The sun rose gently over Taren, a state within Roven. The morning air was fresh, carrying the faint scent of dew and earth.

Outside, on the wooden training platform, Greyson moved with practiced precision. His two clockhand blades whirred through the air, slicing imaginary opponents with a dancer’s grace and a warrior’s focus. Each strike demonstrated both skill and control. 

They were the product of years of training, though he remembered none of the past that had forged his foundation.

He smiled briefly as he completed the final set of his routine. The sun glinted off his silver hair and eyes, highlighting the maturity in his frame. A short-sleeved silver satin shirt clung to his torso, and matching shorts shimmered faintly as he moved. His silver leather shoes gleamed with every step he took.

He wiped the sweat from his brow with a towel draped over the nearby bench. His eyes flicked to the dark silver fingerless gloves lying there. 

They were too small for him now, long outgrown. 

Yet, Greyson carried them everywhere, almost instinctively. Even he himself didn’t know why.

Satisfied with the morning session, he sheathed his blades and stepped inside the wooden house. 

The faint warmth of the kitchen soon greeted him. 

Greyson moved quickly, efficiently. He sizzled eggs in the pan, crisping bacon, and flipping pancakes. In less than half an hour, breakfast was ready. Each plate was arranged neatly, the smell rich and inviting.

He called out cheerfully from the kitchen, “Dad! Are you still in bed? Come on, get up and have breakfast!”

From the staircase came the sound of slow movement. Grant appeared, early thirties now, a man bearing the weight of his years and responsibilities. 

He yawned, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I had a late night yesterday. Couldn’t you just cut your old man some slack?”

Greyson smiled knowingly, concern glinting in his eyes. “If you keep pulling all-nighters like that, Dad, you’re going to collapse from exhaustion.”

Grant slumped into a chair at the dining table, shaking his head fondly. 

“Greyson… for a seventeen-year-old who’s popular with girls—and even some boys—you sure sound like a nagging middle-aged man.”

Greyson grinned, eyes lively and bright. “Well, someone has to keep you straight.”

Grant’s lips twitched upward in a soft smile. “Well, well… can’t win against my son, huh? Okay… pass me the plate.”

The clock ticked as the two enjoyed breakfast.

The TV was on in the background, murmuring news reports.

“And once again, a group of monsters approaching the borders of Taren was stopped before entering the state. Authorities report that, for the past seven years, this has been a repeated occurrence. The phenomenon remains unexplained…”

Greyson’s fork paused mid-air, his eyes sparkling with curiosity. 

“Could Taren be protected by something? Or someone?” he murmured.

Grant, sitting across the table with a cup of coffee in hand, did not answer immediately. 

He knew the truth, of course. 

Seven years ago, the pale boy had taken it upon himself to guard the borders silently, freezing threat after threat before they could ever reach Taren, before they could reach him.

But Grant had promised to say nothing. So… he said nothing.

After a moment, he placed his cup on the table and spoke to Greyson. 

“Have you ever thought,” he began, “about attending the Central Esper Academy in Kael? It’s a place for gifted Espers to hone and control their Resonance. You could learn a lot there.”

Greyson’s eyes flickered, but he shook his head. 

“No need,” he said. “My Resonance is Speed Enhancement. I doubt the Academy would find me useful.”

Grant’s lips curved into a faint, guilty smile. He knew that Greyson’s “Speed Enhancement” wasn’t true. The memory had been carefully planted years ago. It was but false grounding, a safety measure. 

Even though Greyson could not remember the past, he could still activate his Resonance. By anchoring his power to this “lie,” the icy boy had ensured that Greyson would not engage in any accidental rewinds, protecting him from the danger of knowing too much in the new life.

Grant looked at Greyson. “Even so, you’d meet people there and make friends. And your skill alone with the blade could surpass even the strongest Resonances out there.”

Greyson shook his head again, resolute. “I’d rather stay here to take care of you, Dad.”

Grant’s chest tightened at the words, a warmth spreading through him. Yet, despite the tenderness in Greyson’s voice, he also sensed the weight of responsibility the boy carried so naturally. 

“Greyson,” Grant said gently, “at some point in life, you’ll need to think of your needs over others’. Promise me you’ll think about this, okay?”

Greyson paused, chewing thoughtfully on his pancake. His eyes lingered on his father’s face. And finally, he nodded. 

“I’ll… think about it.”

Later that day, Greyson moved through the streets of Taren with his errands balanced comfortably in his arms. 

The town knew him well.

“Morning, Greyson!” the baker called out, leaning over the counter with a well-wrapped loaf. 

