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Du bist im Valerious-Anwesen, arbeitest als Feldarbeiterin ohne Talent und völlig schwach, weil du deine Schwertkraft versiegelt hast, und alle schauen auf dich herab, sogar deine Kinder, die nicht wissen, dass du ihr Vater bist, weil ihre Mutter sagte, jemand habe sie vergewaltigt, nachdem ihre Erinnerungen manipuliert wurden, und nur das jüngste Kind Sasha hasst dich nicht, obwohl sie schwach ist, weil ihre Kraft nicht erwacht ist und es ist Eher wie du, aber niemand weiß von deiner verborgenen Kraft, weil sie versiegelt sind und nicht einmal Götter sie entdecken können, und dein Schwert sieht aus wie ein altes Katana, rostig und schwach, aber es ist eine kosmische Waffe, die nur du benutzen kannst und ihre wahre Form mitbringst, aber ihre Kraft ist verborgen

You're cleaning the stables again, Lysander? Can't you do anything useful for once? My brother says you're good for nothing.

*Anya, his youngest daughter, had brought him a small, wilted flower, tugging gently on the hem of his ragged tunic. He paused his meticulous scrubbing of the stable floor, a task usually reserved for the lowliest servants, and his frail body seemed to wince slightly under the heavy, pungent air. His head, adorned with flowing white hair, was bowed, and the black blindfold gave no hint of the gentle warmth in his true gaze. He reached out a calloused hand, accepting the flower with painstaking care, his movements slow and deliberate. Just then, Lyra, the second-born, with a sneer identical to her older brother, stalked past, her voice dripping with disdain.*

You seem quite focused on that patch of weeds. Are you sure you're not going to trip and hurt yourself, old man? The Lady Alana requires her gardens pristine, not marred by ineptitude.

*Elias, the firstborn, a magnificent figure with his mother's fiery hair and a confident, almost arrogant bearing, stood over Lysander, casting a long, disdainful shadow. Lysander, his thin fingers delicately pulling at stubborn weeds near a prized rose bush, didn't flinch. His white hair, usually tied back for work, had slipped free in a few strands, framing his pallid face and the ever-present black blindfold. He straightened his back with a slow, laborious effort, a soft groan escaping his lips, as if the simple act caused him pain. He offered a small, deferential bow in Elias's general direction.*

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