I was five years old when the village still whispered my name. Not loudly—no one dared to speak openly near my family. The words crept through corridors, hid between stone and wood, slipped through cracks in windows and doors. Aranthor. Kael.
I heard them when I stopped at the corners of the hallways, invisible to the maids and guards.
"Did you hear?" hissed a voice from the shadows of the kitchen. "The youngest son."
"It's impossible," answered another, soaked in disbelief. "He is five. A child."
"Mana doesn't awaken before the tenth year. For most, not until sixteen. How can an infant hold this power without burning up?"
They thought I was a miracle. Or a monster. To me, it made no difference. As long as they whispered my name, it meant they acknowledged my existence.
Since then, I have felt the gazes. The servants lower their heads deeper, the guards nod more respectfully.
Now I am six. And I train every day.
The inner courtyard of Castle Morhenhall still lies in the shadow of high walls as Aurora and I stand facing each other. Aurora whirls her sword in a tight circle.
She is eight and physically clearly superior to me. Taller. Stronger. Her arms are more powerful than mine, her reach longer. But she relies too much on exactly that.
I don't.
I move little. Carefully. Every step is deliberately placed, every breath calculated. Tactics are my shield, technique my blade.
She attacks. Straight, with full force. Too powerful.
I dodge to the side, let her blade pass me by, and tap the flat side of my wooden sword against her arm. No hit—more of a reminder.
"You think too much," she growls.
"And you too little."
She bares her teeth. Anger drives her. Then she comes again, wilder now. Faster. I parry, block, dodge. We move like two gears—raw power against precise movement.
A shadow falls over us.
"Enough."
Aurora and I freeze simultaneously. Our wooden swords lower. I don't need to look up to know who is standing there.
My father. Lord Daemon Aranthor.
He steps closer, hands clasped behind his back. His gaze glides coolly from me to Aurora. "Aurora. You fight against me."
She blinks. "F-Father? But... you are much stronger. And much bigger."
He tilts his head slightly. "You are also bigger and stronger than your brother. And yet you are on a similar level."
Her lips thin. She nods hesitantly. He throws her a practice sword. "Show me what you can do."
Aurora catches the sword. Swallows. Takes her stance.
The fight begins. And ends.
Daemon doesn't move. He reacts.
Aurora storms forward. Daemon parries her first strike. With a fluid motion, so fast I barely register it, he turns his blade and strikes with the pommel against Aurora's solar plexus.
My sister collapses. The sand catches her fall. She gasps for air.
"I... I give up," she forces out.
Daemon fixes her with his green eyes. His voice is a cold blade. "Shameful," he judges. "At eight years old, you should be capable of more than just being equal to a six-year-old."
He turns and walks away. Without another word.
Aurora lies there for another minute, then scrambles up. Her face is red with shame and anger.
I lower my voice. "You are the strongest child in the courtyard along with me. Even the guards are afraid of you."
She looks at me angrily. "And you are only six."
"Then imagine how good you will be at ten."
She slaps my hand away. Stands up. Her eyes burn.
"It won't be like this much longer," she says quietly. Dangerously. "I promise you that."
She leaves. Leaving me alone in the courtyard.
In the evening, we sit at dinner. There is meat, dark bread, and wine for the adults. Maelis sits to Daemon's right, Aurora opposite me. Eamon spoons his porridge surprisingly quietly next to Maelis. At four years old, he is almost as silent as I am.
Cassian's seat is empty.
"I miss him," Maelis says suddenly. Her voice is soft. Sad. "It feels so empty without Cassian. Don't you think so too, Broth—"
Daemon's head snaps up. His eyes fix her. Sharply.
Maelis freezes. "Uh, I meant of course, my husband! Hahaha." She laughs nervously. She throws a quick glance at me and Aurora.
Aurora notices nothing. She continues to shovel food into her mouth.
Eamon, sitting next to Maelis, looks up from his plate. He doesn't understand the words, but the sudden tension at the table makes him pause. He looks at us with his big green eyes, then at his father. He is only four, but I see how he registers the atmosphere before he goes back to eating his porridge.
I smile internally. Another observer. I myself pretend not to have noticed anything. Lower my gaze to my plate.
That was obvious. They look pretty much the same.
"There is no reason for sentimentality," Daemon says coolly, as if nothing happened. He takes a sip of wine. "Cassian is where he belongs. He is being prepared. When he returns, he will no longer just be my son. He will bear one of the Ten Seals."
I put down my cutlery. The Ten Seals. The term sounds like power, heavy and meaningful. I have never heard of it in Orin's secret reading sessions.
