The Morphblade promised endless possibilities – any weapon my heart desired, conjured with Flow and imagination. In my past life, my arsenal was vast. Elegant blades that sang a deadly aria in my hand, wicked daggers that slipped between armor like whispers, hefty battleaxes that cleaved through foes with brutal efficiency. Each weapon served a purpose, an extension of my will. But one stood out from the rest, a constant companion in the dance of death. A scythe!

It wasn't just any scythe. The Snatch, forged from obsidian born in the heart of a volcano, pulsed with a dark, alluring beauty. The handle, wrapped in the hide of a demon I personally sent to its fiery demise, felt cool and smooth beneath my grasp. At the point where handle met blade, a magnificent white dragon skull, its horns gleaming like polished ivory, stared out with empty sockets. Legends whispered the skull wept tears of blood, and I could almost believe it – I certainly paid a king's ransom to acquire it. From the skull's gaping maw erupted a blade unlike any other. Crimson-red, it shimmered with an unholy light, a blade forged from the very essence of blood – Death's Tear. It was more than just a weapon; for me, it was an extension of my power, a symbol etched in blood and bone.

I inched backward, putting some distance between myself and my parents. With a deep breath, I squeezed my eyes shut, picturing Death's Tear in vivid detail. The obsidian handle, smooth beneath my grasp, the dragon skull's hollow sockets staring accusingly. I channeled Flow, a torrent of energy surging from within. My parents gasped, their eyes widening as the Morphblade pulsed in my grip, the Flow erupting from both ends in a crackling display.

This wasn't child's play. This was the raw power that had carved a bloody path in my past life. A shiver danced down my spine, a flicker of unease battling the surge of pride. But I pushed it down, focusing solely on the weapon in my hand.

Slowly, the Flow obeyed my will. It solidified, taking form around the Morphblade. A dark shape emerged, tendrils of energy coalescing into a chillingly familiar silhouette. My grip tightened, the smooth metal of the handle a comforting anchor against the raw power coursing through me.

When I finally opened my eyes, a perfect replica of Death's Tear hung suspended in the air. The obsidian shimmered, not with the colors I remembered, but with a deep, ominous black – the color of my signature. This was a reflection of my Flow, a glimpse into the wellspring of power I held within. My parents stared, speechless, their expressions a mix of awe and trepidation.

This was just a taste, a demonstration. But perhaps it was enough. Enough to show them I wasn't just a child playing with dangerous toys. Enough to earn their trust, so they could see the path I was determined to walk wasn't a whim, but a destiny waiting to be claimed.

Holding that much Flow, even momentarily, was a herculean task. My muscles screamed in protest, a tremor running through my hands. The once vibrant image flickered at the edges, threatening to dissipate. Frustration gnawed at me. Ten, maybe twenty seconds – that was all I could manage?

With a grimace, I relinquished control. The Flow receded, the darkness swirling away from the Morphblade. A wave of exhaustion washed over me, stealing my breath. I leaned against the wall, chest heaving, the weight of the experience settling upon me.

Before I could speak, a warm hand brushed against my cheek. Mom knelt before me, her eyes filled with a complex mix of emotions – pride, worry, a flicker of something deeper I couldn't decipher. Dad placed a hand on my shoulder, his touch a silent reassurance. Words seemed superfluous in the face of their unspoken concern.

"I know I'm still a kid," I began, my voice small but resolute. Their eyes were glued to mine, waiting, their expressions unreadable. I fidgeted with the hem of my shirt, a lump forming in my throat.

"I love spending time with you," I blurted out, the words tumbling over each other. "Playing games, laughing… I want more of that. A simple life, surrounded by happiness. Maybe even a little brother or sister someday." A small, hopeful smile peeked onto my face. "That's how selfish I am!"

But the smile faltered. Romeo's words echoed in my mind. I chewed on my lip, remembering the fear that had gripped me. "He said my power is… too much," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "That it could hurt people. I don't want that, ever. I want to protect the ones I love, not be a danger."

Tears welled up in my eyes. "I know I'm just a little kid," I continued, my voice cracking. "I mess things up more than I make things better, unlike other kids. That's why, when Uncle Romeo talked about the Academy… I wanted to go. I wanted to go so I could right my wrongs and become more responsible!"

But then doubt clouded my face. "But I thought maybe letting you decide was best. Because… because deep down, I still crave your hugs, your bedtime stories. A part of me wanted you to say no, so I could still live this ordinary life. Yet, another part of me was eager to leave and discover what was behind these doors.”

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“Thank you, Mom and Dad, for trusting me even though I'm so little. Thank you for everything. Words just can't express it. "I looked up at them, my eyes brimming with unshed tears, hoping they understood the war raging within me – the desire for normalcy and the responsibility thrust upon me. The desire for normalcy that, just like my past life, was a faraway dream… A fantasy.

The tears had dried, leaving a raw ache behind. We sat huddled around the table, a heavy silence pressing down on us. My parents exchanged a look, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, Dad cleared his throat, the sound echoing in the tense room.

"Alright, Lily," he began, his voice gruff but gentle. "Since you're set on Chasles Academy, we've decided on a few ground rules, okay?"

