The sun swiftly dipped below the horizon as the day of this year's Monster Tide finally came to an end. Hours blurred and the sun began its slow ascent, painting the sky in strokes of gold and crimson as a new day emerged, indifferent to the lives lost or the glory won the day before.

While most of the city still slept soundly, resting after the calamity that had shaken their lands, one family stood apart. The Baron and his kin were already awake, their mansion alive with a faint hum of activity that broke the pre-dawn stillness. It was 4 a.m., the hour when dreams were deepest and silence most profound. Yet within the walls of the Rivelle estate, Caldor was already deep in motion.

Inside his training chamber, the rhythmic sound of feet striking stone echoed faintly. Caldor moved with a spear gripped tightly in his hands, his body flowing with precision, grace, and deadly purpose. He and his weapon seemed to share one consciousness, each thrust, sweep, and twist of his arm carrying the sharp, focused intent of a warrior molded by discipline. The spear sliced through the air with a whistle, his feet tapped the ground with an almost musical rhythm, and his every movement displayed immaculate finesse.

He retracted, then slashed. He blocked, then countered. His form shifted fluidly between offense and defense, executing a seamless chain of attacks and parries against an unseen opponent. His black hair followed the motion of his strikes, fluttering like a shadow in motion, while his lean muscles tensed and released in perfect harmony with every breath. Sweat glistened faintly on his skin, catching the dim light of the training hall's lanterns.

Caldor was undeniably talented. His failure to be accepted into the Star Academy, an institution that took in only the most extraordinary among thousands, had done little to diminish that truth. Yet, even as he trained with mechanical precision, his thoughts wandered far from his current stance and movements. His mind drifted toward one figure, the Tenth Sun.

He could not help but ponder how that boy, his age mate, had reached such unfathomable heights in the span of a single year. Caldor himself had awakened on his first attempt, a feat celebrated by many. In contrast, the Tenth Sun had succeeded only on his third and final try. By all logic, Caldor should have been the one destined for greatness, the one standing at the summit of talent. Yet the reality before him had proven otherwise.

As Caldor continued to train, his spear carving invisible arcs through the air, the image of the purple-haired boy loomed in his thoughts. He remembered seeing him only twice in his life, the first time during the Twin Royal Birthday Banquet. That day, he had watched as the Tenth Sun effortlessly crushed Ryan Silvershade in a duel. Caldor had not thought much of it then; after all, Ryan was far from gifted. Even he could defeat Ryan easily.

And then came the second time, the battle that changed everything. Caldor could still recall the sight vividly: hundreds of pillars of purple lightning descending from the heavens, devouring the battlefield in radiant destruction. Each bolt spanned meters, the storm stretching across two hundred meters. Yet, what had truly shaken him was not the devastation, it was the effortlessness with which Asher, the Tenth Sun, had commanded it all. The control was flawless. The execution, godlike.

The more Caldor thought about that moment, the more he saw within himself a reflection of inadequacy. There were weaknesses in his movements, imperfections in his breathing, hesitation in his strikes. He realized, with a quiet bitterness, that he had grown complacent, resting on the hollow praise of others who called him gifted. He had been a fool. And in Crymora, fools did not survive long.

He thrust his spear forward again, this time with renewed purpose. The air screamed as it was torn apart by the strike. No more complacency. His breathing steadied, his focus sharpened, and for the first time in a while, he felt his heart beat in rhythm with his will.

He was not jealous of the Tenth Sun. To envy someone of that caliber would be sheer stupidity. Nor was he deluded enough to consider himself a rival. Caldor knew his limits. He was not yet talented enough to even stand at the same starting line. But what he did have was determination.

The image of the Tenth Sun had become a mark, a precedent, a threshold he would train toward, no matter how distant it seemed. If fate ever allowed it, he wished to one day face that brilliance again… and this time, not as a spectator.

Though his thoughts swirled around Asher's overwhelming might, his movements never faltered. His form remained sharp, his stance remarkable. Just as he completed a chain series of strikes, a soft knock echoed at the door.

"Come in," he called, his voice calm and steady. Despite the intensity of his training, not a bead of sweat marred his face. For an awakened being like him, such exertion was little more than a warm-up.

"Young Master, the Baron requests your presence," a maid announced respectfully, bowing slightly as she spoke.

"I'll be there shortly," Caldor replied curtly. His dark eyes flicked toward her for only a moment before returning to his weapon. The maid bowed again and departed silently, her footsteps fading into the corridor.

Letting out a soft sigh, Caldor placed his spear aside, picked up his shirt, and left the chamber. His steps echoed softly as he walked through the polished halls of the Rivelle estate toward his father's study. He was not surprised the Baron was awake at this hour. If anything, he would have been shocked if his father wasn't already engrossed in work. The man was relentless, much like the tides of the world itself.

Upon reaching the heavy oak door, Caldor knocked once. "Enter," came the calm, deep voice from within. He stepped inside, bowing slightly.

"Good morning, Father," Caldor greeted evenly. His eyes met Baron Rivelle's, who sat behind a large desk covered in scrolls and documents, the lifeblood of city governance. Paperwork from the Monster Tide, no doubt.

"Morning," the Baron replied without looking up at first, his tone composed but weighty. After a moment, his gaze lifted, settling on his son. "How did the mission I assigned you go?"

Caldor knew immediately which mission his father referred to: the task of establishing a connection with the Tenth Sun.

"It was unsuccessful, Father," Caldor admitted plainly, his tone steady.

"Why?" the Baron asked, his expression unchanged. There was no disappointment, no anger, only a calm inquiry, as though he had already foreseen the outcome.

Caldor was silent for a brief moment before replying, "To forge a connection with someone like the Tenth Sun, one must either stand on his level… or offer something of equal worth. I have neither. I am simply too weak for such an exchange."

Baron Rivelle's gaze softened slightly. Though his son's conclusion was logical, he was aware of another truth, Finch and William had succeeded in establishing such a connection. But unlike Caldor, they studied within the Star Academy, where proximity and opportunity bridged such gaps.

"I understand," the Baron said finally, his lips curving into a faint, approving smile. "You've done well regardless. This was your first time participating on the front lines of the Monster Tide, and I'm impressed by your conduct."

"Thank you, Father," Caldor replied, a rare smile gracing his lips.

"You may leave," the Baron said, turning his focus back to his paperwork. Caldor bowed and quietly exited the room.

As the door closed, Baron Rivelle paused for a moment, his quill hovering over parchment. A faint smile lingered on his face. 'It seems the Tenth Sun has awakened something in him,' he thought, satisfaction stirring within his chest. 'For him to be training at this hour… perhaps that boy has finally found his spark.'

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: We've climbed to the 24th rank... Thanks for the support, keep the golden tickets coming. Thanks for reading.

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