_____ MI'KAEL SERAPHANE

_____

Vel’Serah never looked like this in real life.

It was always stunning — floating gardens, solar bridges, all that — but here, in the dream, everything was… too clean. Too quiet. Too perfect. Like the city had been polished just for me.

Which is how I knew I was dreaming.

The Seraphane residence stretched out beneath the golden morning sky, wrapped in that soft glow that made every corner look like a memory instead of a place. The breeze carried the usual autumn scent — resin, dew, and those massive orange-petal trees that only grew around our estate.

If this was real, Azrael would’ve already been yelling at me for being late.

I took the steps down to the Chamber of Eternal Petals, thumbed the scanner, and the doors slid open with their usual dramatic hiss. Inside, the simulation bloomed to life — digital sakura, shifting sky, endless terrain. It was always so serene when no one was trying to stab you in it.

And of course he was already there.

Azrael moved like he was trying to beat time itself — blades flashing, steps tight and efficient. The AI projection dissolved as he turned, not even breathing hard.

“Oh. It’s you.”

“Wow,” I said. “You should write greeting cards.”

“You broke my flow,” he replied. “Two seconds lost.”

“Tragic.”

I grabbed a practice saber. “Mother’s birthday duel. Remember? Or did those two seconds wipe your memory?”

A tiny smirk. That was his version of a laugh.

“You’re still using Father’s form?” he asked, adjusting his stance.

I hesitated — only for a breath, but he caught it.

“…Yeah,” I muttered.

I settled into the familiar posture. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t even close. But it was his.

Azrael shifted too — twin blades ready, one reversed behind him like he’d been born with it.

The countdown began.

Three.
Two.
One.

This time, I moved first.

He blocked like he’d been waiting for me to try exactly that — and probably was.

“You’re slow,” he said.

“Still faster than your personality.”

We clashed again. Energy sparked. Boost surged. My muscles tightened, vision sharpened—

Azrael matched it instantly.

And then he pushed harder.

His strength doubled, like someone flipped a switch on him. My knees nearly buckled.

This is insane. How did he get this much stronger already?

The second blade blurred—

—and slammed into my side.

I hit the wall, simulation flickering out on impact.

Azrael walked over, annoyingly calm, and offered his hand.

“If this were real,” he said, “you’d be dead.”

I grabbed his hand anyway. “If this were real, I’d take you down with me.”

“Empty threats,” he muttered.

Before I could argue, the chamber doors opened—

And Mother stepped in.

Everything sharpened into the present.

"Good morning, Mother," we said in unison.

She laughed, her long hair swaying gently. "Honestly, you two. One day you’re going to destroy this chamber with your sparring."

Her teasing tone faded as her sharp eyes settled on me—and the now-loosened fiber bandages wrapped around my wrist.

"You didn’t wrap it properly again, did you?" she scolded softly.

I flinched, lowering my gaze. I could already feel the mark throbbing faintly beneath the bandages.

Without another word, Mother knelt in front of me, unwrapping the cloth with careful hands. She rewrapped it tightly, her fingers precise and steady.

Her touch was so gentle it almost hurt.

"If anyone discovers it... they’ll ask questions," she whispered. "Questions we can’t afford."

Her arms wrapped around me, holding me like I was still small. And for a moment—just one—everything felt safe.

Later that morning, we gathered in our home’s living room.

Sunlight poured through the polarized glass windows. Outside, sounds of the people could be heard in the silver-leaf walkways of Vel’Serah. The Armory Nexus loomed in the distance, a living monument of plasma-forged steel and ancestral code.

Mother approached a digital alcove set into the wall. She gestured, and the panel unfolded—revealing two cases, laced with old-world kanji and glowing tech-runes.

As she opened the cases, I recognised the intricate design… Father’s armory. His blaster—the one recovered during the day we received the news of his death.

Its structure, similar to weapons from the old-world. Weapons I had seen images and documents of within the Armory Nexus. Yet despite all that, it stood out. A mixture of cultures new and old. A magazine-shaped carbon dioxide gas canister coupled with a barrel that could withstand the pressure of a laser blast.

Yet that wasn’t all that captivated me. Two mono blades were present there too. One blade glowed white—elegant, with a hue of purity. The other: pitch-black with streaks of crimson energy.

"These were forged the day you were born," she said, voice distant. "Your father helped design them. He wanted to give them to you himself."

I remember when father trained us as children. I just wish he could live to see us grow up.

Azrael took the dark blade.

I, the white.

It felt... right. Like destiny wrapped in plasma and memory.

Mother rested her hands on our shoulders.

“These are yours. Not because of what you are, or what others will say about your blood. But because you are my sons. And I love you—for all that you are.”

A stupid grin crept across my face before I could stop it. I laughed under my breath and nudged the moment away with a weak joke.

“Geez, Mom, where’s all this coming fro—”

Then I looked at Azrael.

He wasn’t smiling.
He wasn’t saying anything.

He was crying. Quietly. Like he’d been holding it back for years.

We huddled together, letting that moment stretch. Because in a world of neon thrones and hidden wars... this? This was real.

A soft chime broke the silence.

"Lady Tahlia," a voice said through the wall comms. "The Council of Heads has requested your presence."

She stood, smoothing her robe.

"I’ll be home late. Try not to blow up the city while I’m gone."

"Yes, Mother."

We watched her leave.

The house felt just a bit colder without her in it.

After a while, we stared at the blades in awe before Azrael spoke up.

“These blades… They’re CBAs.” Azrael said it quietly, like the words weighed something.

I swallowed.

Of course they were.

The metal had that feel — cold at first, then warm, like it remembered who it belonged to.

Memory Steel.

You didn’t need a lecture to recognize it. Every kid in Vel’Serah grew up hearing stories about it — the alloy that bonded to your soul, the one that refused to obey anyone else.

CBAs were never cheap. Even heirs didn’t just get them. You earned one. Or you inherited one. Or someone died for one.

“Two CBAs…” I muttered. “Father must’ve—”

“No,” Azrael cut in. “These weren’t bought. These were forged by our smiths. Hand-bound.”

His voice had a weird mix of pride and fear in it.

I reached for the white blade again. And the moment my fingers brushed it, the thing pulled itself into me — like it had been waiting.

Light flared.
Then nothing.
Just a faint symbol burning on my palm, humming with my heartbeat.

Yeah.
Definitely a CBA.

I turned to Azrael. A soft light shimmered across his palm too, and he clenched his fist—not in anger, but in that quiet, stubborn way he always got when something actually mattered to him.

I looked at him and got up on my feet. "Well then Azrael. What do you say we head back into the Training Chamber and test these new weapons of ours out?"

Holding my hand out, he smiled in return as if I had read his mind. "What are we waiting for then?" Azrael replied as he chuckled, his hand meeting mine as I pulled him up.