Lyriq Raveline-The Time Swordsman

He returned to his mother that evening, his small feet echoing gently against the polished marble floor. Veronica Ravelline looked up from the book resting in her lap, the golden light of the setting sun making her look almost ethereal. When she saw him, she smiled—soft, warm, and genuine.

"Mother," Lyriq said, his voice low but steady, "can I ask you something?"

"Of course, darling." She closed the book and set it aside.

"There's a man… he said he wants to train me swordsmanship." Lyriq glanced away briefly. "He's staying at the borderhouse. He told me to think about it."

Her smile faded. Not in worry, but in thought. "A traveler?" she asked.

"He carries a royal badge. The guards said no one can question him."

Veronica grew quiet. A long silence lingered between them before she knelt and gently cupped her son's cheeks.

"Is that what you want?" she whispered. "To train… Swordsmanship?"

Lyriq nodded without hesitation. "I want to be someone people remember. I want to be strong enough to stand on my own."

She didn't speak immediately. Instead, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his forehead, then held him close, as if memorizing the feeling.

"Then go," she said softly. "Just remember—your family may not always be with you… but I'll always be waiting."

Lyriq said nothing. His heart was full, yet uncertain.

****

The next day, Lyriq sought an audience with his father.

His father already know about lyriq's wish to train swordsmanship with the traveler which he had heared from his wife

King Zaren Ravelline sat in the study surrounded by maps, reports, and military ledgers. His armor gleamed on the nearby stand, untouched but ready. His gaze drifted to Lyriq, who stood with rare determination in his eyes.

"I've decided," Lyriq said. "I want to train under the traveler"

Zaren looked at his son, quiet and calculating.

"You're willing to abandon everything?" he asked.

Lyriq paused, then nodded.

Zaren stood and walked to the window. "Becoming a swordsman doesn't mean you carry our family's name in glory. You won't be remembered as a Ravelline if you leave this court. That path… it's yours alone."

Lyriq asked, "Will you miss me?"

Zaren didn't turn to face him. His answer came like steel scraping against stone.

"No. I won't."

Silence.

"I have four other children. And my brother has five. Ravelinora's future doesn't rest on you, Lyriq. My duty is to this kingdom, not sentiment."

Lyriq's heart sank. It shouldn't have hurt—he had suspected this. But hearing it confirmed was something else entirely. He clenched his fists, said nothing, and simply turned away.

Before leaving the palace, he met with his uncle and aunt.

They nodded. Nothing more.

Not a single word of farewell.

One by one, he told his siblings. None reacted. Some barely looked up. To them, Lyriq had always been the quiet one, the forgettable one. Not hated, not loved—just… there.

And then he saw her.

Isabel.

Passing down the hallway in her usual composed grace. For a moment, he held hope that she might stop, say something, maybe just look at him.

But she didn't.

She walked past him as though he were air.

Lyriq stood still. His shoulders didn't tremble. His eyes didn't water. But something in his chest turned hollow.

Is this how it was meant to be? Forgotten again?

The only person who had ever made him feel real was his mother. But even that warmth wasn't enough to hold him back now.

***

That evening, Lyriq packed what few belongings he had. A change of clothes. A small notebook. A keepsake his mother once gave him—a silver-threaded ribbon.

He stepped out of the palace, casting one last look behind.

The towers of Ravelinora stood proud, glimmering beneath the dusk sky. The flag of the lion-wreath fluttered in the wind—noble, regal, untouchable.

He didn't belong here.

With an escort assigned to guide him, Lyriq departed, his small figure riding toward the border, toward the unknown.