Weak. You are so weak.
The voice whispers. Scratches. Burrows into my skull.
They will find you. They will destroy you.
I run. Through darkness. Endless darkness. My feet stumble over invisible obstacles.
LIAR! TRAITOR!
Hands grab at me. From the shadows. Hundreds. Thousands. Tugging at my clothes, my skin.
You deserve to suffer.
"NO!"
I jolt up. Bathed in sweat. My heart hammers. My room. Just my room. The first rays of sun fall through the window. Early morning.
I take a deep breath. Force my heartbeat to calm. The door opens. Maelis storms in.
"Get up, Kael!"
"I'm already awake," I say. More annoyed than I intend.
"Why are you awake so early?" she asks, stepping closer. "Are you excited about today?"
I stand up. My clothes stick to me. Soaked in sweat. Maelis sees my condition. The sweat. The trembling of my hands, which I quickly try to suppress.
"Kael?" she asks gently. She reaches out a hand, wanting to touch my forehead. "Is everything alright? Did you sleep badly?"
I recoil before her fingers can reach me. "It's nothing," I say coldly. "Would you please leave now? I want to get changed."
Maelis freezes. Her hand drops. A shadow of pain flits across her face. She looks at me as if searching for the child I should be. But that child does not exist.
"Of course," she whispers. "I'll wait downstairs."
She leaves and closes the door quietly behind her.
I stare at the wood. It is a waste of time to love me, Mother, I think. If you knew who I really am—a parasite in the shell of your son, a broken man from another world—you would turn away in disgust. My coldness is mercy. I spare you the disappointment. You have three other children. Love them. I don't need it.
The table is set. The whole family is gathered. The dining hall is silent. Only the clinking of cutlery on porcelain can be heard. Daemon reads reports. Aurora shovels food into herself, nervous about the upcoming training. Eamon pokes at his porridge. When the servant refills my drink, I feel Maelis's gaze on me. Sad. Searching. I ignore her. I stare at my plate.
"Are you ready for training?" Daemon asks suddenly, without looking up from his paper.
"Yes!" Aurora calls out immediately. I only nod.
"Good. Let's go then." Daemon stands up.
"But you haven't even finished eating," Maelis interjects.
"It's fine," Daemon says while walking away. "They don't need more. A full stomach makes one sluggish."
We follow him. Maelis remains seated. She watches the three of us go. I feel her gaze on my back like a physical weight.
"Mama? Mama!" Eamon calls suddenly.
Maelis startles out of her thoughts. "Yes, Eamon?"
The four-year-old climbs down from his chair. "Can you read something to me?"
Maelis blinks in surprise. "Um, yes, sure, my darling. What would you like to hear?"
"Something about magic and Mana!" Eamon says enthusiastically.
Maelis smiles wistfully. "You are still much too young for that..."
"Please, please!" he begs. "I really want to learn more about Mana!"
Maelis strokes his head. Her smile becomes warmer, more genuine. "Alright, my little one. You are just like Kael back then. He always wanted to be read to as well... until he turned four. Then he never asked me again."
I pause briefly, my hand already on the door handle. A sting. Tiny. I press the handle down and walk out.
The courtyard is empty. Only Daemon, Aurora, and I. Daemon stands before us, hands clasped behind his back.
"You are ready," he says. "Both of you have already had your Mana Awakening."
"What is the point of the awakening, actually?" I ask. I know the theory from the books, but I need Daemon's perspective. "And why must it be awakened first?"
Daemon nods appreciatively at the question. "Mana is not simply distributed throughout your whole body," he explains. "It has an origin. A core. It lies deep inside, close to the heart, hidden and sealed." He taps his chest. "Only when this seal is opened can the Mana flow from the core into the rest of the body. It flows through your veins and nerve pathways. That is dangerous. If one cannot yet control the Mana, it burns the nerves and damages the heart. That is why the body has a natural protective mechanism: It keeps the core sealed."
He looks at Aurora. "The seal only breaks when certain conditions are met. First: A strong body that can rein in the Mana. Like with you, Aurora. You have excellent physical control, which is why your awakening came so early."
Aurora grins proudly.
Daemon looks at me. His gaze becomes sharper. "The other point is mental strength. If the mind is strong enough, one does not need a superior physique. Like with you, Kael."
"The Mana doesn't flow through the body for no reason," Daemon continues explaining. "You can load the Mana into your muscles to become stronger and faster. You can channel it into your senses to see or hear more sharply. You can—"
I listen with half an ear. Most of it I already know. From books. From Orin's readings.
