Ashborn Estate – Veyra Empire
In the House of Ashborn, strength defined value, not lineage or legacy, only advancement. Titles, lands, and loyalties followed realm rank, one step behind the strongest, one breath ahead of the weakest.
As Kalel quietly drifted through the South Wing, the estate pulsed with cultivation. The training yard rang with exertion, steel clashing with reinforced plates, mana-infused grunts echoing through the cold morning air. His siblings were in session, as always.
From a second-floor alcove, Kalel watched them move.
Cassandra Ashborn, age 26, was ruthless and coiled like lightning before a strike. Her affinity with the Star of Lightning was potent and controlled. She had risen to the Ardent realm by grinding herself into focus, pushing past most prodigies. She led the drills with a commanding presence, but her gaze passed over Kalel like smoke over glass.
Rowen Ashborn, age 21, was the only one who smiled while striking. His affinity with Earth made him a bulwark, but his speed was his surprise. At Apexian, he had surpassed Cassandra in stage, but not in mind. His control was explosive, but undisciplined. Still, their father favored him now.
When Rowen noticed Kalel observing, he raised an eyebrow, mouthed something crude, and struck with unnecessary force, cracking the ground. A show of power.
Kalel remained unmoved.
Lyra Ashborn, a 17-year-old Warrior, practiced energy shaping under a tutor. Her Star of Light glowed subtly, forming halos that rotated with precision. She spoke only when spoken to, always poised and composed. She never glanced at Kalel.
Sylen Ashborn, a 13-year-old Adept, was the only one interested in observation. He mimicked techniques slowly, deliberately, his fluid water-affinity hesitant. At Adept, he progressed as expected, but the tutors pushed him harder. He noticed Kalel and gave a faint nod.
Valeria Ashborn, an 8-year-old Novice, had the sharpest eyes. Her Shadow affinity made her more elusive than her siblings. At Novice, her steps were silent, her presence shifting like black smoke. She caught Kalel's gaze and held it, then smiled, neither kind nor cruel, before disappearing.
Kalel stepped back from the alcove window, breath slow, heart quiet. No envy or bitterness surged in him, but clarity did. The house labeled him a Non-Affine, a Non-Star, a Non-Domain, a Non-Threat. He had no instructor, no sparring partner, no guardian. Even the maids who passed his hall walked faster when they sensed him near, as if his presence could stain their potential. In truth, he preferred it this way. The silence allowed him to study, feel, and think.
Back in his quarters, Kalel retrieved a worn linen strip from under his bed. He'd hidden it months ago, after overhearing guards laugh about the "white void child." On it, he'd sketched every known rune on the Stellaris Path, including the twenty recognized star glyphs.
Ten elemental, ten conceptual, and in the middle, an unmarked circle his circle, his color. No one taught it to him, but it felt true.
"They say I have no path," he whispered, placing the cloth on his desk. "But I think they only built roads for one kind of traveler."
⸻
A Final Glimpse of the Estate
Outside, snowflakes brushed the glass slowly.
In the courtyard, Cassandra shouted instructions, Rowen struck a dummy, Sylen bowed, Lyra walked away silently, and Valeria traced frost when no one watched.
Kalel watched it all.
Behind his eyes, a pulse throbbed present, like something far away noticing him.
Just once.
Continuation
Most people speak to fill silence, but Rowan speaks to dominate it.
I heard his footsteps before he turned the corner sharp, confident, and heavy enough to make the guards straighten their backs. He wasn't alone; two of his escorts trailed behind, suggesting deference but not forgetting their purpose.
I kept walking.
The South Wing wasn't off-limits to my siblings; it was irrelevant. They rarely came this far from the training yard unless they retrieved something or someone they'd forgotten.
Apparently, today that was me.
"Still breathing, little blank?" Rowen's voice echoed off the narrow stone corridor.
I didn't stop. He liked it when you stopped.
"You asked a question," he said again, louder.
"You made a statement," I replied, eyes forward. "Incorrectly."
His footsteps slowed. I heard one of the guards shift uncomfortably. I counted it in my head.
Three…
Two…
"You've got a tongue after all," he muttered, stepping beside me. "Maybe you can explain how someone with Ashborn blood ends up starless. I think mother's still praying it was a clerical error."
"If it helps her sleep," I said, "she's welcome to keep praying."
He stopped walking. I took two more steps before I paused, just beyond the arch that led to the old archives hallway.
Rowen stood behind me, quiet.
"You think this is a game, Kalel?"
"No," I turned to face him. "But you're not the board."
His jaw shifted, barely. I caught it—that slow clenching he did when his usual dominance was met with indifference instead of fear.
"You're just the older brother playing war with wooden swords," I continued, voice level. "And I'm the shadow no one taught you to see."
He stepped forward, his trained hand catching my collar and lifting me an inch off the ground.
I didn't fight it.
Rowen's steady breath hummed with dense, earthy energy beneath his skin He could've shattered my ribs.
Instead, he held me suspended.
"Say that again."
I looked him in the eyes.
"You heard me the first time."
For a moment, I thought he'd drive me into the wall, but Rowen never struck unless he could control the aftermath. Bruising me now would require answering questions later.
So he dropped me.
I landed silently, adjusting my collar.
"One day," he said, voice low, "father will order you to kneel before the House again. Then you'll wish your core had stayed empty."
"It didn't," I said, turning away.
"What?"
I kept walking.
"Nothing."
I didn't lie.
It wasn't empty.
Something inside me quiet, patient, awake like the tension before a storm or the earth's hum before it splits.
I hadn't summoned it, but it noticed me.
When it spoke again because it would I'd listen.
That night, I sat in the dark.
Not because the lights had failed.
But because I preferred to see the world without interference.
The cold pressed lightly against the windows. My room silent. My mind sharper than ever. I thought of Rowen's face. The pressure in his grip. The precision of his control. His strength wasn't the threat.
It was his conviction.
He believed the world had already chosen its champions.
He believed the game was set, the pieces arranged, and that I beneath them all wasn't even on the board.
Good.
Let him believe it.
Let all of them.
I had no desire to play their game.
Because I wasn't a piece.
I was the hand that would one day overturn the table.