The Reapers : Sons of the Void

Moon Manor, Night

As night's stillness settled over the palace, Brien was walking toward his room. Behind him, the silent footsteps of Garron loomed like a ghostly presence.

Brien (inner voice):

"All I wanted was soft pillows, a warm bath, and maybe some orange peel tea… What I got is either an executioner or a guardian angel."

When they reached the hallway where the rooms were located, Miller had already arrived at his door. Leyna silently opened it for him, and Miller nodded his thanks.

Miller (to Brien):

"Good luck, with the Dawn Witcher."

Brien:

"I still refuse to believe that man can slice oranges."

Garron:

"I can slice them. But my blade might be… too sharp."

Brien (murmuring):

"Great. Fatal citrus service."

As he neared his room, Arwen's voice echoed softly.

Arwen:

"May your night be peaceful, Lord Auren. I hope… you grow accustomed to your new shadow."

Brien (slightly confused):

"Shadow?"

But Arwen had already vanished into the dim corridor.

Night – Brien's RoomThe room was spacious. A silver-trimmed fireplace crackled gently. Garron stood by the door, unmoving. Brien flopped onto the bed, stretching out.

Brien:

"Hey Garron… do you sleep standing like that, or keep your eyes open while dreaming?"

Garron:

"Either works. Depends on the night."

Brien:

"Right. If I dream of giant spiders, I'm blaming you."

Garron said nothing, but somehow the room felt oddly safe.

The Next Morning – Palace GardenMiller was on his morning walk, with Leyna by his side in silence. Brien arrived, a bit sleep-deprived, Garron still trailing behind.

Miller:

"So… how was your first night?"

Brien:

"No dreams. Apparently, those with Witchers by their side don't get nightmares."

Miller:

"Or maybe you're just too tired to dream at all."

Bolbin (rushing up):

"Good morning! Fresh fruits, honeyed buns, and boiled eggs await!"

Brien:

"Ah! Finally. Good morning, divine breakfast spirit!"

Palace Breakfast Hall – MorningThe grand hall glowed with the first light of day. Silver tableware sparkled, and pastel hues danced on the fruit bowls.

Bolbin twirled like the morning's maestro.

Bolbin (excitedly):

"Boiled eggs, warm buns, buttered berry cakes! Bowls of blueberries—ready and waiting!"

Brien, still half-asleep but pleased, stuffed fresh bread into his mouth and glanced at Miller.

Brien (whispering):

"One day, Bolbin will reveal his true form—and we'll awaken in breakfast heaven."

Miller (laughing):

"With an endless menu. And legendary wooden spoons in place of forks."

Bolbin:

"I might've heard that! And yes—endless buns exist even in my dreams!"

Meanwhile, Garron stood in a corner, dressed not in armor but a simple tunic. Still, he looked every bit the warrior.

Brien (leaning toward Bolbin):

"Hey Bolbin… my man. The thing Garron's wearing? Kinda looks like a tablecloth. Could you give him something more… suitable? Stylish, comfy. Like, 'I could survive a war but also attend a ball' vibe."

Bolbin (with proud seriousness):

"Lord Auren… it is an honor to answer the call of cloth!"

Velora had entered silently and was watching them. Her eyes fell on Brien—and a subtle, genuine smile touched her lips.

Velora (inner voice):

"Thoughtful. Deeper than expected. Perhaps… a leader in the making."

Velora (aloud):

"Bolbin. Use my personal fabrics. Make garments fit for Garron."

Bolbin (bowing):

"At once, Lady Velora. Midnight blue, storm-gray, and golden thread… today, the fabrics shall sing!"

Garron said nothing, but gave Brien a slow nod—quiet and full of gratitude.

Brien (modestly):

"Well… if we're sharing a room, might as well look sharp."

Miller:

"If Garron looks stylish… the women of the palace will suffer. You'll be to blame."

Brien:

"New title: Wardrobe Consultant Auren."

Moon Manor – Inner Garden, Training GroundsThe air warmed as the morning progressed. In a stone-paved area surrounded by grass, once used by ancient knights, Velora called Arwen and Brien.

Velora:

"A warrior fights not with strength alone, but with insight. Today… let your instincts speak."

Brien (still yawning):

"My instinct says 'pillow'... but alright, sword it is."

Arwen (smirking):

"Let's see if your instincts can keep you standing."

Velora (sternly, yet calm):

"Get up, Brien. Attack me."

Brien:

"Wait, really? Like… a real attack?"

Velora:

"I don't joke. Now go."

He hesitated, then gripped the sword. His fingers explored the hilt—and suddenly, his eyes sharpened. He lunged—not wildly, but with an unexpected fluidity.

Steel clashed with steel.

Velora raised her brows. His defensive pivot, footwork, and recovery felt natural—almost practiced.

Velora (inner voice):

"This... this is more than skill. It's inherited combat memory."

Arwen watched silently. His grip, his focus... she was taken aback. Her arms crossed over her chest as she stared, unable to look away.

Velora:

"Enough. Step back."

Brien (panting):

"So… not terrible? I didn't exactly have sword lessons."