"—so, that was everything you need to know," Daemon concludes.
"Wait, Father!" Aurora steps forward. Her hands tremble slightly. "Please. Just one more time. A sword fight against Kael. I want to prove that I am stronger."
Daemon frowns. He wants to refuse. But then his gaze falls on Aurora's hands. They are rough, full of calluses and small cuts from the excessive training of the last weeks.
He sighs. "Very well. Kael, is that acceptable to you?"
I shrug. "Fine by me."
We take our positions.
"Begin!" commands Daemon.
Aurora storms forward immediately. She uses her superior strength again, but this time something is different. Her steps are more precise. She feints a strike, pulls the blade back, and aims for my legs.
That is my technique.
I parry barely, step back. She doesn't let up. She combines her power with my efficiency. With a kick, she hits my wrist. My wooden sword flies into the sand. In the next moment, I feel the tip of her sword at my neck.
"I won," she pants.
Daemon claps his hands slowly. "Better," he says. "You have become better, Aurora." Then his face darkens. "But I do not approve of you asking your little brother for advice."
Aurora flinches. "I... Father, I just wanted—"
"Do you think I didn't notice that this style you used was Kael's? Far too similar." Daemon crosses his arms. "I do not want that. You are to invent your own style. If you only copy from others, you will never be a successful swordswoman."
Aurora's head drops. "Yes, Father," she murmurs, ashamed.
I say nothing. Just pick up my sword.
"Enough of that," Daemon says. "Let us come to the most important part. Your Mana Type."
He stands with legs apart. "It is quite simple. You will release your Mana flow now. Completely."
"But it already is," Aurora says, confused.
"No. Not properly," Daemon corrects. "Subconsciously, your body only lets out as much as can be quickly reproduced. A safety measure. But if you concentrate, you can open the floodgates."
He braces himself. Without warning, the air changes. It isn't wind. It is pressure. An invisible weight settles on my shoulders. Aurora gasps and stumbles a step back. Around Daemon, reality begins to shimmer, as if heat were rising above asphalt.
Then it bursts out of him. Pure, blinding white.
It isn't a warm color. It is the white of bones, of cold starlight. It is absolute.
"Look closely," Daemon commands. "This is no ordinary elemental magic. The lower clans bind themselves to elements—Red for Fire, Blue for Water, Brown for Earth. They make themselves slaves to the laws of nature."
He makes a dismissive hand gesture, and the massive pressure disappears instantly. "We Aranthors," he says, fixing Aurora, whose eyes shine with admiration, "serve no elements. Our aura is white because it is empty. We belong to the Special Type."
"Special Type?" breathes Aurora.
"We do not accept what the world gives us," Daemon continues. "We create our own reality." He raises his right hand. "There are two ways to shape this power. The way of the weak: They wait for a trauma. Fear, anger, grief, fear of death. In a moment of panic, the subconscious forms its own ability to ensure survival. That is wild. Uncontrolled." He clenches his hand into a fist. "And then there is the Way of the Intellect."
His skin begins to change. It becomes dark, metallic. A deep, bloody red coats his fingers, hardens, shines in the morning light. The sound of shifting metal grinds softly.
"Visualization," Daemon says. He grabs Aurora's wooden sword by the blade. With a casual squeeze of his fingers, the hard oak wood crumbles into sawdust. Aurora stares horrified at the hilt in her hand.
"You must describe it precisely. How it functions. How it is released. The physical laws behind it. Down to the smallest detail. Otherwise, the manifestation fails," Daemon lectures while examining his hand. "I can create a metal called Bloodsteel from my cells."
"This metal is the hardest in the world. There is only Aetherium, but that is so rare it barely exists." His hand returns to normal, the metallic skin retreating like water. He looks down at us. Cold. Demanding.
"Enough theory," Daemon says. "Now for practice. Show me what is inside you. Are you slaves of the elements or rulers?" He crosses his arms. "Release your Mana. Everything."
Aurora doesn't hesitate a second. She wants to impress him. She closes her eyes, presses her lips together. Veins stand out on her forehead. The air around her begins to vibrate. Dust motes dance up from the ground. Then it bursts out of her.
A glistening flash. White. Pure and wild, like a magnesium fire. It is unpolished, almost painfully bright, but the color is undeniable.
Daemon nods barely perceptibly. A hint of satisfaction flits across his face. "White. Special Type. Good."
His gaze wanders to me. It is heavier, more penetrating. "And you, Kael?"
Understood, I think. Just release one's Mana completely until an aura forms around one. Which then shows what type one is. The darker the color, the weaker the Mana control. The brighter, the stronger.
