The Twins' Twelfth Birthday

Soon enough, the day of my older twin brother and sister's twelfth birthday arrived with much fanfare. In this world, certain birthdays were considered major milestones: fourth, eighth, twelfth, fifteenth, and eighteenth.

The fourth birthday marked the initiation into mana, a significant event in any young noble's life. The eighth birthday signified the beginning of a new developmental stage. The twelfth birthday typically signaled the onset of puberty, and the fifteenth was the age when most chose their paths in life, also known as the debutante age. The eighteenth birthday marked the transition into adulthood.

Given these traditions, it was no surprise that my brother and sister's twelfth birthday celebration was grander than their previous ones. More nobles were invited, superior decorations adorned the estate, and greater effort was put into every detail. This birthday was particularly special, as it was Lucas's last before he embarked on his journey to become an adventurer, adding a layer of significance to the festivities.

The estate buzzed with activity as servants hurried to ensure everything was perfect. Elegant drapes and floral arrangements filled the ballroom, casting a magical atmosphere over the celebration. The air was filled with the tantalizing aroma of delicacies prepared by the finest chefs, and a soft melody played by a live orchestra added to the ambiance.

As guests arrived, the ballroom quickly filled with nobles dressed in their finest attire, their laughter and chatter creating a lively backdrop. My parents, radiant with pride, greeted each guest with warm smiles. Lucas and Elara stood beside them, receiving congratulations and well-wishes with grace.

I observed from a distance, feeling a mix of emotions. The grandeur of the event was overwhelming, yet there was an undercurrent of melancholy knowing that Lucas would soon be leaving. Despite my reservations, I couldn't help but feel a swell of pride for my brother's determination to grow stronger.

Lucas, dressed in a finely tailored white suit that matched his blonde hair and blue eyes. His usual stoic expression was softened by the genuine smiles he shared with the guests. Elara, radiant in a beautiful red gown, was her usual amiable self, engaging in light-hearted conversations with the attendees.

"Bored?" Lyra asked, her face stoic as she blinked at me.

"Yes," I sighed. Since my eighth birthday, Lyra and I had grown closer, shedding the formalities that often kept nobles at arm's length. I wouldn't say we were the closest of friends, but I could now comfortably call her a friend.

"It must be hard for you as well," I chuckled dryly, glancing around at the young boys and girls being nudged by their parents to approach Lyra. They were only eight years old, yet their parents were already maneuvering for political advantage.

Such was the influence of Count Arlen in this region. Most of the nobles here, like my father, were merchant nobles. Count Arlen, however, was one of the most powerful merchant nobles and a formidable swordsman before his mana core cracked, nearly costing him his life.

I looked at Lyra, dressed impeccably with her sleek, long black hair and brown eyes, like a doll in her formal attire. Despite her youth, she carried herself with the poise of someone much older, a testament to the weight of her father's influence and the expectations placed upon her.

Count Arlen's power extended far beyond our region, with ties directly to the imperial administration and the capital. He was a force to be reckoned with, and everyone knew it. Though Lyra was too young to be engaged to anyone, the nobles were already scheming to form bonds that might secure future alliances with the Arlen family.

Fortunately, Lyra was exceptionally perceptive. She saw through the political games these nobles played and skillfully rejected their advances. Count Arlen, aware of these dynamics, had introduced Lyra to me. He knew my father wasn't as power-hungry as the other nobles.

My father, a former commoner elevated to baron status, wanted his children to lead happy lives, free from the burden of being used as political pawns. This attitude, whether born of his commoner roots or his personal values, was a blessing for me.

"How long do you think this will go on?" Lyra asked, her eyes scanning the room.

"Probably until the cake is served," I replied, my tone light but laced with a hint of resignation.

Lyra sighed, "I suppose we should make the best of it."

Luckily, since Lyra and I were not yet old enough to debut, we were spared from the obligation to dance. The only reason I danced on my eighth birthday was that it was a milestone and I was with my sister. At normal events like this, no one expected us to participate in the formal dances.

This was a relief, especially for Lyra. If she were required to dance, she would be inundated with requests and likely use me as a shield. We continued chatting, finding some solace in our mutual distaste for the event's stifling atmosphere.

As we talked, I couldn't help but glance at Elara. Her usual lively demeanor was present, but I could tell because I knew her that well.

She was acting.

'As I thought, she doesn't look well,' I pondered, concern etching itself into my thoughts. 'Is it because Lucas is leaving? I should talk to her soon.'

The room was filled with the murmur of conversations and the clinking of fine china. It wasn't just the anticipation of Lucas's departure; something deeper seemed to be troubling her. The thought of her carrying such a burden alone didn't sit well with me.

"I'll be right back," I told Lyra, excusing myself from our conversation.

She nodded, understanding in her eyes. I made my way through the throng of nobles, weaving between conversations and sidestepping well-wishers until I reached Elara.

"Elara," I said softly, drawing her attention. Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of relief.

"Hey, Lancelot," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you want to step outside for a bit? Get some fresh air?" I suggested, gesturing toward the balcony.

She hesitated for a moment before nodding. We walked out together, the cool evening breeze a welcome contrast to the warm, crowded ballroom.

"What's wrong?" I asked gently once we were alone.

Elara took a deep breath, her eyes fixed on the horizon. "It's just... everything feels overwhelming. Lucas leaving, all the expectations, the future... it's a lot to handle."

"What expectations?" I asked carefully, trying to understand the depth of her concerns.

She sighed, her eyes moist as she continued, "Lucas is my twin, but he's so talented! Of course, I don't want to be jealous of him because he's my brother, but I see that everyone wants me to be as amazing as him, and I can't. And even you are so talented, Lancelot. You and Lucas took down a green core assassin! But I'm weak. Even after eight years, I still haven't reached yellow core."

'So that's her worry,' I thought. It wasn't Elara's fault at all. Our family didn't have much talent. Our father had an orange core, and our mother a green core. This wasn't a warrior's family.

Lucas was just talented because he was lucky, and I was because of my past life. Elara had neither, which is why she would never be as good at magic as either of us.

"It's not your fault," I said gently, trying to ease her burden. "Our family isn't known for its magical prowess. Father has an orange core, and mother a green core. This isn't a warrior's family. Lucas and I are exceptional because of our natural talent. But you, Elara, you have your own strengths."

Elara looked at me, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "What strengths? I feel like I don't have any."

"You have kindness, empathy, and a strong spirit," I said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Those are strengths too. You don't have to compare yourself to us. You're amazing in your own way. Neither of us hold a candle to you when it comes to navigating social situations."

She smiled faintly, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly. "Thanks, Lancelot. It helps to know you believe in me."

"I always will," I replied firmly. "And remember, we're here for each other. No matter what."

We stood there for a while, letting the silence and the night air offer their own kind of comfort.

"But am I really that good at socializing?" Elara asked, scratching her cheek, a hint of doubt in her voice.

"Yes," I nodded, my words sincere. "Lucas isn't bad, but he's too stiff, and I simply dislike social situations. Honestly, you should teach me more so I can become better."

Elara's eyes brightened a little, and she laughed softly. "You really think so? I always thought you were better at these things than you let on."

I shook my head with a smile. "Not at all. You have a natural ease with people that I envy. Your kindness and empathy draw others in. If you could share some of your secrets, I'd be grateful."

She looked thoughtful, then nodded. "Alright, I'll try to help you out. But remember, being yourself is just as important as any social skill. People like you for who you are, not just for how well you navigate conversations."

"Fair point," I conceded. "But a little polish never hurts."

Elara's smile widened, and the tension in her posture eased further. "Deal. We'll work on it together."