The Morphblade.
A weapon of endless possibilities—any form, any shape, anything my heart desired. A mere whisper of Flow, guided by imagination, and it would take shape in my hands.
A weapon limited only by my will.
In my past life, my arsenal was vast.
Elegant rapiers that sang as they danced through the air. Wicked daggers that slipped between armor like whispers of death. Brutal battleaxes that carved through the battlefield with merciless precision.
Each one had a purpose. Each one was an extension of my will.
But among them all, one reigned supreme.
A scythe.
Death's Tear.
It wasn't just a weapon—it was a legend.
Forged from obsidian birthed in the heart of a volcano, its blackened edge pulsed with a dark, hypnotic allure. The handle, wrapped in the hide of a demon I had personally sent screaming into the abyss, was cool and smooth beneath my fingers—a constant reminder of the price of power.
But the true masterpiece?
The dragon skull that crowned its base.
A magnificent relic, bleached white with age, its polished ivory horns gleaming under the light. Legends whispered that the skull wept tears of blood, a sorrowful lament for the countless souls it had reaped. I had never seen it cry, but I had paid a king's ransom to acquire it, believing in the myth.
From the dragon's gaping maw erupted the blade—not steel, not metal, but something far more sinister.
A crimson-red edge, shimmering with an unholy light.
A blade forged from the essence of every soul I had ever slaughtered.
Death's Tear.
It was more than just a weapon.
It was a testament. A reminder. An extension of my very being—etched in blood and bone.
I took a slow step back, putting a careful distance between myself and my parents.
This wasn't something I could do halfway.
With a steady breath, I shut my eyes, summoning the image from memory.
The weight of the obsidian handle, cool and unyielding. The intricate curves of the dragon skull, its empty sockets staring into the abyss. The haunting gleam of the crimson blade, pulsing as though alive.
Death's Tear.
A weapon that had once cleaved through battlefields, an extension of my very being. Could I recreate it here? Now?
Flow surged within me, a familiar rush—wild, powerful, intoxicating. I let it rise, guiding it toward the Morphblade in my grip.
A pulse.
A shuddering gasp from my parents.
I felt the Morphblade react, absorbing my will, and feeding on my Flow. Energy erupted from both ends in a crackling display, tendrils of darkness swirling as my intent took shape.
This wasn't child's play.
This was power.
A shiver ran down my spine. The thrill of control, the echo of a past life drenched in blood—a dangerous mix. But I pushed the unease aside, drowning in the focus required to shape the blade.
Slowly, the Flow obeyed.
It solidified.
A dark silhouette coalesced, every curve and detail manifesting exactly as I remembered. The weight in my hands was perfect—natural, as if it had never left me.
And when I opened my eyes—
There it was.
A perfect replica of Death's Tear.
But not quite.
Instead of the hues I once knew, the weapon shimmered with an ominous black, deep and endless—the unmistakable signature of my Flow.
A reflection of my soul.
I flexed my grip, feeling the weapon's presence, the raw energy humming beneath my fingertips. My parents remained silent, frozen.
Awe. Trepidation. A storm of emotions clashed in their gazes.
And that was enough.
Enough to show them I wasn't just a child playing with dangerous toys. Enough to prove that this was my path. Not a passing whim, but a destiny waiting to be claimed.
With a slow exhale, I released my hold.
The darkness dispersed, the Morphblade returning to its dormant hilt state. The presence of Death's Tear faded, but the weight of what I had just done lingered in the air.
A warm hand brushed my cheek.
Elza.
She knelt before me, her emerald eyes filled with something complex. Pride? Worry? Something deeper, something she couldn't say aloud.
Bruno's hand settled on my shoulder, his grip firm, grounding. He wasn't a man of many words, but his touch carried everything he didn't say.
Then, softly—
"…A scythe?" Bruno murmured, his gaze still fixed on my hands. "Of all the things you could create… you chose a scythe?" He hesitated, voice laced with something between curiosity and unease. "No—how do you even know what a scythe looks like?"
I looked away, just for a moment.
"…Well," I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck, "believe it or not, it's a long, long story, Father." My lips curled into a small, knowing smile. "But that's not what's important right now."
"I know I'm still a kid," I began, my voice small but steady.
Elza and Bruno watched me in silence, their eyes locked onto mine, their expressions unreadable. I swallowed hard, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my shirt, as if grounding myself in the fabric could hold back the swell of emotions inside me.
"I love being here with you," I blurted out, "Playing games, laughing, feeling safe… I want more of that. A simple life, filled with happiness. Maybe even—" I hesitated, a small, hopeful smile breaking through, "—a little brother or sister someday."
