A quiet evening settled over Bloodgrace Manor, painting the tall gothic windows in shades of indigo and purple. Violette's nursery smelled of milk, the warm wood of her crib, and… calm. My calm. I sat on the edge of her cot, an old book of fairy tales (a gift from Sigata for my last name day) open on my lap. Violette was only a year old, but her huge, dark eyes, like ripe plums, watched me with fathomless attention, catching every sound.
— "...And then the Snow Queen took the boy Kay far, far away to her ice palace," I read, trying to infuse my voice with mystery. My fingers tightened on the page by themselves. Kay. It sounded almost like my... old name. Like an echo from another hell. But here, now, for Violette, he was just a fairy tale hero. — "His heart froze, and he forgot about home, about his grandmother… and about Gerda."
Violette cooed, reaching a chubby hand towards the book. I lifted it higher, smiling.
— No-no, you'll tear it. Gerda will save him. She will. Because she loved him. — I caught her little palm, gently squeezing it. Her fingers immediately curled around my finger. The same trusting grip as on her birthday. I won't let them freeze you, I thought, looking into her bottomless eyes. Not the Snow Queen, not anyone.
Finishing the chapter about the reindeer and the northern lights (Violette was already nodding off by then), I carefully closed the book. I bent down and kissed her warm, milk-scented forehead. She sighed in her sleep, smiling at something only she could see. Peace.
I stepped out into the corridor, closing the door softly. The manor's silence, broken only by the crackling of torches in iron sconces, usually soothed me. But today… Today something was wrong. I'd barely taken a couple of steps towards my room when pain flared in my chest.
Not just discomfort. A dull, oppressive heaviness, as if a red-hot stone had been placed on my heart. I stopped, leaning against the cool stone wall. Inhale… exhale… The pain didn't fade. On the contrary, it began to pulse. And with the pulsing came… a sensation.
As if something new was flowing through my veins instead of blood. Warm, alive, sparkling. Like luminous sand or millions of tiny stars mixed with plasma. It was strange, unfamiliar, but… powerful. The flow of this inner energy surged along with the pain, filling every cell. I felt it throbbing in my temples, drumming in my fingertips, pulsing in my chest in time with my racing heartbeat. Mana? — the guess flashed through the mounting wave of heat and pressure. It's come? So this is how it feels…
My vision darkened. A ringing in my ears drowned out the corridor's silence. The stone in my chest glowed red-hot. I tried to take a step – my legs wouldn't obey. The wall slid away from under my palm. The floor rushed up…
I opened my eyes. The familiar ceiling of my room. The dim light of an oil lamp on the table. And a cool, damp cloth on my forehead. Nurse, her face as wrinkled as an old map, was bent over me, her expression worried.
— Awake, young master? — Her voice, usually so brisk, was quiet now. — You collapsed in the hall. Like a felled tree. I brought you here. How do you feel?
I tried to sit up. My head buzzed like a beehive, but that hellish pain in my chest had subsided, replaced by a strange, pleasant fatigue. And… the sensation. It was still there. That flow of starry sand in my veins. Warm, alive, obedient. I clenched my fist – the energy responded with a faint tingling. Mana. Definitely mana.
— I… — my voice was hoarse. — I'm fine, Nurse. Just… dizzy.
The door opened without a knock. Rast stood in the doorway. He wore a training tunic, smelled of the evening chill and… impatience. His grey eyes, sharp as scanners, instantly took me in, Nurse, the cloth on my forehead.
— The time has come, — he stated, wasting no words on greetings. His voice vibrated with restrained tension. — Mana has awakened. I felt the wave from my study. — He stepped closer, his gaze lingering on my face. — The pain was intense. Very. It's surprising you didn't scream. Most howl like stuck pigs.
I shrugged, looking away. Scream? In my past life, I learned to swallow screams before I learned words. When mother hit me, when I was bullied at school, when the last scraps were taken in the orphanage… Pain was background noise. Screaming was useless. Only made it worse. "Endure it, Kai, endure it, no one will help" – that was my motto. I just… endured. As always.
— It was bearable, — I muttered.
Something unreadable flickered across Rast's face. Respect? Bewilderment?
— Bearable? — he snorted. — Strong spirit. I'm proud of you, son.
"Proud."
The word hit me harder than any mana surge. A simple word. Quietly spoken. But it pierced my very core, that frozen part where Malekai lived. Proud of me? No one… Ever… Had been proud of me for anything. Not for my pitiful attempts to study (though I really tried, my brain just wouldn't work), not for enduring taunts silently (teachers didn't care as long as I was quiet), not for simply… surviving. I'd been a non-entity. A person unworthy of praise. And here… my father. A mighty blood mage. Says: "Proud." Because I didn't scream from pain. Because I endured. Something inside me quivered, clenched into a knot, threatening to burst with something warm and awkward. I lowered my eyes, fighting sudden moisture in them. Just nodded.
