Awareness came back to Marcus Thorne with the softness of dawn's early light. He was wrapped in an unfamiliar heat, a comfortable warmth that eased the last of the pain lingering in his body. But as his senses awakened, he sensed something deeply changed. The strength of his own weight was all wrong—lighter, gentler, as if fashioned from silk instead of sinew and steel. Panic danced in his chest, but he couldn't scream in his own voice. All he could do was manage a small, unfamiliar cry.
"Shh, my little Isaac," a soft, comforting voice came. It was unlike any voice Marcus had ever heard—soft, knowing, and filled with endless pity. Beyond the unfamiliarity of it, the name "Isaac" resonated deep in his chest, as if it were the only missing piece to a puzzle he never knew he had.
With half-closed eyes, he saw the face of a woman. Her hair was moonlight silver, falling in waves over white shoulders. Her eyes were a bright green, full of warmth and intelligence. She held him close in her arms, gently rocking him. The room around her was filled with soft gold that illuminated the pale stone walls to the color of sunrise. Dainty tapestries showing woods, starry skies, and hunts adorned the walls. The air was filled with the scent of fresh herbs: lavender, basil, and a faint metallic tang—like the antiseptic smell of healing.
"You're safe now," the woman went on, stroking a soft fingertip over his forehead. "Welcome to the world, my son. You are Isaac Veritas, firstborn son of House Veritas."
And with them, a deluge of memories flooded Marcus's mind—memories that weren't his own but seemed as natural as breathing. The Britton Empire stretched out before him in living memory: seven great duchies ruled by Kaiser Von Britton, each family possessing its own special strengths that held the kingdom together in an uneasy but lasting equilibrium. The Veritas House—symbols twining a hunter's bow with a healer's staff—controlled medicine and hunting, responsible for safeguarding the people of the Empire from plague and predator both.
Pictures floated in his mind: hospitals with turreted roofs and marble white halls; libraries packed with books of anatomy and herbology; great hunting grounds where courtiers rode horses through amber woods at dawn. The majesty stood in stark contrast to the cold stones of the Crimson Caverns and the burn of betrayal he had felt before the light engulfed him.
His mother—Duchess Lyanna Veritas—held him over a gleaming table made from oaken trunk, incised with the family crest. She wore robes the shade of sunrise, edged in silver embroidery shimmering like dewdrops. Her voice was firm as she gently inspected a white, soft blanket with silver threads swirling within.
"Your father will be pleased," she whispered, gently rocking Isaac, whose little fists automatically extended toward her hair.
Marcus, now called Isaac, experienced a warmth not only of the body but of belonging. He recalled nothing of his former life, only the new information bursting into his mind: the proper dosage of emetic powders, the minute telltale signs of plague, the correct angle at which to draw a bowstring for a precise kill. The memories centered around the child he now was, and he soothed instinctively, comforted by the familiarity of new purpose.
His nursemaid, a strict woman called Amara, came with a diminutive basin of hot water. She picked Isaac up, her movements practiced and gentle. Isaac sensed her whisper, "Eat, little one." He opened his mouth as a response, and she gave him a drop or two of sweet milk infused with healing herbs. The swallow brought more and more clarity, wiping out the last traces of pain. He sputtered once, then made a soft sigh of satisfaction.
In the following days, Isaac woke into a meticulously planned existence of caring and education. His bed was in a sunny room at the top of Veritas Keep, a fortress constructed in the hillside of a forested mountain overlooking the northeastern provinces. Arched windows resembling prayer halls provided vistas of rolling green meadows where deer nibbled at twilight. At morning, white-robed medical students apprenticed in the castle healers would bring baskets of dried herbs for Isaac to study. During midday, some of the master hunters from the family would take Isaac—and his father—short walks along curving forest trails, teaching the new baby to identify animal sounds and follow tracks.