Velora (watching him):

"The blade recognizes you, Brien. It speaks with you."

Brien:

"I usually talk to spoons and forks but... sure, we're bonding."

Arwen took a step closer. A soft smile played on her lips.

Arwen (gently):

"Strange… but fascinating."

Brien:

"What did you say?"

Arwen (quickly retracting):

"Nothing! Just… humid air."

Brien (shrugging):

"Yeah, I don't really hear much before noon anyway."

Velora turned to Arwen. She'd seen the way she looked at him.

Velora (softly):

"Careful, Arwen… sometimes the greatest darkness hides behind the brightest smiles."

Moon Manor – Resonance GroundsVelora brought Brien and Arwen to a sacred space—an old stone circle surrounding a natural obsidian pillar. Ancient runes shimmered faintly in the morning light.

Velora:

"This is not an ordinary place. Resonance is a branch of the will-tree. Every human has such a tree growing within—and this stone… touches its first leaves."

Brien:

"You mean… there's a tree inside us?"

Velora (smiling):

"As a metaphor, yes. Will starts in the heart. Then it flows to nerves, bones, muscles… and finally, the soul. Resonance measures how well that flow aligns."

Arwen stepped forward first. Her hands touched the stone. Her eyes didn't change, but concentration showed in her face. The stone vibrated gently—a deep, steady hum.

Velora:

"Balance. Discipline. Your roots are grounded, Arwen."

Next came Brien. He smiled playfully, but his eyes were serious. The moment he touched the stone, the air cooled. For a moment, there was silence. Then ripples formed—like thoughts echoing from a deep well.

Velora (inner voice):

"This... is raw. But deep. He doesn't even know what lies within."

Brien (pulling away):

"I felt something… but I don't know what it was."

Velora:

"Because this isn't about feeling—it's about growing. Resonance is seen not with eyes, but with will. And your tree… is still growing, Brien."

Arwen glanced sideways at him. The unshaped potential, the effortless charm—it stirred something in her. But Brien was oblivious.

Brien:

"So… was it good or bad?"

Arwen (smiling slightly):

"I'm not sure. But… it was interesting."

Brien:

"Most mysterious compliment I've ever received. Thanks."

Velora stepped forward again, addressing them both.

Velora:

"This stone is no miracle. It merely reflects who you already are."

Brien:

"And that's… messy."

Velora (seriously):

"All living beings possess resonance. Not just warriors."

Arwen:

"Even animals?"

Velora:

"Yes. A wolf pack's unity, a bird's ascent, a flower's defiance against wind… all are resonance."

She gently stroked the stone.

Velora:

"In humans, resonance governs coordination between body and mind. The stronger the resonance, the more durable, agile, swift, and intelligent you become."

Brien:

"So… four traits. But you can't be great at all of them, right?"

Velora:

"Correct. Everyone carries all four—but only one becomes dominant.

Durability keeps you standing.

Agility lets you move before others.

Speed takes you beyond.

And intellect… governs them all."

Arwen:

"Can you choose which to develop?"

Velora (nodding):

"Yes. But beware—focusing too hard on one weakens the rest."

Brien:

"So I could become fast but fragile... or smart but slow."

Velora (with a knowing smile):

"That's resonance. Balance is hard—but possible.

And some… rare individuals… carry traces of all four."

Velora turned to leave—then paused.

Velora:

"Now. A thousand push-ups. Together."

Both Brien and Arwen turned away, stifling groans—then lightly headbutted their training swords.

Silent Garden of the ManorThe wind was calmer here. A grand tree stood tall at the center, its leaves rustling. Beneath it sat a man in simple brown robes, meditating. His hands rested on his knees, eyes closed.

Elion Varell—grandson of Sireon Varell, one of the first Nebulis bearers.

He bore no grandeur, no pride. He was like a quiet sentence whispered by the cosmos.

Velora approached. Behind her, Miller followed, curious but composed.

Velora (softly):

"Elion. He's here."

Elion opened his eyes—ancient eyes, holding star-like stillness. He stood.

Elion:

"You… Miller Auren. The boy who carries three voices."

Miller (cautiously):

"Everyone says that… but I still don't fully understand what it means."

Elion (stepping closer):

"It is not something you understand by birth. You carry the shadow of Reaper, the pulse of Vartikan… and the echo of Nebulis."

Miller:

"So… why were you called to teach me?"

Elion:

"Because only a bearer… can hear the echo."

Velora:

"I summoned him from the Academy myself. The last to carry Sireon Varell's legacy. He's the only one who can guide you."

Miller:

"So you'll teach me swordplay? Magic? Crystal use?"

Elion (shaking his head slowly):

"No.

I will teach you… how to listen."

Miller:

"Listen?"

Elion:

"Because the three voices inside you are always speaking. And you… don't yet know which one is truly yours."

Elion touched the bark of the tree—fingers grazing it gently.

Elion:

"Will… is like a tree's core.

It grows in silence.

Not in noise."

Miller paused. For the first time, something within him quieted.

The storms paused—if only for a moment.