In the realm of Eryndral, on the continent of Karnia, in the sacred lands of Faerin, one family reigned for millennia, undisputed as the strongest. For countless generations, they produced the mightiest holy knights: Paladins, whose very existence upheld the stability of the Church of Ozarethiel. In return, the Church blessed their lands and exempted their cities from taxes, allowing House Valtieri to flourish even in these dark times, when demonic forces claw at the veil of reality, seeking to return from the Nether Realm after their defeat in the last Holy Crusade.

  ***

  On the third day of the month Sol, the cry of a newborn echoed through the marble halls of the Valtieri estate.

  In a sunlit chamber, a silver-haired woman lay exhausted, her face glistening with sweat yet radiant with joy as she cradled a white-haired child. Four middle-aged midwives smiled warmly, draping mother and child in fresh linen before quietly departing.

  “Welcome home, Corvin,” she whispered, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Thank you for bringing light into this weary heart.” She kissed the child’s flushed forehead tenderly.

  Knock. Knock.

  The door opened to reveal an elderly man with hair as white as snow, dressed in a pristine black suit. His long hair was neatly tied back, and his mustache groomed to perfection.

  “Miss Isabella,” he said with a gentle smile, “congratulations. The House of Moraine finally has an heir. Your father would have been proud.” He stepped closer, then knelt.

  “This old servant vows to protect you, my lord, for as long as breath remains in me.”

  “Julian, please,” Isabella pleaded softly. “We are no longer of House Moraine. This child will one day stand as a proud knight of House Valtieri. Do not speak of the past again.” Her voice trembled with the weight of old wounds.

  Julian sighed and rose, his expression kind. “May I ask his name?”

  “After my father, Corvin,” Isabella replied, her eyes distant yet hopeful. “May he be as strong as the man who bore that name, strong enough to shoulder the darkness of this world and keep his smile bright as long as he walks these lands.”

  Suddenly, the clink of a scabbard broke the quiet. Without knocking, a tall, broad-shouldered man strode in. He wore white leather trousers reinforced with steel plates at the thighs, and a half-plate cuirass strapped over a crisp white tunic. His long, golden hair framed a face of angelic beauty, and his deep blue eyes gleamed with joy. A massive golden greatsword rested across his back in a white-and-gold scabbard.

  “Isabella, my love!” he boomed, clapping his hands in delight. “I returned from the Conclave to hear you’ve given me a son!” He nodded to Julian, who bowed in silence.

  “Sebastian, husband,” Isabella said proudly, “this is Corvin, your son. The midwife said he’s the largest newborn she’s ever seen. His hair is already so thick.”

  Sebastian approached, extending his hand. The child opened his eyes, blue as a summer sky, and chuckled as his tiny fingers gripped his father’s hand with surprising strength.

  “Hah! That’s it, my boy!” Sebastian laughed heartily. “You’ll be stronger than your father!”

  “Thank you, Isabella,” he added with a grin. “Of all my wives, you are my favorite. I knew taking you in when we found you adrift on the Emerald Sea was no mistake.” He laughed again. Among Karnian nobility, polygamy was common; more wives meant more heirs, and more heirs meant a greater chance of birthing a child of exceptional strength.

  Julian said nothing, though his eyes betrayed disapproval. At least the bastard is strong enough to protect her, he thought bitterly.

  “Well then, feed him well and make him grow strong!” Sebastian declared before striding out.

  Isabella smiled faintly, her silence heavy with unspoken thoughts as she stared into the angelic face of the smiling baby.

  ***

  Five years passed swiftly. Young Corvin grew at an astonishing rate, as if nourished by enchanted food. By the age of five, he could already read fluently and stood as tall as a ten-year-old. Most of his days were spent in the family library, reading through tomes about Karnia’s history and the glorious deeds of House Valtieri.

  One day, he stumbled upon a book titled Age of Icons. It was heavy and coated in dust, but the cover, depicting angels and demons locked in battle, pulled him in. He carried it to a table and opened it, releasing a cloud of dust that had gathered over the years. Clearly, the children of House Valtieri preferred swords to scrolls.

