The Weapon Training Selection

Three months had passed since Vastarael had awoken from the coma, his body and mind finally healed from the intense pain of his Reversal Ascension.

The palace had become a place of concern and constant care as they slowly adjusted to the fact that the young prince, now seven, had survived what many believed would be his end.

The weight of the decisions Lysameria had made for him, the betrothal to Adelasta, the linking of their destinies, had not been lost on her.

She knew it was the only way to ensure his survival, but that didn't make it any easier to bear. Every time she heard him stir, or saw the first glimmer of recognition in his eyes, her heart would race.

Vastarael didn't hold any resentment toward her. In truth, he couldn't.

He saw the toll the events had taken on her. How could he hate her for saving him?

The very thought of it seemed absurd. His mother, who had given him life, had also saved it. And despite the strange, unsettling nature of his betrothal, he understood the necessity. She had made a hard choice and now he would live to see another day. That was all that mattered.

But there was still the matter of Adelasta. She now lived in the palace, as their fates were tied, and yet, Vastarael had not seen her.

She remained a distant presence, like a shadow lurking just beyond his reach. They couldn't stay far from each other, the bond forged by their families making it so they were essentially tethered, but she never came to him.

It wasn't that he hated her. He had never met her ever since the party, after all, but the thought of his future wife, someone chosen for him without his consent, made him uneasy.

He couldn't even bring himself to imagine what their relationship would be like. The idea of being bound to another person, especially under such strange and painful circumstances, was a heavy burden on his heart.

His father, Dilasyus, had been more pragmatic.

He understood that it was simply the way things had to be, even if it was uncomfortable. Still, he showed his son affection in his own quiet way, ensuring that Vastarael knew he was there for him, supporting him in whatever way possible.

His other mothers, Caresse, and Opera, had also kept a vigilant watch over him. Each of them showed their love in different ways, offering him comfort and security, even if they too were shaken by the events that had transpired.

But the quiet days of recovery didn't last long. A new chapter was waiting for Vastarael, one that would soon take him from the comfort of his family and thrust him into a world of tradition and duty.

Preparations had begun for his Weapon Training Selection, a crucial part of his growth as a member of Dynasty Richinaria.

It was a long-held tradition that every member of a Dynasty must become an expert in a weapon of their choosing. This was not merely for combat purposes but to symbolize their ability to defend their realm, to stand strong against any enemy and to prove their worth as leaders.

The selection process was a serious one and Vastarael, despite everything that had happened, knew it would be one of the most important moments of his life.

He had always been fascinated by weapons, though he was still young. The idea of choosing one for himself, one that would reflect his strengths, his personality and his future role as a leader, was a heavy responsibility.

He didn't know what weapon he would choose yet but he was certain that it would become a part of him, something he would wield with pride and honor.

The palace halls were filled with discussions of his upcoming training. Trainers from various disciplines had arrived—archers, swordsmen, spearmen, and other experts in their fields.

Each of them would present their weapon, demonstrating its advantages and strengths, trying to convince the young prince that their chosen art was the one he should master. Some of the trainers had been assigned to him personally, while others waited for him to make his decision on his own.

Lysameria and his mothers spoke of his weapon choice with a certain amount of nervous excitement. They knew how important it was for Vastarael to make the right decision.

The weapon he chose would be something that defined him, something that would mark his place in history.

His mother's weapon was the sword.

His father's weapon was a mage staff.

And so, the day arrived.

Vastarael stood at the palace training grounds. The training yard was expansive, surrounded by high walls adorned with banners of Dynasty Richinaria's crest, which was a logo of two swords forming an X shape and a mage staff in the middle, with an orb on top.

Various weapons lined the racks, each gleaming under the midday sun. The sound of clanking metal and the rhythmic thud of combat training filled the air as skilled soldiers and trainers demonstrated their craft waiting for him.

His birth mother, Lysameria and his two other mothers, Caresse and Opera, accompanied him to the grounds. It was a rare sight to see them all together, united in this moment of vast importance.

As they stepped onto the field, a hush fell over the gathering crowd. The courtiers, soldiers, and trainers who had assembled for the event all bowed low in respect, acknowledging Vastarael as the future ruler of their dynasty.

Their heads lowered, some on one knee, while others simply stood with their hands crossed over their chests, paying homage to their prince.

Vastarael's eyes looked behind him and that was when he saw them—two small figures, barely three years old, standing near the edge of the training grounds.

Anamorsia, his blood sister, and Milliania, Caresse's daughter, were holding hands as they looked up at their older brother. The two girls were dressed in soft, royal silks that matched the palace's decor.

They clutched each other's hands tightly, a gesture of solidarity and innocence that made the sight even more emotional for the mothers. Caresse and Lysameria, each in their own way, couldn't help but be moved by the sight of their daughters looking up at their brother.