"The Ten Seals?" I ask. "Who are they?"
Daemon leans back. A rare, almost predatory smile plays on his lips. He enjoys having knowledge ahead of others. "A rank? No. It is a destiny. Aeloria is ruled by five kings—Human, Elf, Dwarf, Goblin, Demon. A fragile balance."
He examines me critically. "And what does a king need to avoid being murdered by the next king, Kael?"
"Protection," I answer immediately.
"Absolute power," he corrects. "The Ten Seals are the elite of the elite. Two for every king. Guardians so powerful they replace armies. Cassian has the potential for it."
"But how can it be that Cassian is already being trained at thirteen to become one of them? Is he strong? I have never seen him train."
"He doesn't train with you because he doesn't need to. You are no match for him, I assure you."
Daemon's eyes shine with something like... pride? His strength has always impressed me.
Aurora chimes in. "Yes, he even managed to learn the Emerald Shield faster than I—"
Daemon looks at her sharply. The same glint in his eyes as with Maelis.
Aurora turns red. "Uh, I mean... nothing." Her forehead shines with sweat.
"What is the Emerald Shield?" I ask.
Daemon sighs theatrically, as if my ignorance personally offends him. "I had hoped you would have found that out already in your nightly excursions into my library."
My heart skips a beat. Shit. He knows.
I open my mouth to stammer an excuse, but he waves it off. "Save the lies. I like your thirst for knowledge. But that you don't know this disappoints me. The Emerald Shield is no ordinary elemental magic. It is a Clan Ability. A form of Special Magic."
"Special Magic..." I test the word on my tongue. "I read about that. The books on the top shelf."
"Which you can't reach with your short legs," Daemon notes amusedly. "Special Magic is what distinguishes us Aranthors from common mages. Fire, Water, Earth—that is for the foot soldiers."
Maelis intervenes, her voice taking on a teacher-like tone, perhaps to dissolve the tension. "Special Magic breaks the rules, Kael. It is not assigned to any element. Telekinesis, space folding, body hardening. Unique concepts that only occur in certain bloodlines. They are more powerful, but they have their price."
"And tomorrow," Daemon interrupts her abruptly and stands up, "we will see if you can pay this price. We will test your Mana." He throws his napkin on the table. "I expect at least one of you to possess Special Magic. Do not disappoint me."
"I will teach you the Emerald Shield when you are seven, Kael."
"But what about sword training?" asks Aurora.
"You are already at the elite level of swordsmen. That is sufficient."
Aurora murmurs something. Quietly. "But I need to get stronger."
I hear it. She refers to me. Because we are equals. Internally, I smile.
Finally. Mana. That is what I have been waiting for.
It is night. I am far too excited to sleep. I lie in my bed. Special Magic. If the entity promised me "special gifts," then it must be such a unique system. Something that perfectly fits my way of thinking. Maybe telekinesis.
A sound.
I get up and sneak to the window. Open it. Someone is training.
I get dressed. Sneak out. The courtyard is dark. Only the moon illuminates the scenery.
Aurora stands there. Her sword whirls. Cuts through the air. Again. And again. And again. Her face is focused. Grim. Covered in sweat.
"What are you doing here?" I ask.
She barely notices me. Too focused. I step closer.
Suddenly—reflexively—she spins around. Her sword rushes toward my face. Stops. An inch from my nose.
"Oh, it's just you," she pants. "How can one be so quiet?"
"Well," I say slowly. "Actually I meant: What are you doing here?"
"You can see it. I'm training."
"Don't you want to take a little break? Too much training can be harmful to the body."
"Yeah, yeah, sure." Her eyes narrow. "You just want to sabotage me so I don't keep training. Why are you even awake? You were definitely training too."
"Fine," I say. "I'll help you."
"Help me how? You with what?"
I step closer and point my finger at the line of her shoulder. "You swing the sword too wide. You use too much force where you only need precision. Less is more."
I show her my tricks. How she swings the sword more efficiently. Without unnecessary movements. More efficiency. Less wasted strength.
Aurora is impressed. "Wow, Kael. I never noticed that. Where did you learn that?"
"From books."
"If only I had sneaked into the library earlier too." She smiles. "Well, thanks anyway."
You wouldn't have been able to read anyway. You never could have persuaded Orin, I think cynically.
"I have one more tip for you," I say.
"Oh really?" Aurora pricks up her ears.
"Do your body a favor and go to sleep. Promise, that will make you the strongest."
"Yeah, yeah." This time with agreement. "But you too, okay?"
I nod.
She steps closer. Kisses me on the forehead. "Good night, little brother."