  On the first page stood a single sentence: The path toward divinity begins with an Icon.

  The words echoed in Corvin’s mind. What is an Icon? Could I gain such power as well? he wondered. In recent months, as he frequented the library, he met some of Sebastian’s other children. They mocked him, calling him a peasant’s son and a freak. Their mothers’ disdain for his own mother had seeped into their cruel words.

  Corvin learned quickly that the only way to protect his mother was to become strong. The promise of divinity for Paladin’s son was something he would chase at all costs.

  He shook his head, pulling himself from his thoughts, and read on. The book spoke of an Iconless Age, a time when anyone could attain power. But that era had led to endless wars, so the gods remade the laws of the realm and introduced the Icon system.

  Some were born with simple passive abilities like enhanced strength, sharper memory, accelerated healing, and greater endurance. These were called Gifts, remnants of old age carried through bloodlines or awakened at birth.

  Is my body like this? Corvin wondered. I grow faster, my memory is stronger… but Mother and Julian never said I was born with a Gift or anything like that. Maybe this is just who I am?

  He questioned everything, yearning to understand. Daydreaming was a bad habit of his, one of the reasons other children disliked him. Quiet, peace-loving, and lost in thought, he was an easy target.

  Determined, he kept reading. He wanted to learn about Icons quickly.

  “The threads of fate assign an Icon to most children once they reach the age of nine, at the exact hour of their birth,” Corvin read aloud, thrilled.

  “So… in four years, I’ll get mine?” he whispered, smiling.

  He continued: “The Fates decide which Icon one receives by measuring potential. Bloodlines and karmic ties also influence the outcome. Some, however, are deemed unworthy and remain Iconless, living simple lives as commoners.”

  Corvin paled. The thought of such fate terrified him.

  He pressed on, reaching the section on Icon classifications. Icons were ranked by rarity and potential. Common Icons were tools, a knife for a chef, a fruit for a farmer, a needle for a tailor, and so forth, useful but unimpressive. Uncommon Icons, like Warrior, Archer, or Scholar, were highly sought after.

  Then came Rare and Epic ranks, such as Mage or a Knight, and their stronger counterparts like Spirit Summoner or a Paladin. These could elevate a family to nobility or make one an S-Class adventurer. And above them, Unique and Legendary Icons, which were as rare as unicorns.

  Reading this, Corvin finally understood the power of his family, a lineage that often produced Paladins.

  He finished most of the book in one sitting, returned it to its shelf, and raced back to his mother’s chambers, excitement burning in his chest.

  ***

  Corvin burst into his mother’s chambers, leaping straight into her lap. Isabella laughed softly, wrapping her arms around him. To her and Julian, Corvin was their only treasure, their light in a world that often felt cold.

  Julian was just pouring tea when the boy came bursting in. “Hello, Master Corvin,” Julian chuckled, setting the teapot down. “Why so excited?”

  “Mother! Julian! I learned about Icons today!” Corvin beamed, his voice brimming with wonder.

  Julian smiled warmly. “Ah, Icons… truly something to look forward to. I remember when I first learned of them, when I received mine. Ah, to be young again.”

  Corvin turned to his mother, eyes shining. “Mother, what Icon did you get?”

  Isabella laughed softly and kissed his forehead. “Silly boy. Mother has a Songstress Icon.”

  “Wow! I didn’t read about that one. What is it?” His eyes lit up like twin stars.

  “It’s a supportive Icon,” Isabella explained, her voice gentle. “It allows me to sing and heal, to strengthen those I care for with my song.”

  Julian nodded approvingly. “A very Rare Icon indeed. I hope you hear Madam sing one day, it’s a gift in itself.”

  “Amazing!” Corvin gasped. “What about you, Julian?”

  Julian chuckled, his weathered face creasing with fondness. “Me? I have a Fencer Icon. An Uncommon one. It lets me fight at high speed… though this old body barely remembers those days.”

  Corvin’s eyes widened further. “This world is so magical!”

  Isabella and Julian exchanged a glance, smiling at the sight of the boy’s angelic face glowing with pure wonder.