Isaac's parents, Duke Aldric Veritas and Duchess Lyanna, regarded him and his birth as deeply significant. The Duke was a shouldered man with eyes of steel-gray, a mixture of kindness and iron will. He taught Isaac that life and death were intertwined: that healing was art, but sometimes even healers must become hunters in order to save the innocent. In these courses, Isaac gained the ability to sense the beat of his own heart duplicated in the pulse of the forest, to separate the snap of a twig under the spurring doe from that under the lurking wolf.
Duchess Lyanna, who was a master herbalist, taught Isaac's initial courses in botany. She took him through glass-walled greenhouses, where unusual plants from all over the Empire stood in tidy rows. With her patient prodding, Isaac found that certain flowers responded to his touch—moonflower vine healing sap, calming scent from lavender flowers. In his tentative care, even dead cuttings came back to life. This, his mother explained, was a special gift that only true Veritas heirs shared: the ability to cause living things to thrive.
As Isaac learned, so too did the world around him become aware. Courtiers and scholars from other houses came frequently. One afternoon, a group of Azure house representatives brought a silver chalice filled with water from a holy spring far up in the Azure mountains. The Azure family mage, Lady Seraphina Azure, knelt before Isaac and enacted a levitation spell, making the chalice float before her. Then—in a display of courtesy and curiosity—she sent the chalice past Isaac's lips. As the slightest touch of water on his lips, the chalice radiated arcane light. The air vibrated, and Lady Seraphina's purple eyes went wide. "Amazing," she breathed. "A child blessed by healing and magic."
Isaac's heart pounded in his chest. There was a flash of comprehension: the power of the world runs like a river beneath the surface, and he had somehow been immersed in both its healing currents and its arcane tides.
The weeks became months, and Isaac's abilities increased. At three months of age, he knew illness in domestic staff before they developed symptoms, warning healers to treat fever and infection. His laughter brought flowers into bloom in the northern gardens. At six months, in his father's instruction, he held the bow properly, releasing it to hit a practice target covered in cloth—a feat that impressed the castle hunters.
But despite these successes, Isaac perceived underlying tensions. The seven houses met frequently in the Imperial City, but their envoys came to ducal courts as well. At state dinners and formal receptions within Veritas Keep, Isaac saw the subtle postures and veiled stares traded between visiting nobles. House Vermillion knights, with their red armor, spoke deferentially of honor and loyalty, but when speaking of military skill, their eyes hardened. House Belmont emissaries, attired in white and green, expressed warmly of charity and refuge—though Isaac perceived their rich deep pool of unexpressed compassion for those who lay ignored by power. Rubrum's hulking heir practiced by day in the courtyard, while the contemplative priests of Quo Vadis met in secluded alcoves, their soft-chanted prayers echoing like distant thunder. Most of all, Duke Serpentius Draco's visits sent a creepy shiver—his lanky, gaunt figure clad in black robes, amber eyes sparkling with secret intent.
Isaac's infantile intuition caught all these subtleties. Although he was still an infant, his brain charted rivalries and alliances like stars in the nighttime sky. Even at this tender age, he recognized this world existed on the edge of a knife—a miscalculation could send it careening into chaos.
On a dusky evening, Isaac sat in his father's study—a large room booklined floor to ceiling with leather volumes. Gentle lamplight danced over maps of lands, treaties, and battlefields. Duke Aldric lounged at his desk, stroking gemstones which were scattered on the surface like thoughts.
"My son," Aldric spoke softly, inviting Isaac into his arms. "The journey you tread is filled with danger as well as possibility. You will mature to bear burdens that few can dream of at your young age. But never forget: power is not merely the sword at your side or the medicine you mix. Real power is the option to safeguard life, to mend wounds, and to uphold justice when shadows loom."
He took a tiny pendant from the table and tied it around Isaac's neck—a silver symbol of bow and staff intertwined, glimmering with emerald accents. "This is the Heart of Veritas," Aldric went on. "It will direct you, remind you of your responsibility, and enhance your talents. Wear it always."
