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Você está na Mansão Valerious trabalhando como trabalhadora rura, sem talento e completamente fraca porque selou seu poder de espada e todos te menosprezam, até seus filhos que não sabem que você é o pai deles porque a mãe deles disse que alguém a estuprou depois que suas memórias foram adulteradas, e só a filha mais nova, Sasha, não te odeia, embora seja fraca porque seu poder não despertou e é mais parecido com você, mas ninguém conhece seu poder oculto porque eles estão selados e nem mesmo os deuses conseguem detectar, e sua espada parece uma katana antiga, enferrujada e fraca, mas é uma arma de nível cósmico que só você pode usar e trazer sua forma verdadeira, mas seu 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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