The days turned into weeks. Weeks bled into years.
And the boy who was born amidst storms and assassins grew beneath the shadow of the Bloodcrest throne.
But believe it or not… he still remembered that day.
The day death came for him.
He remembered the assassins.
He remembered the smell.
The crimson stains that painted the walls.
The heat that pressed against his skin as the air itself cracked.
And above all—his mother's calm smile, as if nothing had happened.
Kaito had seen death at only three days old.
And instead of fear… something else had taken root.
Blood.
He felt drawn to it.
The sight of it.
The heat it carried.
The silence it left behind.
It was as if something buried deep inside him wanted more.
To see it again.
To feel it again.
And as the seasons turned, the fascination never left.
When servants cut their fingers on broken glass, Kaito's eyes lingered longer than a child's should.
When birds struck the palace walls and fell broken to the courtyard, he was the first to kneel beside them—watching, not with pity, but with silent wonder.
Even in the nursery, while the others cried or played, Kaito sat still. Quiet. Watching. Remembering.
Whispers grew among the handmaidens.
"He's a strange boy."
Some gave nicknames like
"The quiet prince."
Some even said he had the devil's gaze.
Aria never let the words stand. She stood between him and their venom, always protecting his little brother.
"I dare you to say another word, and I'll show you what a devil really looks like."
Selena scolded him gently, warning him not to stare so coldly, not to smile when he saw wounds. But each time, when she looked into his golden eyes, she saw something that both terrified and reassured her: a focus too deep for a child.
Reyzen? He paid it no mind. To him, obsession was weakness. "A Bloodcrest must master himself, not be mastered by impulse." Those were his only words on the matter before walking away.
But the seed had already been sown.
And so the years passed. Seven of them.
Enough to blur faces, enough to bury some memories.
But not that one.
"Seven years was enough to witness massacres… and even take part in them. Yet lessons went on, as if blood and study were one inheritance."
"Like the others, Kaito learned. But unlike them, he never forgot."
They were taught about mana from an instructor named Havel.
And one day the courtyard was alive with voices that morning. The younger Bloodcrest heirs sat in a semicircle, backs straight, eyes forward. Even at their age, none dared slouch beneath the crest banner.
"Mana," said Instructor Havel, his voice carrying like the crack of a whip, "is the lifeblood of this world. Only one in five ever feel it. The rest" he sneered, "remain ordinary until death claims them."
A hush settled. The children shifted in their seats.
Havel's eyes swept over them, lingering longest on the eldest.
"There are three methods passed down to the Bloodcrest children. Each carries its own burden. Once chosen, it cannot be undone."
He raised one bony finger.
"The Attract Method. You become a beacon, pulling mana through every pore of your body. The strongest method… if you do not break before it bears fruit."
Darius's lips curved faintly, pride leaking through. "That's the method of kings."
Kael nodded in agreement.
Havel ignored them, lifting his second finger.
"The Inhale Method. You draw mana with every breath. Slower to master, but steady. Less risk, but lesser glory."
"I chose it," Darius announced, voice sharp with certainty. "At nine, I sensed mana before most children ever dreamed of it. To breathe mana as easily as air—that is strength."
"Until Aria shattered your record," Seren chimed, her tone syrup-sweet. The golden-haired girl lounged back, her smile too bright for a lesson. "Seven years old, wasn't she? Imagine carrying the Bloodcrest name, only to be overshadowed by your sister."
Darius stiffened, but said nothing.
Havel coughed once—sharp, warning—and raised his last finger.
"The Replenish Method. Mana is drawn through food. It is simple, reliable, but flawed. Should hunger claim you, so too will weakness. It is a method for the desperate."
Seren only laughed. "Desperate? Please. I awakened faster than half the noble brats in the capital. Besides—" she leaned back, hair catching the sunlight, "I don't see anyone complaining about the results."
Kael muttered, "Results? More like your stomach…"
Seren smirked,"Oh, really? Don't forget what they call me—the beauty of Bloodcrest. Miss Sunflower."
The laughter that followed was quickly cut short by Havel's glare. "Silence."
For a moment, the courtyard held only the rustle of banners.
One name kept circling back into every whispered boast and taunt. Aria. The prodigy. The storm-born star of their generation.
And through it all, at the far end of the semicircle, a black-haired boy sat silent.
Kaito listened. He watched. He remembered.
The words Attract, Inhale, Replenish echoed in his mind, but none of them stirred him. Not the way blood had. He remembered the night of steel, the crimson spray across marble floors, his mother's smile painted in death's shadow.
"The others dreamed of mana. He dreamed of blood."
Mana was life. That was what Havel said.
But to Kaito, the heat in his chest whispered something else entirely.
"If mana is life… then blood is truth. And I'll carve mine from theirs."