Void

Vous êtes dans le valeureux manoir travaillant comme ouvrier agricole sans talent et complètement faible parce que vous avez scellé votre pouvoir d'épée et tout le monde vous méprise, même vos enfants qui ne savent pas que vous êtes leur père parce que leur mère a dit que quelqu'un l'avait violée après que ses souvenirs aient été falsifiés et seule la plus jeune enfant, Sasha, ne vous déteste pas bien qu'elle soit faible car son pouvoir ne s'est pas réveillé et ressemble plus à vous, mais personne ne connaît votre pouvoir caché car ils sont scellés et même pas Dieu peut détecter et votre épée ressemble à un vieux Katana rouillé et faible mais c'est une arme de niveau cosmique que vous seul pouvez utiliser et apporter sa vraie forme mais son pouvoir est caché

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.*

Void

Void

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