spacious chamber, illuminating carved stone walls, silk curtains, and polished wooden furniture befitting a noble family. Servants stood silently along the edges of the room, their heads lowered in respect.
Beside the bed stood Brome.
He was a tall man with neatly combed purple hair and sharp dark-brown eyes that often carried authority strong enough to silence a room. Yet now, those same eyes trembled as he looked upon the child.
"My son…"
His voice, usually firm, wavered with disbelief and joy.
But then—
His expression changed.
The baby was not moving.
No cry.
No movement.
No response.
The chamber fell into a suffocating silence.
Lady Glassy, whose long light-blue hair spilled across the pillow like flowing water, slowly regained consciousness. Her crimson eyes opened weakly, but the moment they turned toward the child, fear overtook them.
"Why…?"
Her voice trembled.
No one answered.
Even the servants dared not breathe too loudly.
Was the child… dead?
Then suddenly—
"UAAAH!"
A loud cry burst through the room.
The baby's tiny arms flailed wildly as he began to wail with all his strength.
Relief swept through the chamber like a storm breaking.
Several maids nearly collapsed from tension. One servant quietly wiped tears from her eyes.
Brome exhaled heavily before letting out a rare laugh.
Glassy placed a trembling hand over her mouth as tears rolled down her cheeks.
"You should name him," she whispered.
Brome looked at the child for a long moment.
Then he spoke.
"Iconic."
The room fell silent once more.
"Someone whose name will be remembered," Brome said calmly. "A symbol of an era."
Glassy closed her eyes, smiling faintly.
"Yes…"
She looked at the child in her arms.
"He will create an extraordinary story."
A Few Days Later
Across nearly twelve hectares of land stood a grand noble mansion surrounded by stone walls, gardens, fountains, and training grounds.
Its architecture was ancient and elegant—arched windows, high towers, engraved pillars, and banners carrying the crest of House Brome.
At the entrance hung an old wooden sign:
[Brome Residence]
Within its walls were twelve bedrooms, a grand hall large enough to host nobles, seven maids, and a single elderly butler who had served the family for decades.
Inside the main hall—
"Dad! Dad!"
A young boy came running across the polished marble floor.
His fiery red hair bounced wildly behind him, and his matching red eyes sparkled with endless energy.
It was the eldest son.
Flare.
"The baby has your black eyes!" he shouted excitedly. "But why is his hair black too?"
Brome, seated on a carved wooden chair, allowed himself a small smile.
"Black hair is rare," he said. "Some say it is the blessing of Elision, the Goddess of Knowledge."
Flare's jaw dropped.
"My little brother is special!"
He immediately began running in circles around the hall.
"Special! Unique! Amazing!"
A maid chased after him in despair.
"Young Master Flare, please slow down!"
Only when he noticed his mother seated near the window did he stop.
Glassy held a leather-bound diary in her hands, calmly writing.
"Mother, what are you doing?"
She looked up and gently pulled him onto her lap.
"Recording the story of this family," she replied.
Then she turned the pages toward him.
"You can read some words now, can't you?"
Flare puffed his chest proudly and squinted.
"Flare… August… 1834…"
He turned another page.
"Sine… May… 1836…"
Then another.
"Ico… nic… October…"
He looked up triumphantly.
"I did it!"
Glassy smiled warmly and stroked his hair.
"As expected of my son."
From nearby, Brome quietly watched the scene.
For once, the stern lord looked peaceful.
Eleven Years Later
September, 1849
Brome Residence.
Crash!
"Iconic!"
A sharp voice echoed through the corridor.
A boy with dark-blue hair and light-brown eyes stood beside a shattered vase, rubbing his forehead in frustration.
This was Sine.
The second son of the family.
Unlike Flare's fiery energy, Sine carried a calmer and more disciplined air. His posture was straight, his clothes neat, and his expression constantly burdened by his younger brother's actions.
"Why are you doing this again?" he asked.
Standing beside the broken remains was a black-haired boy with bright black eyes full of mischief.
Iconic.
Now eleven years old, he wore a carefree smile that made trouble seem natural.
"It was already leaning," Iconic said confidently.
"You pushed it."
"It leaned aggressively."
Sine closed his eyes.
"Father told you not to touch anything in this corridor."
Iconic folded his arms.
"And yet the corridor touched me first."
Sine stared at him in silence.
Then sighed deeply.
His gaze moved to the broken vase.
"This was one of Father's favorites…"
Iconic said nothing.
Instead, he simply looked at Sine with wide glittering eyes.
Sine immediately turned away.
"…Stop doing that."
A pause followed.
Then Sine straightened.
"There is only one solution."
Ten Minutes Later
Sine stood outside the drawing room door, listening carefully.
"This truly was the only solution," he muttered.
Inside the room—
Brome sat calmly on a sofa, dressed in noble attire, his purple hair tied neatly behind him.
Even seated, he carried enough pressure to make the air feel heavy.
Before him stood Iconic.
Arms behind his back.
Trying to look innocent.
"Well," Brome began, "this is the fifth time you have broken one of my antique vases."
Iconic remained silent.
"And unfortunately," Brome continued, "that was the final vase in the collection."
"…Brother Sine was involved too," Iconic said quickly.
Brome raised an eyebrow.
"Do you know who informed me?"
Iconic blinked.
Brome placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Sine."
Iconic froze.
Inside, Brome leaned back.
"It is almost time for Flare's academy admission," he said. "Yet I must still manage your disasters."
He paused.
"It is fortunate your mother is not here."
Iconic visibly paled.
"…I understand."
"Tomorrow, I will be away for Flare's admission to the academy," Brome continued. "Behave yourself."
"I will."
Brome narrowed his eyes.
Iconic smiled innocently.
Neither believed him.
Far away, in the courtyard, a red-haired youth practiced sword swings beneath the sun.
Flare.
And somewhere in the hallway, Sine quietly continued walking as though none of this involved him.
Next Chapter: Academy ....