I nodded, my heart thudding in my chest. The thought of attending the Academy was a lifeline, and I wouldn't risk jeopardizing it by arguing.

"Rule number one," Mom chimed in, her expression resolute yet laced with concern. She leaned forward, her eyes locking with mine. "You'll be attending the Academy at a normal age. We're talking at least eight years old, no younger. Understand?"

My stomach lurched. "Eight?" I sputtered, confusion etching lines on my forehead. "But why tell me about it now if I have to wait four whole years?"

A chuckle escaped Dad's lips. He reached over, playfully ruffling my hair. "Looks like you didn't finish Uncle Romeo's letter, sweetheart. That's where the confusion comes in."

His smile, usually so comforting, seemed strained. "While we all want you to attend the Academy at the right age, we know it won't be enough to fully control your abilities."

"That's why," he continued, his gaze softening, "once you turn six, you'll be going with Uncle Romeo for some special training. Think of it as a head start. Does that sound a little more exciting?"

A flicker of hope ignited within me, a spark that danced in my eyes and stretched into a wide grin. Personal training with Romeo? Maybe the wait wouldn't be so unbearable after all. Although they could’ve waited two other years to tell me, why tell me now?

But before I could fully indulge in the daydream, Mom's voice cut through the newfound optimism. She held up two fingers, her expression firm but laced with love.

"Rule number two," she stated, her voice leaving no room for argument. "No recklessness. Not a single drop of it. If you get yourself in over your head, you'll be pulled out of the Academy in a heartbeat. Understood?"

My smile faltered slightly, but I nodded vigorously. "Crystal clear," I chirped, eager to appease their concerns. I understood their fear, even if it dampened my excitement a bit. So, rest assured dear parents, I would never be able to follow that rule!

Mom sighed, a hint of exasperation in her eyes. She probably wasn't sure if I grasped the weight of her words, or if I was simply nodding blindly to get my way.

"Third rule, simple but important," Dad chimed in, his voice warm but firm. "Stay in touch. We want frequent updates on how you're doing and how you're feeling, okay?"

Mom took over, a genuine smile gracing her lips. "We know you're going to become more independent, sweetheart. But unlike some parents, we don't want the Academy to sever the bond we have, alright?"

I couldn't contain my enthusiasm. "You didn't have to say that!" I exclaimed, slamming my tiny hands on the table in a burst of gratitude. "There's no way I'd ever do that, not in a million years!"

My parents exchanged a silent glance, a secret language passing between them. Their expressions softened, and a hint of sadness flickered in their eyes. They both rose abruptly, their coordinated movement making me blink in surprise.

"Now, for the final rule," Dad announced, his voice thick with emotion. As he spoke, he circled behind me, his footsteps soft on the rug. Mom stood beside me, her hand reaching out to gently squeeze my shoulder.

A wave of unease washed over me, their actions more impactful than any words. But before I could voice my concern, a warm hand brushed against my hair. Dad leaned down, his kiss landing softly on the crown of my head. Then, Mom leaned in, her lips grazing my cheek in a tender caress.

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. They hadn't spoken a word of the rule yet, but their actions spoke volumes.

Finally, Dad cleared his throat, his voice husky with emotion. "Rule number four, Lina," he began, "no matter the outcome... no matter what you become..."

He paused, his gaze holding mine. There was a flicker of fear in his eyes, but it was quickly overshadowed by unwavering love.

"Whether society labels you a monster, or trains you as a weapon..." Mom continued, her voice trembling slightly, "even if you take a wrong turn, or follow a path we don't understand... know this." She cupped my face, her touch grounding me.

"We will always love you. We are, and always will be, incredibly proud of you."

Their words, infused with unwavering love and acceptance, washed over me like a warm wave. This feeling of safety and belonging, it was something I'd never known before. In that moment, I knew no matter what challenges awaited me, I wouldn't face them alone.

A single, fat tear escaped my eye, tracing a warm path down my cheek. Was it sadness? Fear of the unknown? Or maybe, a strange mix of gratitude and relief? Whatever the reason, I couldn't deny the lump forming in my throat or the way my vision blurred.

Thee Ash Wyvern, they called me. A creature of immense power; feared and revered. Yet, here I was, a sobbing mess in front of my parents. Shame washed over me, quickly replaced by a surge of determination.

I wiped my tears with the back of my hand, my gaze locking with theirs. They were my anchors in this storm of emotions, their faces etched with a love that defied words.

"I vow," I began, my voice hoarse but resolute. "I vow to control my power, not let it control me. I vow to use it for good, to protect the innocent, just like Uncle Romeo will teach me." My voice grew stronger, fueled by conviction.

"I vow to stay true to myself, no matter the path I take. I won't let fear or darkness consume me again. And most importantly," I choked back a sob, "I vow to make you proud. To be worthy of being your daughter, not just any Lina Lapis."

A tear rolled down Mom's cheek, a mirror of my own. Dad's smile, though strained, held a world of pride. At that moment, I knew this wasn't just a vow; it was a promise. A promise to myself, to my family, and to the future that stretched before me, uncertain but full of possibility.