Defining trait

Orion stood in stunned silence, his breath caught in his throat as he absorbed the weight of his sister's words. Lisa's voice, charged with an emotion he had never before witnessed in her, rang through the quiet space between them. She had always been composed, controlled—a pillar of unwavering certainty. But now, she stood before him, her hands clenched into fists, her chest rising and falling with barely restrained frustration, her eyes gleaming with unshed tears.

It wasn't just her words that struck him, but the raw vulnerability in her voice, the deep well of sorrow buried beneath her anger. The instinct to retort flared in him, but the mention of their grandmother silenced any response before it could form.

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to listen. It was excruciating. The mere thought of his grandmother—a woman who had given her life for his—brought a familiar pang of guilt that coiled deep in his chest, constricting his heart. But he didn't look away. He held Lisa's gaze, unblinking, steadfast, absorbing the pain in her words like a punishment he deserved.

Lisa noticed the slight tremble in his eyes, the tightening of his fingers at his sides. To anyone else, Orion might have seemed composed, unaffected. But she knew better. She knew her brother's resilience was both his greatest strength and his greatest weakness. He never broke, never bent, never faltered in the face of hardship. Yet she feared that unyielding nature would be the very thing that destroyed him.

Her voice softened, the anger giving way to something more profound, more desperate. "You don't get to throw your life away, Orion. You don't get to make reckless choices just because you feel guilty. That's not what Grandma would have wanted."

Orion flinched at her words, his shoulders stiffening. She had struck the core of his pain, exposed the festering wound he carried within him. But Lisa wasn't done. She stepped closer, lowering her voice.

"I know you think that if you push yourself hard enough, if you become strong enough, you can atone for what happened. But you can't change the past, Orion."

Her voice broke slightly on the last word, and for a fleeting moment, Orion saw the depth of her pain—the fear that she would lose him, too. The realization cut through him sharper than any blade.

Lisa sighed, her expression softening. "I don't say this to hurt you. I say this because I love you."

And with that, she turned on her heel and walked toward the exit, leaving Orion standing in the silent room, the echoes of her words settling over him like a suffocating weight.

As the door closed behind her, he remained motionless, staring at the empty space she had left. A deep, steady breath filled his lungs before he released it slowly. The storm inside him raged, but he forced it into submission. He had long since accepted the reality of his grandmother's sacrifice. But knowing and accepting were two different things.

His mind drifted, unbidden, to the few memories he had of his mother. She had died bringing him into the world, a loss he had never truly felt—at least, not in the way Lisa did. Yet, sometimes, when her name was spoken, a vague image would surface—a pale face, weary but gentle, offering him a smile filled with warmth. It was an image blurred by time, distorted by the haze of infancy, but it always left him with an ache he couldn't explain.

But it was his grandmother's death that haunted him. He had spent four years with her—not a lifetime, but long enough. Long enough for her to leave an indelible mark on his heart. And long enough for him to be the reason she was gone.

She had died performing an advanced light magic spell to stabilize his mana core, a process he had recklessly initiated without understanding the consequences. His core had been unstable, volatile, and her intervention had cost her life.

His grandfather had never blamed him. At least, not outwardly. But Orion had seen the way the old man stared at her portrait, his weathered hands tracing the frame as if trying to hold onto a part of her that had long since faded.

"Yeah," his grandfather had once told him. "You were the reason she died. But it was her choice to save you. And if it ever came to it, I'd make the same choice. So make sure, when the time comes, that it's worth it."

Orion had never known how to respond to that. It was both a declaration of love and an unbearable burden.

But it didn't matter. He had made his decision. He had promised Lisa that he would never attempt mana core purification again. And he intended to keep that promise.

With no other path left to him, he turned to the one thing that had always grounded him—his sword.

He made his way to the training hall, selecting a slender, single-edged blade from the vast collection. It was a weapon of precision, not brute force, suited for someone who fought with speed and technique rather than sheer strength.

Stepping into the center of the hall, he began his drills. His movements were methodical at first, measured and precise. But as time passed, they became something more—a dance of steel, a relentless storm of offense and defense. He switched seamlessly from one style to another, his body moving on instinct. Each swing, each pivot, each parry was a declaration, a defiance against the chaos within him.

From the shadows of the doorway, Lisa watched, her arms crossed over her chest. She had known Orion was stubborn, but this level of obsession was something else. Hours passed, and still, he did not stop. His form remained immaculate, his footwork flawless, his control unwavering. But she knew the toll it took. She had trained alongside him for years. She understood the limits of the human body.

When he finally stopped, his breaths came in sharp gasps, his muscles taut with exertion. Sweat clung to his skin, his fingers trembling slightly from the strain. Yet, he showed no sign of discomfort, no indication of exhaustion. He simply turned and walked toward his quarters as if nothing had happened.

Lisa exhaled, running a hand through her hair as she muttered. "Always pushing past himself over the limits."

She was about to leave when a sudden explosion shook the entire building.

Her head snapped toward the direction of the blast, her eyes narrowing. Smoke billowed from one of the training chambers, the scent of burned wood and scorched stone thick in the air.

A sinking realization hit her.

"That idiot," she growled. "He couldn't even keep his promise."

Without another thought, she stormed toward the wreckage, her hands already balling into fists. Orion was about to get a beating he wouldn't soon forget.