She leaves.
I go back to my bed.
I lie awake and stare at the ceiling. I wonder. Why did I help her twice today? Without getting anything out of it myself? That is untypical for me. Do I trust her? No. Impossible.
And yet... memories.
Fifteen years old. My old world.
The fist hits my face. Again. And again. I taste blood. My cheek burns. The floor beneath me is cold, hard.
"Damn bastard!" My father stands over me. His eyes are red. Alcohol. Always alcohol. "Where were you?! It's past midnight!"
"I... I was at the library. I was studying—"
A kick. To the ribs. I gasp.
"Don't lie to me!"
He keeps hitting. I curl up. Protect my head. Wait for it to be over.
After an eternity—or is it only minutes?—he stops.
I lie there. Trembling. Bleeding.
He kneels down. Lifts my face with one hand. His voice becomes soft. Worried. "Wipe the tears from your face." He smiles. A warm, fatherly smile. "You deserved that, do you understand? I was worried. Next time come home earlier, yes?"
The smile. Perfect. As good as real. From him, I learned how to paste on a fake smile. But back then, as a small child, I didn't notice. I was naive and stupid. Believed him.
"Yes," I whisper. "I'm sorry."
Maybe I really deserved it.
"Good." He stands up. Brushes the dust from his pants. "Take out the trash."
I stand up painfully. My ribs ache. I go into the kitchen. Charlotte stands there. Smoking. My stepmother.
She doesn't spare me a glance. Only an insult. "Just look at you." She blows smoke in my direction. "Covered in bruises. You are a disgrace. When will you finally die?"
I stop. Internally angry at the words. More than usual. Maybe because this time she wants me to die. Charlotte smiles treacherously. She is just waiting for me to show a weakness.
Calm down. If I say something now, everything gets worse. Father gets mad.
I walk on. Grab the trash bag. Say nothing.
Outside. The cold night air bites my skin. I throw the trash in the bin. Breathe deeply.
Then I see him.
Opposite our house. On the terrace. A child. My age. His clothes look shabby. Just like mine. He probably comes from poor conditions too. Otherwise, he wouldn't be moving here into this dirty neighborhood with his family. At least he doesn't have bruises on his face.
He notices me. Comes closer.
I startle. "W-what do you want?"
I have never spoken to anyone my age. Except at school. And there I don't really speak.
"Hi!" He smiles. Uninhibited. "Didn't think there were any my age here. I'm John. And you?"
I hesitate. Long. "Jordan," I say finally.
"Cool." His smile widens. "Want to be friends?"
"What for?"
"Well." He shrugs. "I think we are the only ones the same age here. Would be cool. And I don't have any friends yet."
Just like me.
"Okay," I say quietly. "If you want."
"Really?!" He beams. "Your name is really cool by the way. Jordan. Sounds kind of... strong."
No one has ever found my name cool. Then he sees it. The bruises. My swollen eye.
"Where did you get those?" His voice is careful. Not accusing.
"I... fell." The lie sounds weak. Even to me.
John looks at me for a long time. Then he nods. "It's okay. If you don't want to say. Maybe you'll trust me someday."
He smiles. A friendly smile. And for the first time—for the very first time in my life—I see it: a real, genuine smile. No fake one. No calculated one.
My heart beats faster. And for the first time, I smile back. To someone. For real.
Back in the present.
I clench my hands into fists.
I trusted a person I even considered my brother. John. I trusted him. Helped him with things and decisions that brought me no benefits. And yet, in the end, it was he who killed me.
I wonder how he is doing right now.
It doesn't matter anyway. I will probably never see him again.
I close my eyes. Now I really need to sleep. To be in top form tomorrow.
Elsewhere.
At the same moment, in a place beyond space and time, a mysterious figure sits on a throne of light.
"He has really come along," murmurs the figure. "He finally seems to be helping others without profiting from it himself. I knew he would change."
Suddenly: A telepathic message.
WARNING: UNKNOWN OTHERWORLDER DIED. UNREGISTERED.
The figure freezes. "What? An Unregistered one? That hasn't happened in decades."
The deity concentrates. Looks through dimensions, through worlds.
There.
A body. Motionless on the ground. Gaunt. Starved.
"Impressive". murmurs the figure. "He survived really long, considering he had no one. Six whole years."
A pause.
"But I'm still interested in who that is."
The deity raises a hand. Light whirls around it. Reality tears open. "I'll just go back in time. To his arrival."
Everything lights up. Divine energy pulses. The world around the figure disappears.
And then: Silence.
The deity has vanished. In search of answers.