  ***

  In the days that followed, Corvin returned to the library again and again, devouring every scrap of knowledge about Icons and Gifts. His hunger for understanding grew insatiable. Until one day… an incident shook the household.

  Patriarch Sebastian sat in his study when the door burst open. A servant stumbled in, breathless and pale. “Master, it’s urgent! Young Lord Corvin has knocked out Lords Jake and Scott. There’s blood everywhere!”

  Sebastian shot to his feet. “Lead the way, now!”

  The servant guided him to the library entrance. There, Sebastian found two five-year-old boys sprawled on the floor, their noses broken, blood staining their faces as servants tried to force healing potions down their throats. Corvin stood over them, fists crimson, his expression cold as a winter river.

  “Corvin! What is the meaning of this?” Sebastian thundered.

  “They said my mother is a filthy peasant,” Corvin replied, still standing over the two boys, voice cold as ice. “That she should be… dealt with like others from her fallen line.”

  He then turned to his father, his voice steady and his gaze cold. “They can insult me, but I will never allow them to speak that way about my family. If you wish to punish me, Father… then do so.”

  Sebastian’s jaw tightened, rage flickering in his eyes. “I see. They do not understand the weight of their words. They likely heard them from their mothers, and I will deal with that later.” His tone was sharp, protective. Any woman who bore him a son like Corvin was a treasure, and he would not suffer insults against her.

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  “Servants, take these two away and heal them. Corvin, come with me, we need to talk.”

  ***

  Sebastian led his son into the training hall; its walls lined with swords beneath plaques bearing the names of fallen Valtieri sons. He took a wooden longsword from the rack and handed it to Corvin.

  “Son,” Sebastian said, his voice firm yet proud, “I see great potential in you. You are young, clever, and stronger than most children your age. From today, you will train with me. I will teach you the sword style of our house. Without an Icon, it will lack its full power, but once you awaken yours, it will make you a true knight of Valtieri.”

  “But under one condition. Ignore your other brothers and sisters. Nothing good will come from fighting each other.” Sebastian added.

  Corvin nodded, hoping that this would be a good start for his mother’s position in the family.

  And so began their daily training. At first, Corvin struggled to master the movements, but as time passed, he poured his energy into perfecting the family’s fighting style, driven by a desire to please his father. If it were up to him, he would have spent his days reading, but being taught by the patriarch himself was an honor he could not refuse.

  Like that, years passed, training during the day and reading before sleep. Corvin was being forged into a perfect noble, strong and smart.

  Isabella’s joy also grew with the years. Elevated as Sebastian’s first wife, she gained influence within the household, her voice shaping decisions. Julian, ever watchful, kept his silent vow, guarding Corvin from harm as he had promised.

  ***

  A few days before Corvin’s ninth birthday.

  Isabella’s chambers glowed with the soft light of enchanted lanterns. Corvin sat at his desk, absorbed in yet another book on Icons and Gifts. Julian poured tea nearby, his movements precise, almost ceremonial.

  “Mother,” Corvin asked suddenly, his voice bright with curiosity, “you said your Icon is related to singing… can you tell me what your favorite song is?”

  Isabella smiled, her silver hair shimmering like moonlight. “A lullaby my father taught me. It’s called The Song of the Crow. Would you like to hear it?”

  Corvin nodded eagerly. Her voice rose, gentle and pure, weaving through the room like sunlight breaking through clouds. Julian paused mid-pour, his weathered face softening as the melody stirred memories long buried.

  The song wrapped around them like a warm embrace, clearing their minds and washing away every shadow of worry.

  When the last note faded, Corvin whispered, “It feels… warm. Like hope. Like nothing bad could ever happen.”

  Isabella kissed his forehead. “That’s what songs are for, my love. To remind us that even in darkness, there is light.”

  Julian chuckled. “And swords remind us that light needs a sharp edge.” He tossed Corvin his practice blade. “Come, young master. Let’s go practice a bit before dinner. Show me your progress.”

  Corvin grinned, leaping to his feet as they left the room, Isabella watching them go, her warm smile lingering softly.

