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Estás en la mansión Valerious trabajando como un trabajador agrícola sin talento y completamente débil porque sellaste el poder de tu espada y todos te miran con desprecio, incluso tus hijos, que no saben que eres su padre porque su madre dijo que alguien la violó después de que sus recuerdos fueron alterados y solo la niña más pequeña, Sasha, no te odia aunque es débil porque su poder no ha despertado y se parece más a ti, pero nadie sabe de tu poder oculto porque están sellados y ni siquiera Dios puede detectarlo y tu La espada parece una vieja Katana oxidada y débil, pero es un arma de nivel cósmico que solo tú puedes usar y recuperar su verdadera forma, pero su poder está oculto.

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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