I inhale calmly. Internally, I reach for the seal near my heart and tear it open. Not with force, but with precision.
Silence. Then the cold floods out of me. An aura manifests around my small body. It is not wild and flickering like Aurora's. It is still. A cold, constant white glow, dense and compact. Both white. Naturally beautiful, shining white.
"Just as I thought," Daemon says proudly. "You are both of the Special Type. And this bright color... you should be able to use one hundred percent of your Mana. That means full control."
"Hurray!" Aurora jumps up. "Yes!"
I let the aura vanish.
He turns around. "You have a task today. Decide on an ability. Do you want to wait until fate forces something upon you? Or do you have the intellect to define yourselves?"
He leaves without waiting for an answer. "Do not disappoint me."
"Which method are you taking?" I ask Aurora.
"The second one, of course!" she says. "I have no desire to wait for an emotional event. And you?"
"Same here," I answer.
"Any idea yet?" she asks curiously.
"Not really."
"I think I'll take something that improves my sword skills," she babbles on. "Like maybe seeing into the future!"
"Then you have to be able to explain how you see," I interject. "Whether you see years or just seconds. Whether you see probabilities or fixed events."
"Yeah, yeah, that was just a thought. And besides, I know that myself. Father explained it to me, after all. Oh, and don't you dare steal my idea, Kael." She walks away.
I remain behind. Alone on the training ground.
Time to visit an old reading partner.
I go to the library. Orin is sweeping the floor there as always.
"Hello, Orin," I say. My voice is condescending, precisely dosed to remind him of his place.
The old man flinches. "Ohh... Young Master Kael! Haven't seen you in a long time. "He bows deeply, a hint of fear in his posture. "What are you doing here?" he asks cautiously.
"How long have you lived in Morhenhall?"
"An eternity. I was born here."
"That is good," I say and step closer. "I want you to show me around the city. Until now, I have only ever been in the castle or the courtyard. I wasn't allowed out."
Orin's eyes widen in panic. "My Lord! That… that is impossible. Of course, six-year-old little lords cannot go into the city yet! It is dangerous! If I were caught… I would be beheaded!"
"You know, Orin, I haven't just watched you sweep. I saw what you do with the leftovers. With the half-full vials from the healer's cabinet that were supposed to be discarded."
Orin freezes. The color drains completely from his face. "My Lord, I… I don't know—"
"Don't lie," I interrupt him sharply. "You smuggle them out. Every third day. For your granddaughter in the Undercity, right? The one coughing up blood?"
Orin's eyes widen in pure horror. He begins to tremble. That a six-year-old child knows his secret—a theft that could cost him his head—breaks him instantly.
"How…" he whispers.
"I see everything, Orin. I may be a child, but I am not blind." I pull the gold coin out again and hold it up. It sparkles in the candlelight.
"Here is the deal." I raise a finger. "Scenario A: You refuse. I go to Father. I tell him about the stolen medication. You will be hanged for theft of the Lord's property. Your granddaughter gets no more medicine and dies painfully alone."
Orin gasps; tears well up in his eyes.
I raise a second finger. "Scenario B: You take me into the city. We return before dinner. No one learns anything. And this gold coin here…" I flick it in his direction. He catches it reflexively. "…is enough to buy your granddaughter real medicine from a proper healer. No more leftovers."
"You save her. Or you kill her. Decide." But decide now."
Orin stares at the coin in his hand, then into my green, merciless eyes. He has no choice.
He swallows hard, wipes away a tear, and lowers his head. "How… how am I supposed to get you out?" he asks, his voice broken. "There are guards everywhere outside…"
"Oh, Orin," I sigh. "Don't play dumber than you are. Do you remember the book you showed me back then? The book about the layout of Morhenhall?"
Orin swallows. "The… the book by my great-grandfather."
"Exactly. You were so proud of it. You said it contained plans that no one else knows. Secret passages."
Orin stares at me. "You… You read it?"
"Of course not, knowing the layout of the castle serves me no purpose. But you surely read it; your ancestor wrote it, after all. In his own words. Didn't he?"
"Ah… yes, that book," Orin stammers. "Yes, I read it."
"There is surely a secret exit, isn't there?"
Silence.
Then Orin nods. Defeated.
"Good," I say. "We meet in half an hour at the dusty side entrance in the cellar. Dress a bit more inconspicuously. I will take care of my own disguise."
"As… as you wish," Orin says desperately.
Half an hour later, we meet at the rendezvous point. I have hidden my white hair under a dirty wool cap. My clothes are old and gray—stolen from the laundry.