My voice wavered, and so did my smile.
"…That's how selfish I am."
But deep down, I knew.
Romeo's words echoed in my mind, curling around my thoughts like an unshakable shadow.
"The Young Lady's power is too much. One day, it might hurt the people around her."
My fingers clenched. My chest tightened.
"I don't want that," I whispered, the weight of those words pressing into my soul. "I don't want to be a danger. I don't want my strength to bring fear instead of protection. I want to shield the people I love, not be the reason they suffer."
The lump in my throat thickened.
"I know I'm just a kid," I forced out, my voice cracking. "I mess things up more than I fix them. I'm not like other kids, am I? That's why, when Uncle Romeo talked about the Academy…"
I took a shaky breath, forcing myself to meet their gazes.
"I wanted to go."
The admission felt heavier than steel.
"I wanted to learn. To be better. To be someone you could be proud of—someone who doesn't just make mistakes."
I sucked in a sharp breath, my grip tightening on my shirt.
"…But I was scared."
My voice softened, turning fragile.
"I thought maybe… letting you decide was best. Because deep down, I still crave your hugs, your bedtime stories… I wanted you to say no, so I could stay here, safe. So I could pretend I was a normal kid, living a normal childhood, a normal life."
I let the words linger in the air, the truth of them raw and unfiltered.
"But another part of me…" I exhaled, my fingers loosening. "Another part of me was eager to go. To see what's out there, beyond these walls. To find out who I'm meant to be."
A war raged inside me—a battle between the child who longed for warmth and the man that knew normalcy was a fantasy.
"…Thank you," I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. "For trusting me, even when I don't feel strong enough. For everything. I can't put into words how much it means."
Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Instead, I looked up at them—truly looked.
Hoping they understood.
Hoping they saw the war within me.
Hoping they knew that, no matter which path I walked—I would never stop being their Lily.
Silence.
A heavy, suffocating silence filled the space between us.
Bruno and Elza exchanged glances, an unspoken conversation passing between them. Then, Bruno turned to me, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips.
"So, that's how you feel about it," he murmured, reaching over to ruffle my hair. "Well, we've got some things to tell you too. How about we move this discussion to the table?"
I blinked, then nodded slowly.
Soon, we were huddled around the table, a weighty atmosphere settling over us.
For real, why the drama, guys?
Wait… I had gone on a full-blown emotional monologue earlier, hadn't I?
Yeah. Maybe it was only fair to let them have their turn.
Bruno leaned forward, resting his arms on the table. "Alright, Lily," he started, voice steady but serious. "Since you're set on attending Chasles Academy, we've decided on a few ground rules."
I perked up, nodding quickly. The Academy was my ticket to honing my abilities, a lifeline I couldn't afford to lose. If agreeing to a few rules was the price, I'd gladly play along.
Elza was the first to lay down the law. "Rule number one," she declared, her tone both gentle and resolute, "you'll be attending the Academy at a normal age. No rushing. You'll enroll when you turn at least eight, no younger. Understand?"
My stomach lurched.
"Eight?" I sputtered, eyes widening. "But—why even tell me now if I have to wait four whole years?!"
Bruno chuckled, shaking his head. "Looks like someone didn't finish reading Uncle Romeo's letter."
I huffed, crossing my arms. Excuse me for getting a little emotional.
His smile, usually comforting, carried a hint of something else—concern? Hesitation?
"We all want you to attend at the right time," he continued. "But we also know the Academy alone won't be enough to help you fully control your abilities."
He paused, letting his words sink in before dropping the real bombshell.
"That's why, once you turn six, you'll be training under Uncle Romeo. Think of it as a head start."
I blinked.
…Personal training with Romeo?
My excitement flared back to life. Maybe the wait wouldn't be so unbearable after all. Though, really? Two more years? Talk about terrible timing.
Before I could revel in the thought, Elza raised two fingers, her expression firm yet full of warmth.
"Rule number two," she stated, her voice leaving zero room for argument, "no recklessness."
My lips parted, but she kept going.
"Not a single drop of it. If you get yourself in over your head, if we hear even a whisper of you taking unnecessary risks—you're out. No Academy. No second chances."
My excitement dimmed.
"…Crystal clear," I chirped, flashing my most innocent, obedient smile. Sure, Mom. Whatever helps you sleep at night.
But... Come on, like I was actually going to follow that.
What, did they expect me to avoid danger entirely? To sit quietly while people stronger than me roamed free? Oh, grow up.