Vastarael watched as the two girls inched forward, their little feet pattering across the stone ground. As they reached him, they held their arms out to him, eager for his attention.

He bent down slightly, offering them a smile that made their faces light up.

"Are you here to watch the selection?"

"Yes!" Anamorsia beamed, her bright golden eyes staring at her brother with warmth. "Choose a sword okay?"

"No, choose an axe!" Milliania, a girl with dark hair and heterochromia—her right eye was blue and the left golden— cut in, looking at her half-sister.

"Sword!"

"Axe!"

"Sword!"

"Axe!"

Vastarael gently placed his hands on their lips, silencing them.

"Hey, I don't know what I'll get so don't argue. Okay?"

They nodded in response.

Milliania's chubby cheeks flushed as she smiled brightly, her tiny hands reaching for his to hold. Anamorsia did the same with a smile on her face.

"Alright," Lysameria said to the young girls. "Let him go."

"Mom!"

As Vastarael strode toward the training arena, his younger sisters reluctantly released his hands. They stood still for a moment, their eyes following him as he walked farther away, their small faces etched with displeasure.

Standing nearby, Opera joined Caresse and Lysameria. Her red hair glimmered under the sunlight as her blue eyes softened as she watched Milliania frown.

"Look at her. She's already sulking because he's leaving," she said, shaking her head with a bemused smile.

Caresse folded her arms. "It's not just Milliania. Look at Anamorsia. She's just quieter about it, but you can see the same pout forming."

Lysameria chuckled.

"Well, what can I say? Rael has that effect on them."

Opera sighed dramatically, "I'm telling you both, let's pray my children turn out to be boys. Otherwise, we're looking at future competition right under this roof.Your daughters are smitten with him already.'

Lysameria smiled faintly. "They're just children, Opera. Right now, it's hero worship. To them, Vastarael is someone who loves them unconditionally."

Caresse nodded, though her tone was more reflective.

"I agree. But… Opera does have a point. Milliania doesn't just look up to him. She idolizes him. I've seen her mimic his mannerisms when she thinks no one is watching. Anamorsia is more reserved, but even she can't hide how much she adores him."

She gestured toward the two girls, who were now whispering to each other, glancing longingly at their older brother.

Opera smirked. "Exactly. It's sweet now, sure, but give it a few years, and it'll turn into something much harder to manage."

Lysameria let out a soft sigh, though her smile remained serene.

"For now, they're innocent. Let's not read too much into it. Vastarael is kindhearted. He'll handle it if it ever becomes a problem."

Caresse's brow furrowed slightly, concern flickering across her face.

Opera leaned against one of the marble columns framing the training ground, her blue eyes fixed on Vastarael, who was now speaking with a trainer in the distance.

"He's growing up fast, isn't he? Already so composed. He has the presence of a prince even at seven."

"He has no choice but to be," Lysameria said softly, pride and a hint of sorrow mingling in her voice. "The weight of the dynasty rests on his shoulders and he knows it. If only he refused the heir position. Darling and I wouldn't mind but still he..."

Caresse placed a gentle hand on Lysameria's arm.

"He's lucky to have a mother like you. And all of us. We'll make sure he's ready for whatever comes his way. So don't worry too much. He survived a Reversal Ascension, which barely a percentage of children survive. We'll help you with him."

Opera grinned wryly. "Including managing the affections of every girl in the dynasty. Starting with your daughter, it seems."

Lysameria laughed lightly, though her gaze remained fixed on her son.

As they spoke, Vastarael entered the arena and the crowd of gathered knights, trainers, and servants immediately dropped to one knee in respect.

The sight of so many bowing heads didn't faze him, though a flicker of surprise crossed his face when he noticed his younger sisters trailing after him.

"Hey!" Lysameria exclaimed, her voice echoing in the arena. "Why are you going to him—ugh, nevermind."

"Anamorsia, Milliania," he called gently, turning back to them. "You're not supposed to be here. Go back to Mother, okay?"

But the two girls ran up to him, their small hands gripping his tightly. Anamorsia looked up at him with wide eyes, while Milliania pouted stubbornly.

"We want to stay with you," Milliania said, her voice defiant for a three-year-old.

"Please, big brother," Anamorsia added softly, her grip tightening.

From their vantage point, the mothers watched the scene unfold. Lysameria's eyes grew misty as she saw Vastarael crouch to talk to the girls.

Lysameria watched as she watched her son stand, taking each sister's hand and walking them back toward the sidelines. The sight of the three of them brought tears to her eyes.

'I'm glad he's alright,' Lysameria thought with a relieved smile. 'Thank the Primordials he's alright. I thought he would change but he's the same.'