I tried to open my eyes again, but nothing happened. Those fucking psychos, it looks like they took them away from me... Damn, it hurt so much... It turns out those bastards got me this time.
Hah! Who would have thought my brothers and sisters would eventually be able to come to an agreement? The gods sent me relatives. But what kind of relatives are they? Killing your own brother just because he has a special Gift? Creatures.
At least the world will remember this battle for a long time. It's just a shame it was my last...
"What do you say, you bastard, what's it like to die?" That's my older brother speaking. It's a shame I didn't manage to finish off that bastard.
"He was always different," says another of my brothers. "Wow, just a little while longer, and he could have become the head of our family. Can you imagine a necromancer becoming the head of the Mor family?"
"He almost succeeded," I heard my older brother's voice again. "Maybe we should stab him a couple more times? After all, with his Gift..."
"Leave him alone, let him die," and now that's the voice of a beloved sister. What a bitch. "With wounds like those, he definitely won't survive. I suggest we return to the city and celebrate our victory."
This time our wishes coincided. I, too, want them to leave here and let me die alone in peace. I don't want to hear anything more. Unless I curse them before I leave...
I feel like my mouth is full of blood, but I can't utter a single word. Look how they tore me apart.
Judging by my retreating footsteps, the whole family was involved in finishing me off: all my brothers and sisters. I should have struck earlier, but I'm a good guy, and that was a mistake.
With each passing moment, I sink deeper and deeper into the darkness that surrounds me on all sides. I'm drowning in it. Am I really dying?
But what is this? A bright blue light cuts through it, and I hear a familiar, beautiful female voice in my head.
"How are you, my dear?"
What's happening to me? My brain must have failed to cope with the expectation of death, and I've gone crazy—that's what's happening to me. Now I hear the voice of my mother, who died long ago.
"Do you want to correct your mistakes?" comes the next question.
"Yes,"
"I will give you this opportunity, and let this be my last blessing to you, Dorian."
"Can you bring me back to life?" I asked.
"Not exactly. But it is within my power to prevent you from dying completely. Who knows, maybe someday you will find the way and the strength to return to life."
No, it seems I've gone crazy and am listening to all this nonsense. How can you keep someone from dying but not bring them back to life? This is all just my dying delirium.
Two years later.
Russian Empire.
The Higher School of Magic "Kitezh."
The school principal's office.
In the small room, opposite the roaring fireplace, stood two armchairs. One of them was occupied by a man of about forty with tired eyes: Viscount Temnikov.
An older man sat in the second chair. He looked to be around fifty. He had a short, gray haircut and dark, rectangular glasses that he rarely took off. His name was Ivan Fyodorovich Orlov, the Director of the Kitezh Higher School of Magic.
"Viscount, but the boy is only twelve. You know the rules; we can't admit him to school until he's fourteen."
"Count, I beg you to make an exception in my case," Temnikov said, shaking and looking at the Director with a pleading gaze. "I simply don't know what to do if you refuse... I'm completely exhausted with this boy. Just hear me out, and then make a final decision."
Orlov felt sorry for the man; he truly looked extremely tired and exhausted. But was it worth wasting his time and then refusing? Even a fool could see that the Viscount was simply trying to find a better job for his son. The Temnikovs couldn't boast of wealth, titles, or any special Gift, meaning his son simply had no chance of ending up in Kitezh.
"Alexander Timofeevich, I'm afraid you've traveled so far in vain," he said cautiously. "You know that only the very best study at our school, and the Gift of your kind... Please understand, I don't mean to offend you, but elixir specialists study elsewhere."
"Count, I'm perfectly aware of all this and understand the place our family occupies. Believe me, I have no illusions about this conversation," Temnikov frowned, cracking his fingers. "That's precisely why I ask you to simply hear me out."
Orlov sighed and smiled knowingly. Over the course of his time at this school, he'd heard dozens of such desperate nobles, perhaps even exceeding a hundred.
Each of them tried to convince the Director that their son was unique. Although, in fact, they were nothing special. Of course, the mere mention of the nobleman's education at Kitezh was enough to convince him. It spoke volumes and opened the door to a bright future...
But rules are rules. Only the strongest Gifted study here, and that's the law. No one has the right to break it, not even him. On the other hand, maybe the Viscount isn't lying and really does have something interesting to tell? Well, anything can happen. He has time, so why not listen?
"Very well, Viscount, tell me your story in more detail, and perhaps I can help you. After all, you strike me as a sensible man who wouldn't waste my time."
"Thank you, Your Excellency," Temnikov nodded, fidgeting in his chair with his skinny butt, trying to get more comfortable.
"Although I must remind you that during the entire existence of this establishment, exceptions were made only twice."
"And yet I will try."
"In that case, please begin your story," said the Count, settling himself more comfortably and preparing to listen.
The Viscount paused, as if wondering where to begin, then nodded, dabbed his lips with a handkerchief, and began speaking slowly.
"I'll tell you right away: Maxim was a perfectly normal child his whole life, and I never noticed anything out of the ordinary about him. But a couple of years ago, strange things started happening to him. First, he developed our family gift, and he was only ten at the time."
"A truly interesting case," Orlov nodded. "But such things happen from time to time. Some Gifted Ones' abilities manifest several years earlier. It's extremely rare, but there's nothing supernatural about it. I can only say that you're lucky to have a son—that means he'll, at the very least, become a great alchemist."
"Yes, for a while I thought so myself," the Viscount chuckled grimly, "until other strange things started happening. Listen further, Count, and don't jump to conclusions; I'm gradually getting to the most interesting part."
"Have no doubt, I'm all ears," Orlov assured his interlocutor.
"Wherever my son went, very unusual things began to happen, and I would even say ominous. Well, for example, one day Baron Anuchin and his family came to visit us. It so happened that the Baroness's dog bit my son on the leg, and it died within a couple of hours."
"Baroness?"