  Can life truly be this good? What did I do to deserve such happiness? She thought, taking a slow sip of her favorite tea.

  ***

  The training hall was silent, save for the soft scrape of steel against wood as Corvin sheathed his practice blade. His arms ached, his palms raw, but pride glowed faintly in his chest. He had lasted longer today, almost a full minute against Julian’s precise and fast strikes of his rapier.

  Julian smiled and sheathed his blade. His black suit was immaculate despite the dust swirling in the air. “You did well, young master,” he said, voice warm, eyes crinkling with quiet pride.

  Corvin smiled faintly. “Not well enough. Both you and the father feel… invincible.”

  Julian chuckled. “Your father is a storm, Corvin. You are the seed. Storms rage and vanish. Seeds endure and grow.”

  Corvin tilted his head. “That’s… poetic. And what are you then?”

  “Just an old man,” Julian replied, his gaze drifting to the wall lined with swords and plaques bearing fallen names. “And old men get poetic when they’ve seen too much blood.” His voice lowered, carrying a weight that pressed against the silence. “Listen to me, boy. Strength isn’t just in the arm or the blade. It’s here.” He tapped Corvin’s chest gently. “And here.” His finger brushed Corvin’s temple. “The day will come when the world tries to break you. When it does, remember this: you are more than your Icon. More than your bloodline.”

  Corvin swallowed hard, sensing the weight behind the words. “Julian… Why do you sound like something bad is coming?”

  Julian smiled softly. “Because life rarely warns us before the storm. And if it comes…” His voice dropped to a whisper, fierce and unwavering. “…I will stand between you and the enemy, even if it costs me everything.”

  Corvin stared at him, throat tight. “Why? You owe me nothing, Julian.”

  “I swore an oath,” Julian said simply. “Not to your father. To your mother. And to you, the day you were born.” He placed a hand on Corvin’s shoulder, firm and steady. “You are my last vow, Corvin. I intend to keep it.”

  For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken truths. Then Julian straightened, his usual calm returning like a mask. “Now, off to bed. Tomorrow is your big day.”

  Corvin nodded, but as he walked away, the words burned into his heart like a brand. I will stand between you and the enemy. His thoughts swirled in unease. Who is this enemy? Why is Julian so strange today?

  ***

  On the morning of Corvin’s ninth birthday, Sebastian stood in front of a gilded mirror. Its surface shimmered as light flared, revealing the stern visage of an older man, his father. The resemblance was undeniable, though the elder’s hair and beard had turned as white as Julian’s.

  “Father,” Sebastian began, his voice measured. “Today, Corvin turns nine. As I’ve reported, his odds of awakening the Paladin Icon are exceptional. His body… It’s as strong as Greatfather’s was, perhaps even stronger. I’m not sure if it’s our bloodline or Isabella’s, but he already surpasses some grown youths.” A faint smile tugged at his lips as he spoke.

  The old man’s eyes gleamed coldly. “Terrific news. It’s about time you sired a son worthy of our name. When I was your age, you and your brothers were already Paladins. Do not disappoint me, Sebastian. If we fail to produce a new generation, the Church may revoke our status. We need a Paladin today. One way or another. Do you understand?” His voice dropped to a chilling whisper.

  Sebastian exhaled slowly, the weight of expectation pressing down on him. “Understood. Whatever happens… we will have a Paladin today.” With that, he ended the call, the mirror dimming to lifeless gold.

  For a moment, Sebastian stood in silence, his thoughts heavy.

  I hope he awakens something strong. He’s such a good boy… It would be a shame if something happened to him.

  ***

  Meanwhile, in another room, Isabella sat tapping her fingers rhythmically against the table.

  “Madam,” Julian said gently, setting the tray down. “You’ve barely touched your tea.”

  Isabella blinked, forcing a smile. “I was… thinking about today.”

  Julian poured her a fresh cup, “The awakening,” he murmured. “You fear he will not receive a respectable Icon?”