— Now, — Rast's voice brought me back to reality, business-like again, but with sparks of enthusiasm burning in his eyes. — The courtyard. Immediately. Feeling it isn't enough. You must learn to direct it. Cast your first spell.
— But… I haven't eaten yet, — I tried to object, feeling the weakness in my legs.
— Eat later! — Rast cut me off, already turning towards the door. His impatience was almost tangible. — Catching the first impulse is more important now, while the mana is fresh and strong! Come, Krat!
The night air in the courtyard was crisp and clear. The moon, cold and silvery, illuminated the stone flags. Rast stood facing me, his figure even more imposing in the moonlight.
— Magic, son, — he began, his voice sounding like a lecture for the initiated. — Is not just fire and water. It's the breath of the world. The foundation of everything. It can be tied to elements – fire, water, earth, air. But sometimes… it's different. Non-elemental. Force of will. Illusions. Life… and death. — He paused, his gaze growing heavier. — And blood. Our power. Our pride. But blood is far ahead for you. First, the foundation. First – feel the flow and give it form.
He told me to close my eyes. Focus. Not on thoughts, but on the sensation. On that warm, sparkling flow running through my veins. To visualize it. See it with my inner eye.
— Feel it? — his voice sounded muffled, as if through cotton wool. — That's it. Your life. Your power. It flows from the heart, spreads through the vessels, nourishes every cell. Gather it. Not all of it, a drop. Into your palm. Imagine it gathering there. A warm ball of light. And now… release it. Let it out. Speak the incantation – any, the simplest. 'Spark'. 'Droplet'. Anything. The impulse, the intention, is what matters.
I concentrated. Deeply. Very deeply. I felt that flow. It was… beautiful. Alive, obedient, mine. I visualized it, rushing towards my right palm. Gathering into a warm, pulsing ball of light. "Sphere," I thought, forgetting about "spark" or "droplet". Just a sphere. A glowing sphere.
I didn't speak the incantation aloud. I simply… willed it. Poured all my wonder, all my delight at this new power inside, into that imagined sphere. And I felt the mana surge into my palm, obedient and powerful. Warmth turned to heat, then almost to a burn. I opened my eyes in surprise.
Hovering before me, at chest height, was a huge sphere of water. Pure, transparent, shimmering in the moonlight. It was the size of my head! Much larger than the one Rast had created before my infant eyes!
— AAAH! — I cried out in surprise and fright. The sphere jerked and burst with a loud POP!. An icy wave crashed over me and Rast, drenching us from head to toe.
I stood there, wet and shivering, expecting anger. But none came. Rast wiped his face with his tunic sleeve, but his eyes… his eyes burned with incredible, wild elation. He looked at me not as a son, but as a… phenomenon.
— Without… an incantation… — he whispered, his voice catching. — You didn't utter a word! You just… created it with thought and will! — He stepped towards me, grabbing my shoulders. His fingers dug into the wet fabric. — Krat! That's… that's the rarest gift! Extremely rare! Even among Bloodgraces, not everyone has it! You… — He fell silent, seemingly unable to find words, just shaking me slightly in his excitement. His pride was a fireball eclipsing the moon.
I didn't have time to say anything. A soft light at the courtyard entrance caught our gaze. Sigata stood there. She held Violette, wrapped in a warm blanket. The baby, probably awakened by the pop, was watching us with wide eyes. Seeing my wet, bewildered face and Rast's elation, Sigata broke into the warmest, most carefree smile I had ever seen on her. And Violette… Violette let out a quiet, bell-like giggle, pointing a tiny finger in our direction.
Rast laughed in response, a deep, resonant laugh I'd never heard from him before. He released my shoulders and waved a hand towards Sigata and Violette. We walked towards them across the wet stones. The moon lit our path. I felt water dripping down my neck, but inside I burned. Warmth from the mana, warmth from Sigata's gaze, from Violette's laugh, from Rast's eyes shining with pride. This warmth spread through my chest, displacing the old cold, filling me to the brim.
— I'm happy, — I said aloud, without thinking. Just a statement of fact, bursting from the depths. — Right now. At this moment.
Sigata gasped softly, her smile turning slightly embarrassed but not fading. Rast stopped, looked at me. His elation dimmed a little, replaced by something deeper, more… human. He placed his heavy, still damp hand on my head.
— And I, son, — he said quietly, but very distinctly. His gaze slid to Sigata, to the giggling Violette. — I am happy too. I have… you all...
We stood like that, wet, under the cold moon – the blood mage, his wife, his daughter, and me, his unusual son, who had just felt the power and warmth of this world for the first time. And in that moment, that single, fragile moment, Rast's words didn't seem like just a phrase. They seemed like truth. The purest truth. I believed it. I allowed myself to believe.