The candlelight flickered gently inside the stone-walled room, casting long shadows over ancient tomes and aged scrolls. The soft crackle of the wax melting into the copper holder was the only sound, save for the gentle scribble of a quill. Seated at the oak desk was Kael Vahn, a boy of thirteen, handsome yet worn far beyond his years. His raven-black hair framed thoughtful silver eyes as he pored over a tome, its pages filled with sigils, circles, and faded annotations — remnants of a world that now mocked his existence.
The Book of Crest Theory — once his favorite — now lay open like a cruel joke.
A soft knock came at the door.
"Young Master Kael," a quiet voice called, its gentleness breaking the heavy silence. "It is time for supper."
Kael blinked, his eyes adjusting as he looked up from the candle's warm light. Lyra, a young maid with chestnut hair and soft eyes, stood outside, her hands folded before her. She offered a polite smile, masking the pity she no doubt carried.
"Thank you, Lyra. I'll come."
He closed the book slowly, his fingers brushing the faded ink of the page one last time.
The halls of House Vahn were cold tonight. Not from weather, but from something deeper. The once-vibrant red carpets, the golden torches, the grand paintings of past warriors and high mages — all of it seemed distant now, like fragments of a dream he was no longer part of.
Kael walked silently beside Lyra. Neither spoke.
They passed the crest-banner of House Vahn: a crimson dragon devouring a golden sun — the emblem of domination and brilliance. And yet tonight, even the dragon felt asleep.
The dining chamber was grand, its long obsidian table lit by tall silver candle stands. Flames danced against the high-vaulted ceilings, casting an eerie glow. At the center of the table sat Lord Ardyn Vahn, Kael's father, draped in noble black and gold robes. He was tall, severe, with iron-gray hair and cold, unreadable eyes.
To his right sat Kael's elder sister, Selene Vahn, graceful and poised, sipping quietly from a silver goblet. Next to her, Elias Vahn, the first brother — stoic, sharp-eyed, his spine stiff with arrogance.
Then there was Damon Vahn, the second brother — silent, muscular, his eyes like frost as Kael entered. And finally, slouching with a mischievous grin, was Tristan Vahn, the youngest of the trio — a brat of eleven with tousled brown hair and a nose perpetually scrunched in disgust, like he smelled something rotten.
Kael stepped into the room. No one looked at him.
He took his usual place at the end of the bench.
Tristan smirked.
"Ah, the Broken Crest has arrived," he sneered. "I thought dogs were fed scraps outside, not given seats at a noble's table."
Kael said nothing.
"Maybe we should get you a collar," Tristan continued, chuckling. "Would suit you better than a robe. After all, you've already dragged our name through the mud."
Kael kept his head down. The scent of roasted pheasant, fine wine, and herbs filled the hall — but to him, it all tasted of ash.
Damon's eyes flicked to Kael with thinly veiled disdain. "Don't waste breath, Tristan," he said coldly. "He's not worth it. Soon he'll be demoted at the coming age of ceremony. Fourteen and Crestless. He won't even be counted as kin."
Kael's heart clenched.
Selene said nothing. Elias sipped his wine. And Lord Ardyn Vahn, his father, didn't even glance in his direction.
Kael stared at the empty plate before him.
"I was once the apple of his eye…" he thought bitterly. "Even as a concubine's son, he favored me — called me a prodigy, chose me for the Mage Academy at ten…"
"Was that all I ever was to him? A tool? Did he only care because I had talent?"
He looked at his father.
Still nothing. Not a word. Not a glance.
A single tear slid down Kael's cheek.
His mind drifted, unbidden, to that day — a month ago.
The grand stage at the House of Trials, bathed in sunlight. Cheers. Trumpets. Nobles from all houses gathered. Kael had stood proud, summoned by name to spar against a rising star of the Asterian House.
He remembered their smirks. The arrogance. The whispered warnings.
It was supposed to be a formal duel — Crest against Crest.
But in the final clash, the Asterian boy unleashed a devastating Art that shouldn't have been allowed — a move that ruptured Kael's Crest from the inside. The sigil that once glowed with fire and brilliance snapped like glass. Pain, white-hot, stole his breath. He collapsed before hundreds.
They said it was an accident. The Asterians apologized publicly.
The referee said it was within acceptable error.
But the truth was clear: his Crest was broken. Irreparable.
The Mage Academy rescinded his admission. He was to enter it at the age of 14 after his coming age of ceremony. Whispers followed. Mockery grew.
Even the commoners — most of whom had their own sects, even if weak — began looking down on him. What was a noble child without a Crest? Nothing. A cripple. A degenerate.
He remembered the looks: pity. Disgust. Scorn.
And for weeks, he had wandered the estate's gardens and ruins, half in a daze. Once or twice, he'd even thought of ending it — jumping from the cliff behind the old library.
But then he heard her voice again.
His mother's voice.
"Kael you need not acquire glory to live, if you are happy and follow your heart I am content. A simple life can be the most beautiful one."
She had said that on her deathbed. When he was five.
And so he lived.
And so he sat — one more supper, one more cold stare, one more bite of silence.
He gripped his lap under the table.
"I will be farmer in some countryside so what? I will live happily. At least at the end I saw their true faces, I thought that they loved me. It was all fake, I should have known they were all children of the mistress, while I was the son of a concubine, they just pretended for my talent, even my father."
For a brief moment, just a flicker, he met Ardyn Vahn's gaze.
It passed. But something in Kael's heart burned...