  Her fingers tightened around the cup. “I fear what will happen if he doesn’t.” Her voice cracked, soft as breaking glass. “Sebastian… he loves Corvin, in his way. But his love is a blade, sharp, merciless. If Corvin fails today…”

  Julian’s jaw tightened. He had served nobles long enough to know what failure meant in houses like these. “Then I will stand between them and take Corvin away,” he said simply, his voice steady as steel. “As I swore the day you brought him into this world.”

  Isabella’s eyes glistened. “Julian… you’ve already given more than we deserve.”

  “You two gave me purpose,” Julian replied, his weathered face softening. “When House Moraine fell, I thought my oath would die with it. But then you placed that child in my arms, and my life finally had purpose again. That vow is all I have left. If he fails, I will take him far from here and let him live free.”

  Isabella reached out, grasping his hand, a rare gesture of trust in a world built on walls and masks. “Thank you,” she whispered. “If the storm comes… keep him safe.”

  Julian bowed low, his voice a quiet promise. “Even if it costs me everything.”

  ***

  In the underground sanctum of the Valtieri estate, Sebastian, Isabella, Julian, and Corvin gathered. Sebastian himself would perform the sacred rite to bless his favorite son’s coming of age.

  “My son,” Sebastian began, his voice echoing against marble walls, “for nine years you have brought me pride. I long for the day when you and I will carve through demon hordes together, bringing the holy light of Ozarethiel to the masses. Engrave these words upon your heart; they are the soul of our house.” He raised his arms and roared: “Lux et Fides Vincunt!” “Light and Faith Prevail.”

  “Let this guide you through life, my boy. Now, it is time. The awakening will sting at first, but afterward, you will feel truly alive.” He spoke joyfully as he activated a scroll that shone a bright light over the room.

  “This is a very expensive scroll to increase your luck, just to help nudge you a bit.” Sebastian winked.

  Please make it be at least a Warrior Icon or even a Barbarian, just nothing from the Common tier, please, please. Corvin prayed deep inside, hopeful.

  Then they waited as the clock struck midday, but nothing happened. One minute. Ten. Twenty passed, but nothing.

  “Father… I feel nothing,” Corvin whispered, fear creeping into his voice.

  Sebastian’s face darkened. With a roar, he slammed his fist into the table, splintering it into shards. “Curses! This cannot be! The strongest child I have ever sired, and he is born Iconless!”

  “Tell me!” Sebastian grabbed and shook Corvin by the shoulders, his voice sharp as steel. “Did any knowledge seep into your mind? A rare few are born with hidden Icons; they don’t show, but the skills manifest!”

  Corvin’s head shook side to side, his eyes hollow. A crushing weight pressed against his soul, grinding it into dust. He had failed, failed his father, but most of all, failed his mother. What would happen to the mother now? He dared not imagine.

  “Sebastian, please stop!” Isabella cried, stepping forward. “He is still strong. He can learn to fight, even without an Icon!”

  Sebastian’s glare cut through her words. “Even if he were ten times stronger than a normal man, without an Icon, he is nothing. He won’t even reach the Copper rank!” His voice thundered like a storm. “No, I will not allow this. We will perform the forbidden ritual.”

  Isabella froze, terror clutching her heart. “What ritual? What are you saying?”

  Sebastian’s lips curled into a grim smile. “Why do you think our house has birthed so many Paladins? Even those born with lesser Icons, if deemed worthy, may inscribe a second Icon. Most do not survive.” His eyes burned with conviction. “But my son will.”

  He strode to the wall and pressed a hidden switch. A panel slid open, revealing a small compartment. From it, he withdrew a golden vial that shimmered like captured sunlight.

  “This,” he said, holding it aloft, “is the blood of a fallen angel. We have guarded it for thousands of years. This is the root of our power. With this, Corvin, my son, you will become strong like me!”

  Sebastian advanced, vial in hand, his smile a blade of triumph.

  Julian moved like lightning, placing himself between Sebastian and the boy. “Lord, please, stop! This is madness!” he shouted, arms spread wide.

  Sebastian’s voice cracked like thunder. “Isabella, call off your dog before I kill him!”

  Isabella’s tears streamed down her cheeks. “Please, husband, don’t do this!”