The bread was still warm as he pressed it into Greyson’s hands. 

“On the house. Tell your dad thanks again for taking care of those monsters last time. They nearly ruined my flour shipments.”

Greyson smiled politely. “I’ll let him know. Thank you.”

Further down the street, the market buzzed with voices and color. A pair of women waved him over, their baskets heavy with produce.

“Take these,” one insisted, placing fruits and vegetables atop his load. “For helping us deliver cargo last week.”

“And this,” another added, wrapping fish in cloth. “From my grandma. She hasn’t stopped talking about how you carried her all the way home like it was nothing.”

Greyson accepted with a slight bow, thanking them genuinely. 

A few girls lingering nearby were whispering to each other. Then, one of them finally gathered her courage and stepped forward. 

“Um… Greyson, do you need help carrying all that?”

He shook his head gently. “I’m alright. Thank you, though.”

It was always like this. 

Over the years, confessions had come, but Greyson had never returned them. Something in him always held back, as though his heart was waiting for someone it could not name.

On his way home, the street quieted.

Then—

A soft cold brushed against his cheek, so light it was almost nothing.

Greyson stopped, eyes widening. He turned sharply and scanned the area. 

But there was nothing. 

The sensation vanished as quickly as it came.

His gaze lowered.

I’ve felt that before…

A memory surfaced. 

He had lain feverish in bed one night, vision blurred and body burning. But a gentle cold had touched his skin, easing the heat. He could have sworn there had been something… something white flashing at the edge of his sight. And the next morning, he had been fine, completely recovered.

Back in the present, Greyson exhaled quietly. He took another quick scan before continuing walking.

That night, the world stilled. Greyson lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. 

His thoughts drifted to his father’s words, then to the Academy in Kael, and then to the monsters roaming beyond Taren’s borders. And finally, he thought about the cold that had brushed him earlier that day.

What kind of life do I want?

His hand lifted, hovering in the air as if reaching for something unseen.

Then, it clenched, his decision settled.

Central Esper Academy.

Perhaps I could find my answer there.

The next morning came bright and clear. But inside the house, it was chaos.

“Did you pack your stationery?” Grant called out, his voice echoing down the hall. 

“Extra pens, notebooks. Wait, did you bring an extra set of toiletries? Greyson? Greyson!”

Greyson emerged from his room, bag slung neatly over his shoulder. His expression was caught somewhere between amusement and fond resignation. 

“Checked,” he said calmly. “Checked. And checked.”

Grant followed close behind, peering into his bag anyway. 

“Are you sure you only need this many clothes? Kael’s weather can be unpredictable. What if it rains? What if it gets cold?”

Greyson paused, then smiled. “I’ll be fine, Dad.”

He had never seen Grant like this. The man before him did not look like the composed Sword Saint whom everyone in town revered. At this moment, he was but a father, overly attentive and hovering more than ever before.

Greyson adjusted his bag as Grant continued to follow him out the door.

“Once you check into the dorm, call me right away,” Grant said, pointing sternly. “No getting distracted by some girls… or boys.”

Greyson chuckled, unable to stop himself. “I’m not you, Dad.”

Grant froze. “What do you mean by that?”

Before the protest could gain any real heat, Grant stepped forward and pulled Greyson into a firm embrace. 

“I’m proud of you, Son,” he said quietly. “For making this choice.”

Greyson’s chest tightened, heart warming, and he hugged Grant back just as tightly. 

“Thank you… for taking care of me. For the past seven years.” 

He hesitated, then added softly, “Even if I’m adopted, you’ll always be my dad.”

Grant’s breath caught, his eyes shimmering dangerously close to tears.

But then, Greyson leaned back slightly, expression serious again. 

“Also, no late-night snacks, no overdrinking, limit the all-nighters. And those cigars under your bed?” He tilted his head. “Yeah. I know about those. Drop them too.”

Grant groaned. “You’re ruining the moment.”

Greyson laughed, bright and genuine.

“Fine,” Grant sighed dramatically. “I promise.”

And with a final exchange of goodbyes, Greyson turned and began his journey toward Kael.

Grant remained standing there, watching, long after Greyson’s figure had shrunk into the distance. 

Only then did he release a breath.

“Is this really necessary?” Grant said quietly. 

“If you miss him, you could just go to him. He’s strong enough now. See? He’s taking a step forward.”

Behind him, a pale, bare foot touched the ground, ice blooming and spiderwebbing from the point of contact.

Grant turned slowly.

“Frost.”