"Let's go," I say. "We have to hurry. If I'm not back by dinner, we could be exposed."
"Yes, My Lord," Orin says. He sounds as if he is about to be sick.
We climb into the tunnel. It smells of mold and earth. When we finally step out into the daylight, we find ourselves in a narrow alley on the outskirts. The city spreads out before me. I look around. Disappointment sets in. Wooden shacks. Muddy streets. Humans selling goods.
"I expected elves. Or demons." "But there are only humans here."
"This is human territory, My Lord," Orin explains. "One only sees other races here in rare cases, when they are traveling."
"I know that, Orin." I walk on. "It is because the Lord here is a human. Only a human. And therefore, there is no equality. I just thought this might be an exception, since Morhenhall is right next to Aeloria. And only different races live there. I thought they might pass through here sometimes. But I suppose I was wrong."
Suddenly, I stop. Three figures are coming down the main street. They are tall. Much taller than the humans around them. Their skin has a slight grey cast. Their teeth are pointed, and small, curved horns protrude from their foreheads. Their eyes glow red and violet.
Demons.
They walk past me, ignoring the rabble, but their gazes are watchful. Malicious.
"What are demons doing here?" Orin asks fearfully. "Probably travelers…"
"No," I say. I analyze their gear. "They have too little luggage. With their build, they could carry double that. They are packed light. Fast."
"Maybe they are coming from Aeloria to visit Morhenhall?" Orin suggests.
"Unlikely," I contradict sharply. "As I said, this is human territory. Other races only come here if they absolutely have to—for supplies or a place to sleep."
I shake my head and point vaguely toward the east.
"But think about it, Orin. Look at them. They have barely any luggage. That means they are traveling fast. If they were truly just exhausted or hungry, they would simply continue to Aeloria. It lies right next door. There, they would be welcome. There, they could sleep without being spat upon."
I narrow my eyes, my gaze fixed on the demons' backs.
"That they are stopping here regardless—in enemy territory, instead of traveling the few miles further to safe Aeloria—means only one thing: They are looking for something specific here. They are likely scouts."
"Scouts?" Orin turns pale. "Scouting what?"
"How should I know? But I don't believe in good intentions. We follow them."
"What?!" Orin almost grabs my arm, but then pulls back fearfully. "My Lord, we haven't even seen the marketplace yet! Over there, there are—"
"Come," I command and start walking.
We follow the demons. Keeping our distance. Using the crowds as cover.
Their eyes never stop moving—streets, rooftops, patrol routes.
Just as I thought. But what kind of information are they looking for here?
We continue. Deeper into the city. Until we reach the square in front of the castle.
The three demons stop at the entrance.
"Wait, young master!" Orin hisses in panic. "What if the guards notice you?!"
But I walk on. Closer. I need to hear what they are saying.
At the gate, two guards block the way. "Halt!" one calls out. "Not another step." He stares at the demons hostilely.
The demons stop. The leader, a giant with violet eyes, bows slightly. Exaggeratedly polite. "We request entry. We must speak with the Lord regarding important matters. We are emissaries of Queen Draelyss."
The guards laugh. It is an ugly, mocking laugh. "Emissaries? You look like stray mutts that got lost." It is an open insult.
The demons' eyes narrow. "Do you have anything to identify yourselves?" the guard asks mockingly.
The leader slowly pulls out a letter. The seal looks genuine, but the paper is crumpled. "Here."
The guard casts only a brief glance at it. "We're supposed to buy this from you? A child drew this. Piss off!"
I notice that more and more people are stopping. They look at the demons angrily. Whispering. Spitting on the ground.
The demon leader takes a step closer. He whispers something to the guard. I cannot understand it, but I see the reaction. The guard freezes. His face goes pale. "How do you know—"
"May we enter now?" the demon asks loudly and smoothly.
I frown. What did he say? Blackmail? A code word?
Suddenly, something flies through the air. Splat. An overripe tomato hits one of the demons on the head. Red mush runs down his grey skin.
He turns around slowly. His face twists into pure rage.
"Who was that?!"
The humans scream. "Get out of here! This is human territory! We aren't in Aeloria!"
The struck demon walks toward them. Slowly. Dangerously.
He grabs the man who threw it by the throat. Lifts him up with one hand.
"Not so strong now, are you?" he snarls.
"Let him go immediately!" the guards shout, drawing their swords. "Or we attack!"
The other two demons step forward. "Damn it, Kai! Let him go! He's had enough."
I watch the scene closely. The tension is palpable. One spark, and a bloodbath will erupt here.