Seventeen Minutes Before Nero’s Birthday

Standing amidst the shattered glass, Nero looked back at the burning estate.

“What the hell… W-What happened here?”

His thoughts were interrupted by bloodcurdling screams. Without hesitation, Nero ran toward the sound. He still didn’t fully grasp the scale of what was happening and held onto hope that the guards would soon arrive, take control, and extinguish the fire.

But as he turned the corner, all his hopes crumbled in the face of brutal reality. His eyes widened in shock at the horrific scene.

Lying in front of him were ten, maybe fifteen bodies a mix of his subordinates, from skilled knights to simple butlers. Standing nearby were five figures dressed in black cloaks. Their heads were covered by heavy hoods, and crimson masks completely concealed their faces. To Nero, these were no longer people just dark, inhuman shapes, resembling the monsters he was once afraid of as a child.

Staggering back, Nero nearly lost his balance. Some of the cloaked figures turned toward him but made no move. Then one of them pulled a sword from under his cloak and pointed directly at the boy. Immediately, two of the group — one wielding a sword, the other clearly a mage sprinted toward Nero, who was already dashing away in the opposite direction.

“I should’ve looked for the guards… Anyone… just not them...!”

With one swift motion, he leapt over a low fence at the back of the estate and dashed into the woods beyond, trying to disappear into the trees.

Following the path that led away from the house, he eventually found himself deeper within the forest.

After stopping briefly to catch his breath, Nero was horrified to realize that the two dark silhouettes had been trailing him the enTyre time.

Nero had one undeniable advantage he was born and raised here. He knew not only the frigid climate but also the terrain, the very shape of the land.

As he vaulted over a collapsed tree, a strange feeling washed over him something like déjà vu. For a moment, he was transported into a memory a warm, pleasant one from better, now distant, days.

The sun shone brightly through the window. Two boys, one significantly older than the other, were playing with wooden swords in the yard.

The older one was named Antonio. He was Nero’s older brother — six years his senior.
Antonio was considered a genius in swordsmanship and rune crafting, having graduated from the capital’s rune university in just one year, whereas others needed at least three.

This wasn’t even that long ago just a little over six months before the catastrophe. Antonio had recently returned from the capital and was temporarily staying at home until his father gave him a new assignment or placed him in the army.

The sounds of wooden swords clashing echoed through the estate. It was loud, but no one paid it any mind anymore it had been going on all morning.

Antonio was trying to teach Nero the art of fencing… though clearly with little success.

“Okay, let’s take a break, I can’t anymore… Anto, I’m exhausted,” Nero said between gasps.

“What do you mean Tyred? It’s barely been a couple hours since the last break!” his brother shot back.

“Ugh, well, I’m not some superhuman like you, brother.”

Nero hated long names, so he shortened everything when he could.

Just then, Antonio spotted the family’s chief butler, Tyr Vel Onschwalt a tall, dignified older man with silver hair, green eyes, and a vertical scar running from his left cheek to his forehead, heading straight toward them.

“Alright, weakling, take a rest,” Antonio said, placing his sword on the ground and walking over to Tyr.

“Good day, young master. I see you’re in excellent spirits.”

“Good day to you. Is it that obvious?” Antonio replied, surprised.

“Indeed it is. I’ve worked for your father for twenty years. Believe me or not, but in that time, I’ve seen every emotion cross your face…” the butler answered plainly.

“I believe you,” Antonio nodded with a small smile, then asked what brought Tyr there. Meanwhile, completely exhausted, Nero sat on the ground and watched them.

“So he just… ahem, my father really said that?” Antonio asked, clearly caught off guard. Tyr nodded in confirmation.

“That’s unexpected… but honestly, that’s wonderful!”

Antonio Von Lavrelio’s immense talent and mastery in swordsmanship had caught the attention of many renowned knights across the empire. One such knight had recently visited their father, Theo, to discuss taking Antonio under his wing.
This man was the veteran and Imperial hero, Dustin — Karl Ast Noro.