Elza sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. She could probably tell I was nodding just to get my way—because I absolutely was.
Bruno chuckled, stepping in. "Third rule. Simple, but important." He leaned forward, eyes meeting mine with quiet intensity.
"Stay in touch."
Elza's expression softened as she picked up where he left off.
"We know you'll be gaining more independence," she said, a small smile gracing her lips. "But unlike some parents, we don't want the Academy to sever the bond we have. We want to hear from you—a lot."
I couldn't help it.
A surge of warmth flooded my chest, so sudden and overwhelming that I slammed my tiny hands onto the table.
"You didn't have to say that!" I burst out, my voice high-pitched. "There's no way I'd ever do that! Not in a million years!"
My parents exchanged a glance, another silent conversation passing between them.
Something shifted in the air. Their expressions softened, but behind that tenderness, a flicker of sorrow lingered.
Then, without warning, they both stood.
The synchronized movement made me blink.
"Now, for the final rule," Bruno announced. His voice was steady, but there was something thick in it—something raw.
As he spoke, he circled behind me, his footsteps soft against the rug. Meanwhile, Elza stepped to my side, her hand finding my shoulder in a gentle squeeze.
My pulse quickened.
Why did this feel… different?
I opened my mouth, about to ask—about to demand to know why this moment felt heavier than all the rest—but before I could say anything…
A warm hand ruffled my hair.
Bruno leaned down, pressing a kiss to the crown of my head.
Then, Elza followed suit, her lips brushing my cheek in a featherlight caress.
…Huh?
Wait.
What the heck?
Why did that… why did that feel like… like…?
I swallowed hard, something thick forming in my throat. My vision blurred, the edges of the world turning hazy. Wait—huh?
I reached up, fingers brushing against my cheek.
Wet.
I was crying? WHY?
Bruno exhaled, clearing his throat as if it would clear the emotion clogging his voice. "Rule number four, Lily." His words were quiet, but they carried the weight of something final. Something absolute.
"No matter the outcome… no matter what you become…"
He hesitated. His gaze met mine—strong, unwavering—but beneath it, I caught a glimpse of fear. A fear he was trying so hard to suppress.
"Whether society labels you a monster… or molds you into a weapon," he continued, his voice trembling just slightly, "even if you stray down a path we don't understand—know this."
Elza cupped my face, her touch gentle, grounding me.
"We will always love you," she whispered. "No matter what. No matter who you become."
Bruno nodded, his eyes shining with something deep—something unshakable.
"We are, and always will be, incredibly proud of you."
A wave of warmth crashed over me, swallowing me whole.
The certainty in their voices, the acceptance in their touch… It was too much.
I had never—never—felt this before. This sense of belonging, this feeling that no matter what happened, I would never be alone.
A single tear escaped, tracing a hot path down my cheek.
Was this sadness? A fear of the unknown?
Or… maybe…
Maybe it was gratitude.
Maybe it was relief.
I sniffled, rubbing at my face furiously.
Ugh… seriously? Even Ash Wyvern can cry, huh…?
Well... Good to know…
A shaky breath left me.
I was still human. Yeah.
I lowered my gaze, as if trying to shield them from seeing the tiny smile tugging at my lips. A tsundere act, huh?
…Was I seriously turning into one?
Well, I guess it'd suit me in this life. But that didn't matter right now.
"Thank you…" I murmured, my fingers tightening around the Morphblade's handle. As if anchoring myself. As if sealing this moment into my very soul.
"I promise—no. I'll make sure to keep you proud of me."
BOOM!
The front door slammed open, rattling on its hinges.
I flinched, my eyes snapping wide. My parents instinctively took a step back.
What the hell?! Was someone trying to break the door down?!
Then I saw the culprit.
Romeo.
Breathless, panting—his usually composed expression nowhere to be found. His eyes were slightly red, his chest rising and falling with labored breaths, like he'd just sprinted all the way from Kavita to here.
He took a shaky step forward.
"Young Lady—!" His voice wavered, cracking with emotion. "I'm sorry I'm late! I didn't want to miss your birthday—!"
Then, before I could even react, he pulled me into a hug.
…Huh?
That's it? All that for a birthday?
A small chuckle escaped me. My parents burst into laughter, the warmth in their voices wrapping around me. I could feel it bubbling up inside me, too—this light, easy feeling.
But I wasn't laughing because of Romeo's over-the-top entrance.
No.
It was because—this scene. This exact moment.
It felt like a déjà vu.
A warmth I had known before.
A place I had once longed for.
Yeah…
Maybe—just maybe—I could see myself living with this.
With them.