Vierenna V. Eirenios [1]

"So, I'm your great inspiration, am I? I wonder what you meant by that?"

Vierenna watched as Deon changed from his formal attire into combat training gear. They stood in a well-lit, undecorated room. Only benches lined the white walls, and cabinets occupied the centre. Deon struggled to put on the lightweight armor over his tight fitted black clothes, so Vierenna moved to lend a helping hand.

He remained silent, unresponsive to her teasing, which only pushed her further.

"But now I have a clear idea of what's going on in that wicked mind of yours. and let me say—this isn't good. This is not the way you should be looking at your sister."

Deon met her gaze. She stood very close, tightening the chest armor straps. Despite her constant teasing, her hands were extremely efficient.

"This time, you're not too far off. But not for the reasons you think."

Vierenna raised an eyebrow at his unexpected response.

"'This time'? So, you're finally admitting your wicked thoughts now?"

Deon rolled his eyes dramatically and said nothing. Vierenna dropped to one knee, adjusting the knee guards, her tone shifting,

"So, what's your plan?"

Deon waited until she finished—which didn't take long—and offered a hand to pull her up.

"Thanks."

She picked up the leather hip armor and circled behind him. Sliding the armor under his arm, she secured it against his abdomen, and started fastening it in place with long, firm knots at the back.

"I was going to ask you about this sooner or later. I just found the opportunity now. Besides, I've been busy training my mana."

"That give me nothing."

After fitting the hip armor, she placed her hands on Deon's waist, checking for stability, flexibility and range of motion. It was good.

Satisfied, she didn't move her hands away. Instead, she wrapped them around him and leaned on him. His muscles tensed, but he remained composed.

"What's on your mind?" She whispered in his ear seductively.

She felt his muscles tense even further, but he still replied flatly.

"To put it simply—! You can let go of me now. There's more armor to put on."

Vierenna didn't budge. Instead, she leaned on him even more, resting her head on his shoulder.

Deon sighed in exasperation but continued.

"To put it simply... I won't use the Eirenios sword style. Not now, not in the future. The reasons should be obvious to you. I'll try to come up with something that aligns with my cursed magic."

Vierenna's hands slipped free. Shock flashed across her face as she turned Deon around to face her, the force of the sudden spun nearly knocked him off balance.

She gripped his shoulders tightly, her nails digging in his neck, and only loosening at the sight of his expression twisted in pain.

"What? You can't do this! That's a reckless decision—a stupid one! You might think you're angry and justified right now, but this will be a fatal mistake!"

This was Deon's excuse to address his weakness—swordsmanship.

If he could convince Vierenna of his seriousness about creating a magic-compatible sword style, it would help him mask his complete lack of knowledge about the Eirenios style—or any formal style, for that matter.

Swords styles—in most cases—were deeply tied to bloodlines. Deon knew that much. The Eirenios family had a strong affinity for ice magic alongside blade mastery. Nearly all were ice mages and duelists. It was safe to assume that their style could only be fully utilized in the hands of an ice mage and swordsman.

But Deon didn't just assume—he researched in his free time. And his room library provided him with the knowledge he needed.

Deon could indeed learn the Eirenios style, but he would never master it like Vierenna or any others born with an ice affinity and swordsmanship combined.

So, Deon took advantage of this knowledge. When tied with the fact that he was a curse mage, he could reasonably say that he wouldn't waste his time on a style he couldn't fully wield.

"We can talk… this. Rushing won't help you! Please, think it through!"

Vierenna's grip softened on his shoulders, sliding down to grasp his wrists. They stood so close he could see the sorrow in her eyes.

"Please!"

Her voice trembled. Deon felt a tickle in his chest—guilt.

But he wasn't going to back down now. He had no choice.

"I'm sorry, I can't. This isn't about anger—it's just who I am. If I went down that path, you know I wouldn't get far. It'll always be my weakness."

Vierenna's eyes brimmed with grief, but what could she do but listen?

"I'm a curse mage. I need to accept that. I will create my own style—or try. If I fail, let it be my failure to bear."

It was an excuse, yes. But as Deon spoke, he felt a thread of sincerity in his words—especially under Vierenna's gaze.

She studied him for a long moment. The seriousness in his large violet eyes was unmatched.

'How should I feel about this?'

She didn't know. but Vierenna had always been the one to express her feelings through actions.

Under Deon's stunned gaze, she slammed her forehead against his chest and remained there.

"Idiot, Idiot,Idiot."

She muttered, her face buried in his chest.

Deon regained some of his composure, and slowly rested a hand atop her head. Her hair was soft, silken strand brushing against his fingers gently.

"I know." He said. "And I'll be counting on your help."

Vierenna remained silent, but Deon took her tightened arms around him as agreement.

"Idiot." She repeated. Her words carrying just as much weight as the first time.

It wasn't impossible for someone to create their own sword style—just nearly so. It demanded more than just talent to even consider going down such a path. And yet, here was her baby brother, casually choosing just that. Even if he succeeded, his style would never rival one refined over generations by countless masters.

Vierenna still believed Deon should stick with the family's legacy. But deep down, her reason for rejecting his decision had more to do with herself than the logic behind it.

She didn't want to be alone.

She buried herself deeper in his embrace, as if afraid he would slip away. Deon's hands wrapped around her head, pulling her closer.

It felt comforting—not alone! She didn't want to lose this feeling.

Since their mother's passing, things had never been easy for Vierenna. or Deon. Before, their mother had been her only gateway to the freedom she was raised with. Her shield against everything people thought she should be. Her mother was her freedom—and his, too.

But her death made that shield crumble ever so slightly, exposing them to the weight of expectations, responsibilities, and so-called honor.

Fortunately, Vierenna had grown strong and significant enough to hold her ground and stay true to herself. She didn't want to change. Despite the rejection she faced, at least she had the power to defy the elders meddling.

But that left her alone, outcast.

Her baby brother, was all she had left.

Just as she wanted to be his freedom like their mother had been for them, she also wanted his love and companionship.

She needed him.

But he needed her too. And she'd always stand by him.

She pulled away just enough for their eyes to be only centimeters apart.

"Promise me this: you won't give up. This isn't an easy path to take, expecting only success."

The details in Deon's large violet eyes shifted like light reflecting off a broken mirror. But what lay beneath wasn't hesitation.

"I won't give up. I promise. Besides, I'll be dragging you along the whole way. I don't see how I could fail if you're there."

Vierenna rolled her eyes dramatically.

"So, you can sweet-talk. Or this a new strategy to get into me?"

Deon's brows furrowed his muscles slightly tensed. She noticed and smirked, bringing her face closer to his. Before he could react, she kissed him on the cheek.

He stiffened, but then relaxed when he realized she meant no harm—and wasn't doing it just to play his feelings. But it backfired, making him more uncomfortable.

Feeling his fluster, She pulled back to look at his reddening face, a mischievous smile adorning her beautiful face.

Deon had grown accustomed to that smile—so much so that he started thinking it suited her. And it probably did.

"It's working Mr. Sweet talker."

Deon scowled at the smile that only grew more devious.

'What am I supposed to do with that information?'

"But you still have a long way to go." she said as she stepped away from him.

"I have so many layers for you to uncover… but you were too impatient. Should've waited for summer, idiot—now you'll have to work twice as hard to get through them."

Deon almost let out a relieved breath—only for it to catch in his throat in her invitation. More so when he looked at her.

She held the chest armor, posing to appear as alluring as possible. Safe to say, she succeeded.

"Come to me, baby brother. Let me put this on you."