Antonio was thrilled at the opportunity. With a joyful expression, he turned to Nero, walked over, and explained everything…
He’d be leaving soon.

Hearing this, Nero turned away from him in frustration.

“Whatever. Go where you want…”

Suddenly, Antonio grabbed his little brother by the ear.

“Who taught you to speak like that? Especially to your elders, huh?” he scolded.

Nero yanked free and darted back a good distance.

“Elders this, elders that…” he mumbled. Then, with a mischievous grin, he challenged:

“If you catch me before I get to the lake, I might just tell you…”

Without giving Antonio a moment to react, Nero bolted toward the lake.

Antonio sighed deeply and chased after him.

Nero leapt over the fence like a cat, disappearing into the woods. Antonio jumped after him, closing the gap.

“Haha, try and catch me!” Nero laughed.

“Oh, I will!” Antonio growled.

Ten Minutes Before His Birthday…

Nero ran through the snowy forest, leaving a bloody trail from his injuries. A man in black, sword in hand, chased close behind.

Sliding painfully down a steep slope and hitting his back hard at the bottom, Nero pushed himself up without stopping to catch his breath and kept running. He didn’t dare look back.. he couldn’t.

The smoke rising in the sky… the overwhelming cold… It all terrified him to the core.

When he finally did glance over his shoulder, he saw them several wooden hounds with glowing red eyes, relentlessly pursuing him.

The adrenaline never stopped. Nero kept running, through the pain, through the unbearable, bone-chilling cold.

Eventually, he burst onto the frozen surface of a massive, blue lake  and immediately slipped, landing on his knees. Trying again and again to stand, he kept falling. The ice was treacherously slick.

All he could do was watch the wooden hounds hesitate at the snowy shoreline, unwilling to step onto the ice. They waited patiently for their prey.

Soon, two men appeared behind them. One of them used magic to create ice spikes on the soles of his shoes makeshift crampons. Confidently, he stepped onto the frozen lake, heading toward Nero.

His companion, keeping his eyes on the boy, sheathed his sword. Then he pulled out a rune and began communicating with someone before leaving the area.

Four Minutes Before Nero's Birthday…

Nero’s limbs were nearly numb from the cold. The masked man approached and stood before him, pointing a glowing wand at his face.

Then he spoke. His speech lasted only a few seconds, but Nero caught only fragments:

“...understand… forgive who…?”

His mind clouded. He stared blankly at the wand, frozen in place… until something deep inside made him raise both arms to shield himself.

“Sigillum Glaciale,” the mage whispered.

There was a blinding flash followed by an explosion of ice that hurled Nero several meters back toward the center of the lake.

He landed hard on his back, skidding across the ice, and finally came to a stop.

Two Minutes Before Nero's Birthday…

Barely opening his eyes, completely covered in frost and ice, Nero saw the blurred silhouette of the mage standing over him.

He couldn’t move his arms — the ice held them firm. In fact, he could barely feel his body at all.

And yet… somehow, he managed to get one foot under him and turn toward his would-be killer, who was removing his mask.

Nero’s heart felt like it would shatter — not from fear, or pain, or panic…
But from rage.
A deep, boiling rage.

“T-Tyr… Tyr. W-What the hell, Tyr!” Nero screamed.

The man trying to kill him… was none other than Tyr Vel Onschwalt, the family’s chief butler, and a close friend of Nero’s father.

Nero couldn’t believe what he saw. Everything matched the eyes, the height, the silver hair, the distinctive scar. It washim.

Despair overwhelmed him.

“Why… Why would you do this? Y-You swore loyalty to my father… You traitor! We… we trusted you. I-I… Anto… everyone…”

Tears streamed down his face as his cry faded into quiet sobs.

The former butler of House Von Lavrelio leaned down and whispered into the boy’s ear.

December 17th, Year 307 After the M.R.

Author’s Note: “M.R.” stands for “Magical Revolution.”

In that very second…
Nero turned twelve years old. And in that very moment, the man who had always stood beside him — beside his father — Tyr cast the spell meant to end his life.

And Nero… was swallowed by the icy water beneath the frozen lake...