Harvest

"Town? For what?" Icarus asked before plunging into the water, submerging himself completely.

When he emerged, he took a deep breath, the cool sensation of the emerald waters washing over him. He had been using this lake since his earliest days, and yet, no matter how many times he did, the effect remained the same—pure, absolute relaxation. Any fatigue, muscle soreness, or wounds simply faded away, as if they had never existed.

"Didn't we already buy enough food for the year last week? Do we really need more?" He added as he slicked his damp hair back, then pulled off his shirt, soaking it in the lake before wringing it dry.

Lord Henry chuckled as Lady Amalia began striding back toward their house. "Young Master, surely you haven't forgotten the yearly celebration of the harvests?"

Icarus' eyes widened. "The harvest season is over already?!"

The butler laughed softly. "Time passes fast, hm?" He sat at the edge of the lake, resting his arms over his knees. "But yes, it is indeed over. Soon, we'll be entering the season of storms and frost, unfortunately."

Icarus absentmindedly nodded. "How did it go this year? Are they still dealing with those ground pests they asked Master to clear out last year?"

"No, she took care of them entirely. This year was a remarkable one. In fact, I heard the farmers say it was their most bountiful harvest in centuries."

"Which is exactly why we have to attend this year's festival!" Lord Henry grinned. "The ladies, the food, the music—the very peak of euphoria! What's not to enjoy?"

Icarus chuckled as he stepped out of the lake, completely naked. "Do you mind drying my clothes?"

"Of course, Young Master."

Lord Henry snapped his fingers, and in an instant, a spell circle made of swirling crimson runes materialized in front of Icarus. It spun once, and in mere moments, both he and his clothes were dry.

Without wasting time, Icarus dressed, stretching his arms as he did so. He felt completely refreshed, as if he had just woken from a deep, dreamless sleep.

Lord Henry stood, clasping his hands behind his back as he and Icarus began making their way up the hill. "Anyway, how's your training progressing? Any breakthroughs?"

Icarus shook his head, a look of mild disappointment crossing his face. "No, I'm still stuck at the edge of it all. Whether it's my swordsmanship, my arcane and alchemical studies, or my mastery over essence, I can't seem to push past my limits in any of them."

"Is that so?" Lord Henry hummed thoughtfully, his sharp amber eyes narrowing as he processed the information.

Icarus nodded. "Yeah. But I feel like I'm close—like I just need a little more experience, something different. I think if I spar against someone other than you or Master, I'll finally break through."

He exhaled, running a hand through his damp curls. "Sparring with you two is both a blessing and a curse. It's as if I'm learning things that my body isn't even capable of doing yet. I have to reverse-engineer everything, breaking down the most complex techniques just to distill them into their most basic forms."

"But even then, those basics are still too advanced. My body isn't fast enough, my reflexes aren't sharp enough, and my muscles aren't refined enough. It's frustrating."

Lord Henry smirked. "Oh? So does that mean you'd like to try other techniques? We have quite a collection of—"

"Never." Icarus cut him off, his voice resolute.

"I'm not changing my path. I just need more time to figure things out." He clenched his fists. "But like I said… I'm close."

Lord Henry threw his head back and laughed, his chest swelling with pride. "That's the spirit, Young Master!"

As they ascended the hill, their conversation continued, drifting between training, philosophy, and trivial banter. By the time they reached the top, night had fallen. 

A soothing wind swept across the plains, carrying the cool breath of the coming season. Above them, the sky was a masterpiece of glimmering starlight, the celestial bodies casting a gentle glow upon the land.

***

Dressed in luxurious white robes, two rings adorning his fingers—one gold and the other silver—Icarus lay atop the hay roof of their house, his hands tucked beneath his head as he gazed at the endless expanse of stars above.

It had been eleven years since he had made his pact with Prometheus. Eleven years since he had been granted a second life.

Contrary to his initial expectations, he had not been reborn in the world he once knew.

Instead, he had been reincarnated in an entirely different realm, one far removed from the Belmonts and everything he had once held familiar.

But this time, he was born free—a healthy, happy child, untouched by the chains of fate.

The world he now called home, Yggdrasil, was a land brimming with boundless mysteries and wonders. Every day felt like a new adventure, a new discovery, a new opportunity to simply… live.

It was a realm of gods, immortals, and demons. A world where cultivators wielded Essence, a divine energy that allowed them to transcend their mortal limits and ascend beyond the heavens.

It was everything he had ever desired. And every single day, he cherished it as if it were his last.

'Eleven years… I wonder how the Belmonts have been faring in my absence.' He chuckled to himself. 'As if my presence or absence would have made a difference.'

He reached a hand toward the stars, fingers curling as if trying to grasp them. 'One day, I hope to be strong enough to return.'

'No—one day, I will be. I must be.'

There was still so much to do. So much to look forward to.

Though his days had been filled with rigorous training, he had not spent these eleven years in seclusion. Alongside Lord Henry and Lady Amalia, he had traveled across Yggdrasil, witnessing its marvels firsthand. 

He had seen towering mountains that pierced the heavens, vast forests brimming with life and danger, and ancient ruins whispering forgotten tales of the past.

Yet, despite all that he had learned and experienced, he still had yet to take the first true step toward power.

Because in Yggdrasil, cultivation—the path to true strength—could only begin at sixteen.

Scholars and sages had long established that attempting to cultivate before that age was a gamble far too dangerous to take. 

The introduction of Essence into an immature body could lead to catastrophic consequences—crippling the body at best, resulting in death at worst.

But, of course, Icarus had never been bound by such limitations.

Like a select few, he had been born with both talent beyond words and a body trained from infancy.

And soon, it would be his time.

'I'll give myself three years.'

WHOOSH!

A soft creak echoed through the night. The wooden door of their home swung open, revealing two figures stepping out into the starlit night.

Lady Amalia and Lord Henry stood in the doorway, clad in majestic, finely tailored robes.

"Alright, let's go!"

Smiling, Icarus leapt down from the roof, landing effortlessly beside them.

Together, they descended the hill, making their way toward the distant glow of a secluded town, where the warmth of celebration awaited.