Isaac touched the pendant, and his small fingers felt warmth creep into them. The instant was locked in memory—the first intentional choice he comprehended: that he would uphold his family's creed.
Night grew darker, and Isaac fell into visions full of prophecy. He dreamed that seven children—each of them a child—formed a circle at the peak of a hill beneath a blood-red moon. Their banners fluttered in spectral wind: Vermillion, Veritas, Belmont, Azure, Quo Vadis, Rubrum, Draco. At the center of the circle was a crown of thorns and flowers, softly aglow. The whisper of his mother spoke: "Trust in your friends. Be wary of the snake's deceit."
When the pale light of dawn crept into his room, Isaac woke with a jolt, small fists contracted as if holding onto threads of destiny. The vision clung to his body like dew: a portent, a warning.
In the following weeks, Isaac experimented with the limits of his abilities. He worked on healing injured birds in the courtyard under Amara's watchful eye, his soft hands bathing shattered wings. He studied the form of poison from lessons at House Draco—hidden poisons that attracted shadows into the body—and the techniques for neutralizing them with ancient remedies. He heard the incantations of the Quo Vadis priests, learning the rhythm of their rituals without attending to their mysterious faith. Most exciting of all were his lessons with Lady Seraphina Azure, who initiated him into the fundamentals of spellcasting: directing arcane power through will, condensing it into minute sparks, and braiding them into simple illusions.
Every triumph elicited both praise and watchfulness from onlookers. Whispers were whispered in quiet corridors: "The child heir who possesses the talents of each home." "A blessing or a curse?" "He might form the Empire… or break it."
Isaac could sense the heaviness of their stares. In the children's garden, he saw butterflies flutter about nettles and roses with the same indifference, as if they were teaching him that loveliness could grow surrounded by peril. He observed the balance of life at its smallest level—the aphid's existence, the hummingbird's breath—and he learned the tenuous connections holding everything together.
When Isaac was one year old, he was a child no more but a symbol. All seven of Veritas Keep's houses were present at the birthday feast. Lanterns danced on the vaulted ceiling of the grand hall, music swelled from lutes and flutes, and the scent of spiced venison and sweet pastry filled the air. Isaac sat on a plush pillow at the head table between his mother and father, wearing miniature ceremonial robes with silver embroidery.
Duke Gareth Vermillion handed Isaac a small sword—a symbol of duty and honor. "May you use it with valor," he stated, voice resonating with the passion of knighthood.
Lady Helena Belmont presented a pale green-dyed silken scarf—a symbol of mercy. "Let your heart be open to all who find refuge," she explained, her soft smile warming Isaac's soul.
Duke Lysander Azure presented a bound tome of arcane runes. "May your mind discover the secrets of magic," he recited solemnly.
Duke Thane Rubrum held Isaac's tiny hand in his own calloused fist, presenting him with a carved wooden bear. "May your strength guard the weak," he growled.
Priests of Quo Vadis pressed a carved talisman into Isaac's hand. "May the gods direct your path," they intoned unison, voices echoing like far-off thunder.
And lastly, Duke Serpentius Draco offered a precious vial of red rose petals, together with a tiny, exquisite box. "May you grasp the double aspect of life and death," he breathed softly, amber eyes flashing with enigmatic purpose.
With every gift presented, the mood of the hall changed—an interplay of trust and competition and unspoken calculation. Isaac experienced the precarious balance firsthand: honor and compassion, magic and power, faith and guile—all building to a tipping point. The room sighed as Isaac's parents stood to finish the ceremony.
My son," said Duchess Lyanna, voice heavy with love and gravitas, "today you are the living version of Veritas. But do not forget: you are also the child of the Empire. Your talents bond our families; your decisions will decide our destiny. Use your power wisely.
With that, the crowd had burst into applause, and Isaac felt an intense joy blaze through him—a vow to keep in mind every lesson he had gained. But in the depths of his heart, the recollection of that crimson-colored moon and the spoken warning niggled at his conscience.