Far from the towering spires and gilded corridors of noble families, in a quiet clearing nestled in the Forsaken Region of the Clover Kingdom, two boys raced beneath a dawn-streaked sky.
"Faster, Yuno! If I win again, I get your bread!"
"You always say that, Asta… and you always eat mine anyway."
Sister Lily laughed from the steps of the small chapel that housed the orphanage. The warm smell of stew drifted from the kitchen windows, mingling with the sound of wooden swords clacking in play.
Innocence hummed in the air. Simple dreams. Clear hearts.
They had no idea that elsewhere in the kingdom, another boy their age was training not for dreams…
But for survival.
///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
The Kira Family Stronghold
The scent of blood and sweat now hung in the halls that once only echoed with politics and whispers.
Every dawn, I was already awake—barely catching my breath before the next lesson began. The family estate had transformed, with training arenas carved from marble, surrounded by enchanted barriers designed to contain magical overflow.
Lady Valery had wasted no time enacting the elders' command.
"Begin," said Elros, my magic tutor, his voice cold as ever.
A sharp ring filled the air as a blunt arcane rod snapped into my ribs. I gritted my teeth. I no longer flinched.
"Still no reaction," he muttered, disappointment clear in his voice. "Your mana refuses to surface unless triggered by extreme conditions."
Every day he tried something new—mental pressure, pain, even illusion magic. Nothing worked. My aura remained buried, quiet, as if mocking him.
But that day, everything changed.
As we paused for water, the air shifted.
Boots echoed on stone. Heavy, deliberate.
Lord Calmreich—Finesse's father—entered the chamber, dressed in a combat uniform I hadn't seen since my early childhood.
"Enough, Elros," he said firmly. "He won't improve if his body breaks first."
Elros didn't argue. He stepped back with a slight nod. "By all means."
Lord Calmreich approached, tossing a bundle of weighted wristbands and ankle wraps at my feet. "Put these on. You've trained your mana. Now we train your bones."
I did as instructed. Each band was deceptively heavy. My limbs felt like stone.
He nodded. "Your body is too soft. Power without control is dangerous—but power without a body to hold it? Useless."
We began with stances. Then movement. Then punishment.
Pushups until my arms trembled. Sprints until I collapsed. Strikes into reinforced stone until my knuckles bled.
All under his silent, critical eye.
I wasn't sure if he hated me or was trying to save me.
Maybe both.
Every time I stumbled, he offered no pity—only one line:
"Finesse doesn't have your body. If you waste it, then her suffering means nothing."
That was the only thing that kept me going.
From the upper balconies, Lady Valery stood watching the courtyard below where I was training, her gloved fingers curled around a delicate porcelain cup of tea, untouched and going cold.
Below, my body moved on instinct—weighted down, pushed past its limits, shaped into something closer to a weapon with every breath I took.
Behind her, two elders stood cloaked in shadows, their whispers thin as blades.
"He's adapting quickly."
"Too quickly," the second added, arms folded. "We may need to increase surveillance before the main branch sends an envoy."
Valery did not look at them. "Damnatio will come. That much is certain. Once he lays eyes on the boy, the Kira court will stop whispering and start watching."
A faint, cold breeze brushed across the balcony.
That's when he appeared—my father.
Lord Darius stepped into the candlelight like a statue coming to life, his shoulders heavy beneath his embroidered mantle, his eyes shadowed with something unreadable. He did not look down at the training grounds. He looked only at her.
"She died giving birth to him," he said suddenly, voice low, almost to himself. "That boy was born cursed. The family sees it. The kingdom smells it."
Valery didn't turn to face him. Not at first. "And you've repeated that curse often enough to believe it."
He didn't deny it.
"But let's not pretend," she continued, a smile curling onto her painted lips as she finally turned, closing the distance between them. "You didn't love her. That girl? She was a duty. A breeding choice. A vessel."
Darius said nothing, but his jaw tensed.
Valery stepped closer, her voice dropping to a whisper only the fire between them could hear. "You were always mine, Darius. From the beginning."
Her hand brushed the front of his cloak, possessive. "The council can use your son, and the main family can fear him. Let them. But in the end, everything—everyone—returns to me."
She wrapped her arms slowly around him, resting her head on his chest, her voice a purr of steel and silk.
"You belong to me. Just like that boy below."
He didn't push her away.
He didn't embrace her either.
He just stood there—silent, still, like a man who had already lost too much to fight what remained.
Below, I lifted my arms for another strike, unaware of the eyes and schemes circling above.
But far from the politics and secrets, my body learned pain. My lungs burned with every breath. My skin ached. My bones screamed.
And still—I moved.
/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////
The throne room of Clover Castle glittered like a shrine to vanity—every surface polished, every column wrapped in golden ivy, and the throne itself set upon a high dais, more ornamental than regal.
King Augustus Kira Clover XIII lounged across his oversized, jewel-encrusted seat like a cat in the sun. Robes of white and crimson spilled around him in theatrical folds. A court musician played soft harp notes in the background, though the King wasn't listening—he was admiring his reflection in a floating mirror, tilting his head for the best angle.
Below the dais, Damnatio Kira stood tall, composed, draped in black robes that contrasted the light of the hall. His expression, as ever, was unreadable—but the tension in his voice was clear.
"Your Majesty," Damnatio said, hands folded neatly behind his back. "There have been developments concerning the branch family of Kira. A child—Lord Darius's son—awakened a powerful and unidentified magic during an assassination attempt."
The king waved his hand lazily without looking up from his reflection. "Ugh. That brutish side of the family again. Always fussing, always brooding. You're wasting my ears, Cousin."
Damnatio didn't flinch. "There are whispers even from House Veyra. That the child might pose a political risk. His talent—"
"Let me stop you there," Augustus interrupted, finally turning to face him with a bored expression. "The only thing that boy threatens is my patience. Darius was always the darker, gloomier version of me—and now he has a darker, gloomier little monster. So what?"
Damnatio's brow furrowed slightly. "If the Magic Emperor hears of this, or should Julius personally take interest—"
"That's exactly what you should be worrying about!" Augustus sat up suddenly, waving both hands theatrically. "Not some sulking brat with mysterious powers. Julius is the problem. That man pretends to serve the throne but acts like the throne doesn't exist. Every captain follows him before me."
He stood now, descending two steps from the throne, his crown tilting slightly as he jabbed a bejeweled finger in Damnatio's direction.
"You want something to investigate? Go snoop around the Magic Emperor's little pet projects. Golden Dawn, for one—so perfect, so polished. I smell rot under that gold."
"And that foreigner… what's his name? Yuki? Yamato?"
"Yami," Damnatio corrected.
"Yes, him. Disrespectful man. Carries that ridiculous blade around as if this were some wandering samurai tale. Look into him. Stir the waters. And if you find something about Vangeance—real dirt—bring it back."
"Your Majesty," Damnatio said slowly, "provoking the captains could cause instability. We are not certain if Julius—"
"Enough," Augustus cut in, settling back onto the throne with a dramatic sigh. "Julius Novachrono has reigned too long in people's hearts. I reign in fact. Remind them of that."
He twirled his fingers toward a servant. A new mirror floated toward him. "And stop bringing me ghost stories about the cursed child of Darius. If he becomes a threat, we'll pluck him like a weed. Until then, he's just a shadow under my sun."
Damnatio bowed stiffly, his face unreadable.
"As you command, Your Majesty."
He turned and walked the length of the golden carpet, his mind already spinning. The King's whims were dangerous, but so too was ignoring the boy. Damnatio would obey—but he would also prepare.
Just in case that shadow grew teeth.