On a stormy night, thunder split the sky as cries echoed through the great hall of the Valemir Clan, a bloodline of legendary heroes who once sealed the Demon King centuries ago.
That night, twins were born — a girl and a boy.
The daughter had three powers, a blessing of extraordinary potential.
But her twin brother… was different.
The boy, Rafael Valemir, had no powers. His presence was silent — lifeless.
The midwives whispered. The elders panicked.
"How could a descendant of the Hero bloodline be born powerless?"
In fear and shame, the Valemir parents made a cruel decision.
They erased Rafael's existence from all public records, declaring that only one child had been born that night — their gifted daughter.
Instead, Rafael was forced into a life of servitude within his own home, made to perform chores, endure humiliation, and struggle under the weight of his parents' disdain.
The storm raged on outside, as if the world itself was mourning a life forgotten.
As the years passed, Lyra Valemir grew into a prodigy. She wielded the powers of ice, wood, and barrier, and by the age of seventeen, she had reached the Peak of Master, her skills far surpassing even the most gifted peers. The next month, she was set to ascend to Grand Master, a feat normally achieved in one's thirties.
In this world, strength was measured by seven ranks — Basic, Advanced, Expert, Master, Grand Master, Peak Grand Master, and Absolute. Each rank was a mountain few could ever climb.
Rafael, in contrast, possessed only one power — the ability of Creation. It was a fragile and impractical gift, limited to manifesting objects from his imagination. Most days, he created mundane things — mugs, plates, utensils — items that brought little value in a household dominated by power and expectation. To the lady and master of the house, Rafael was a constant burden, a reminder of their shame.
On the day of Lyra's ascension, the mansion erupted in celebration. Praise and admiration filled the halls as nobles and guests honored her unprecedented feat. Rafael remained outside, perched on a distant mountain, silently watching the glittering lights and the laughter echoing through the doors.
Lyra soon stepped outside, her gaze softening as she approached him.
"What are you doing out here, Rafael?" she asked.
"To be honest…" he admitted, his voice trembling, "…I'm jealous of you. You've achieved greatness at the same age as me, while I… I have nothing. And your parents… they're always irritated with me, as if they want me gone. They can't even look me in the eye."
Lyra placed a hand on his shoulder, her voice gentle but firm.
"Don't let it get to you. I know you're strong. Some powers take time to awaken, and others appear only in the face of near-death. It's not your time yet, Rafael. None of us are weak. We just haven't reached our moment. Come on, let's go inside."
He nodded silently, and together they entered the mansion. Inside, Lyra was celebrated, showered with accolades and admiration. Rafael, meanwhile, was scolded for neglecting chores, his presence a quiet reminder of his "uselessness."
As the party drew to a close, Rafael headed to the kitchen to wash the dishes. There, he overheard the maids whispering:
"Rafael? He's such a deadweight… I can't believe he's just sitting around while we do all the work."
"I don't know why the master keeps him here. He's just dragging us down."
Their words cut deep. Rafael's heart sank as he continued scrubbing plates in silence. That night, sleep did not come. The maids' gossip and his parents' cold stares haunted him relentlessly.
He thought to himself, I heard they found me in the garbage when I was a baby… fed me, dressed me. I'm grateful to them for that.
But gratitude alone could not quiet the gnawing emptiness.
Rafael rose quietly from his bed, determination flaring in his chest. I cannot remain a burden.
He packed his few belongings and slipped silently out of the mansion. Standing on the road, he looked back at the house one last time, gratitude mingled with sorrow in his eyes, before stepping forward into the unknown, ready to carve his own path.