Sigh.
It was literally the only thing I could do as I made my way through the portal, returning home with a single bronze coin clutched in my dirt-stained palm.
The clearer and brighter a mage's core, the stronger their foundation. The higher their potential. That's what the scholars said. What the priests preached. What every parent whispered to their children as bedtime prayers: "May the gods bless you with a core of crystalline light."
And me?
I had no core. No bloodline. Nothing.
Just a hollow space where power should live.
And don't even get me started on the swordsmen—the Aura users who strutted through the village like they'd discovered some divine secret. They were just mages with blades, really. Converting a mana core into an Aura nervous system was supposed to be this grand transformation, this painful rebirth that turned your very essence into a weapon.
But it still required a core.
Any core. Even a weak one.
Which I didn't have.
As far as I knew, I was human. Fully, boringly, disappointingly human. And without a core, without an Aura system, I was just... useless.
Not that I cared about being strong.
I didn't dream of power. Didn't fantasize about breaking through Circles or ascending to some mythic rank. I just wanted a peaceful life. Mother making her alchemical tinctures. Elana teasing me over breakfast. The three of us surviving together in our little decaying house.
Was that so much to ask?
In our village, it was more than possible. Looked down upon, sure. Pitied, absolutely. But reasonable. Realistic, at minimum.
Still, I couldn't stop the thoughts from circling as I walked through Carvale's evening streets. Everyone had goals, right? Dreams? Even if mine was just to stay invisible and unbroken.
Maybe especially then.
"WATCH WHERE YOU'RE GOING!"
The shout came a split second before I collided with something solid.
I stumbled backward, blinking in surprise. A man stood before me—tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in fine dark leather with a silver-trimmed cloak. His face was all hard angles and aristocratic disdain, the kind of expression that said he'd never known want in his entire life.
A noble.
Shit.
"Sorry, sir!" I blurted, bowing my head immediately. "I was just dazed for a moment, I didn't mean—"
'Tck.'
The sound was sharp, dismissive. The man's hand moved to his belt, where a ceremonial blade hung—not for battle, but for statement. His fingers drummed against the pommel, and I felt my stomach drop.
This was bad.
Nobles didn't need reasons to punish commoners. Especially not powerless ones who stumbled into them like blind fools.
But before he could speak, another voice cut through the tension.
"Now, now. Surely a simple misstep doesn't warrant such hostility, Lord Crayven."
The voice was smooth. Cultured. Feminine.
And it stopped Lord Crayven cold.
I looked up.
A woman stood beside us, appearing so suddenly I hadn't even heard her approach. She was stunning—not in the warm, simple way my mother was beautiful, but in a way that felt dangerous. Otherworldly. She wore an elegant gown of deep crimson and black, the fabric shimmering faintly in the dying sunlight. Her pale skin seemed almost luminous, and her dark hair was pinned in an elaborate style that must have taken hours.
But it was her eyes that made my breath catch.
Silver. Not grey like mine, but true silver, like polished mirrors reflecting something I couldn't see.
She held a delicate fan, waving it lazily as she regarded Lord Crayven with an expression of mild amusement.
"Lady Valcairn," Crayven said immediately, and the arrogance drained from his voice like water from a cracked cup. He bowed—not deeply, but enough to show deference. "My apologies for the disturbance."
Lady?
My eyebrows shot up before I could stop them.
Titles in Oldara weren't just formalities. They were sacred. Earned through bloodline, wealth, or service to the crown. Calling someone "Lord" or "Lady" without cause was an insult punishable by flogging.
Which meant this woman was legitimate nobility.
And Lord Crayven—arrogant, cruel Lord Crayven—was treating her like she outranked him.
Lady Valcairn smiled, the expression not quite reaching her eyes. "No apology necessary, Lord Crayven. Though I do wonder..." She tilted her head, her gaze sliding to me. "...why a man of your stature concerns himself with a child's clumsiness."
"The boy should know his place," Crayven muttered, but the fire had gone out of his voice.
"Perhaps." Lady Valcairn's smile widened just a fraction. "Or perhaps you should watch where you walk."
The air between them grew cold.
Crayven's jaw tightened, but he said nothing. After a long, tense moment, he inclined his head stiffly and turned, striding away without another word.
I stood frozen, barely breathing, my heart hammering in my chest.
Lady Valcairn watched him go, her expression unreadable. Then, slowly, she turned her attention back to me.
"You're unharmed, I trust?"
I nodded quickly. "Yes, my lady. Thank you. I—I'm sorry for the trouble."
"Trouble?" She laughed softly, a sound like wind chimes made of bone. "Oh, darling, you were hardly trouble. Lord Crayven is simply... sensitive about his importance. It makes him tedious."
She stepped closer, and I caught her scent—something floral and sweet, but underneath it, something metallic. Copper, maybe.
Blood.
No. That was ridiculous. I was imagining things.
"What's your name, child?" she asked.
"Nefarion," I said quietly. "Nefarion Daemarch."
"Daemarch." She repeated the name slowly, as if tasting it. "Unusual. And you live here? In Carvale?"
"Yes, my lady. With my mother and sister."
"A family man, then." Her silver eyes studied me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. "How... refreshing."
I didn't know what to say to that, so I just nodded again.
Lady Valcairn circled me once, her fan fluttering idly. I felt like prey being examined by a predator, but I didn't dare move.
"You have an interesting quality about you, Nefarion Daemarch," she said finally. "Something... peculiar. I can't quite place it."
My throat went dry. "I—I'm nobody, my lady. Just a worker. I don't even have a mana core."
"No core?" Her eyebrows rose in what looked like genuine surprise. "How tragic. And yet..." She leaned in slightly, close enough that I could see the faint tracery of veins beneath her pale skin. "...you carry yourself with more resolve than most mages I've encountered. Curious."
I didn't know what to say. Didn't know what she wanted me to say.
After a moment, she straightened, snapping her fan shut with a decisive click.
"Well, Nefarion. I suspect we'll meet again. This world is smaller than it seems, especially for those who catch my interest." She smiled, showing perfect white teeth. "Do try to avoid angering any more nobles. I may not always be nearby to intervene."
"Yes, my lady. Thank you again."
She inclined her head gracefully, then turned and glided away, her crimson gown trailing behind her like spilled wine.
I stood there for a long moment, watching her disappear into the evening crowd.
What the hell just happened?
By the time I reached home, the sun had fully set.
I pushed open the door to find Mother at her worktable, grinding something that smelled sharp and medicinal. She looked up as I entered, her expression softening.
"You're late."
"Sorry. Got held up." I placed the bronze coin on the table. "Root monitoring. It's not much, but—"
"It's enough," she said firmly, pocketing the coin. "Every bit helps, Nefer."
Elana was upstairs—I could hear her moving around, probably preparing for bed. Part of me wanted to tell Mother about Lady Valcairn, about the strange encounter with Lord Crayven.
But I didn't.
Because what would I even say? A noblewoman saved me from another noble, and now I feel like I've been marked by something I don't understand?
That sounded insane.
So instead, I just nodded. "I'm going to wash up."
Mother studied me for a moment, concern flickering in her eyes. But she didn't press. "Dinner's on the stove. Don't let it get cold."
I ate alone, mechanically chewing through vegetable stew and stale bread, my mind still circling back to silver eyes and copper-sweet perfume.
You have an interesting quality about you.
What did that even mean?
After dinner, I climbed the stairs to the small room I shared with the ghosts of my childhood. The space was barely large enough for a cot and a single shelf, but it was mine.
I collapsed onto the thin mattress, exhaustion pulling at my bones.
Sleep came slowly.