  Corvin’s voice cut through the chaos, trembling yet resolute. “It’s fine! I’ll do it. Mother… Julian… I’ll do it.” His hands trembled, his heart beating fast as sweat covered his face, but he saw no other path. He would endure for his family.

  Sebastian’s fury melted into triumph. “That’s my son!” His voice thundered. “Open your mouth. One drop is all it takes!”

  Corvin obeyed, his lips quivering as he parted them. Sebastian tilted the golden vial, and a single drop fell onto Corvin’s tongue. It slid down his throat like liquid sunlight, cold, soothing, divine.

  For a heartbeat, serenity embraced him. His body trembled, his eyes blazing with holy light. His hair lifted, white and radiant, as power surged through his veins.

  “Yes!” Sebastian roared, exultant. “I knew it! A new Holy Paladin is born!”

  Then the cold turned to fire. Agony ripped through Corvin’s flesh like molten steel. He screamed, a sound that shook the chamber, as his knees slammed against the marble floor.

  A shockwave burst from his body, hurling everyone back. Black energy erupted like a storm, devouring the holy glow. His eyes flared crimson, burning with rage and pain.

  Isabella collapsed, sobbing. “No… no… dear gods, how is this possible?”

  Julian’s voice cracked in horror. “A demon… It cannot be!”

  Sebastian staggered, his triumph shattered. “A demon? My son, a demon? What is this madness?!” His roar echoed, confusion twisting into fury.

  Sebastian’s roar shook the chamber. “Isabella, you whore! You dare give me a demon for a son?!” His greatsword flashed as he ripped it free, the blade gleaming like molten gold.

  She cried out, “Calm down, husband, there has to be an explanation. Maybe it’s just a reaction to the blood. Please, calm down, I beg of you.”

  Sebastian didn’t listen; he didn’t care. Nobody could know that his son had demonic blood within, so he lunged, fury incarnate. “Die, demonic spawn!”

  “No!” Isabella’s scream tore through the hall as she activated a skill that propelled her in front of Corvin. The blade carved through her ribs, piercing her left lung. Blood sprayed across the marble floor.

  “Stupid woman!” Sebastian spat, his voice dripping venom. “Was this your plan? To infiltrate my house with your cursed bloodline?” He kicked her aside like broken glass.

  Corvin’s senses returned just in time to see his mother collapse, crimson blood pooling beneath her. His heart shattered. “Father… no!” His cry was raw, primal.

  Strong arms seized him from behind. Julian, swift as a shadow, hoisted Corvin onto his shoulder and bolted for the exit. “Dash! Agility! Swiftness!” The old man’s voice rang out as three skills ignited, his body blurring with speed.

  Corvin watched in horror as the mansion, the only home he had ever known, shrank behind them. Tears burned his eyes.

  Julian’s voice was firm as he whispered. “I will protect you with my life. I don’t care what you are. You are the last son of my lord’s house. Listen well, once we reach the woods, I’ll activate the teleportation scroll. It will take you to another continent. It’s the last relic of our fallen house. Never forget your mother’s sacrifice, or that you are also of House Moraine!”

  Behind them, a roar split the heavens. A pillar of holy light erupted skyward, then streaked toward them like judgment incarnate.

  “He’s coming!” Julian snarled. He thrust Corvin forward, a scroll already glowing in his hand. “Take this! I’ll buy you time. Never forget what happened here today, my child!” He shouted “Teleportation!” and threw the scroll at Corvin as he pulled out his sheeted rapier and dashed towards the incoming light.

  The air around Corvin cracked like thunder as the spell activated. Light engulfed him, hurling him dozens of meters away before the space tunnel opened up like a wound in reality itself.

  The last thing he saw before the world dissolved was Julian, his loyal guardian, crushed beneath Sebastian’s blazing sword.

  The pain of loss broke him, tears falling down his face. His world had collapsed today and would never be the same again.

  Then he heard one last echo, “Come back and die, you demonic scum!” Sebastian’s voice chased him into the void as he vanished, but one thought clawed at his mind: I will return one day. I promise, Father!

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