Vaelor was ten years old when he overheard the conversation that would change everything.
It was past midnight. Lyria slept in her small cot on the other side of the room, exhausted after a particularly difficult day. But Vaelor remained awake, as on many nights, sending Gris to fly through the castle corridors.
Through the bird's eyes, he observed the world that had been denied to him.
The Ashford castle corridors were impressive even in the dim light. Ancient tapestries decorated the walls, and empty suits of armor stood guard at every corner. Gris flew silently, its gray wings almost invisible in the darkness.
Then he caught voices coming from the Duke's study.
Vaelor forced the connection with Gris, directing the bird toward the half-open window. The image in his mind gradually cleared, revealing two figures seated before the fireplace.
One was his father, Duke Aldric. The other was a woman Vaelor did not recognize: tall, elegant, with silver hair and eyes cold as steel.
"The situation is unsustainable." The Duke's voice sounded tense, frustrated. "With each passing year, the curse grows stronger. Servants who get too close to the north tower have nightmares for weeks."
"And the solution I proposed a decade ago?" The woman spoke with a tone suggesting absolute confidence.
"I can't just... kill him." Aldric ran a hand over his tired face. "He's my blood, no matter how much of an aberration."
"Then allow someone else to handle it." The woman tilted her head. "The Church of Light has methods to... purify curses. Discreet. Effective."
A chill ran down Vaelor's spine.
'Purify,' he thought bitterly. 'What an elegant way to say murder.'
"The Church will ask too many questions." The Duke shook his head. "If it's discovered that the Ashford family produced a bearer of the Cursed Eyes, our reputation—"
"Your reputation is already at risk." The woman interrupted. "How long do you think you can keep the secret? Rumors are already circulating. Some nobles speak of a 'ghost' in the north tower of Ashford castle."
Silence.
"What do you suggest then, Lady Morwen?"
The woman smiled, and it was a smile devoid of any warmth.
"An accident. Tragic, regrettable, but inevitable. The boy dies, the servant who cares for him takes the blame, and you are free of all suspicion."
"And Lyria?"
"Executed for negligence resulting in the death of a noble. No one will question the sentence."
Vaelor disconnected from Gris's vision. His hands trembled—not from fear, but from contained rage.
'So that's their plan.'
It wasn't a surprise, really. He had always known his family considered him a burden, a mistake to be corrected. But hearing it so clearly, so casually discussed as if he were nothing more than a logistical problem...
'And Lyria. They want to kill Lyria.'
That thought ignited something dark inside him. Something that had been asleep for years, waiting for the right moment to awaken.
◇ ◇ ◇
The next morning, Vaelor acted normally.
He ate breakfast with Lyria, practiced his exercises, fed his bonded beasts. But his mind worked furiously, analyzing options, calculating odds.
'Escape isn't viable,' he concluded. 'A blind ten-year-old wouldn't survive alone outside. And I can't take Lyria with me without resources.'
'Fighting isn't an option either. My contracts are all rank F. Useless against trained guards.'
'Then... what's left?'
The answer came that very afternoon, when Gris reported unusual movement near the tower.
Through the bird's eyes, Vaelor saw two figures approaching. They wore black robes with hoods hiding their faces, and their movements were cautious, professional. Assassins.
'Fast,' he thought with a morbid admiration. 'Lady Morwen wastes no time.'
He had minutes, maybe less.
"Lyria." He called calmly.
The servant looked up from her sewing.
"Yes, young master?"
"They're coming for us."
◇ ◇ ◇
Lyria didn't ask how he knew. After so many years together, she had learned to trust Vaelor's instinct without question.
"How many?" Her voice was firm, surprisingly serene.
"Two. Armed. Professionals."
"I understand." Lyria stood and walked to a corner of the room. From beneath her cot, she pulled out an object Vaelor had never seen: a short dagger with a black steel blade.
"Where did you—?"
"I stole it years ago." Lyria admitted without shame. "I always knew this day would come."
Vaelor processed that information. His servant, sweet and gentle Lyria, had been preparing to fight from the start.
'I underestimated her,' he thought. 'Never again.'
"Give me the dagger." He demanded.
"Young master, you can't fight. You're—"
"Give me the dagger, Lyria."
Something in his tone made the servant obey. The cold metal felt familiar in his hand, as if it had always belonged there.
'I remember...'
Fragmented images crossed his mind. Hands holding swords. Blood on knuckles. The roar of dragons overhead.
'This isn't the first time I've fought for my life.'
◇ ◇ ◇
The assassins entered through the tower's main door.
They expected to find a helpless blind child and a frightened servant. What they found was very different.
Vaelor stood in the center of the room, maskless, his red eyes glowing in the dim light. Gris flew above his head, transmitting images of the intruders directly to his mind.
"Damn." The first assassin stopped dead, paralyzed by the terror emanating from those eyes. "No one said he could—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
Vaelor moved with a speed impossible for a ten-year-old. The dagger sliced through the air, finding the assassin's neck before he could react. Hot blood splattered Vaelor's face as the body fell.
The second assassin reacted faster. He jumped back, avoiding the curse's area of effect, and threw a knife at Vaelor.
"To the left."
The information came through Gris a fraction of a second before impact. Vaelor turned, feeling the metal graze his cheek, leaving a line of blood.
"Little monster." The assassin drew another weapon. "I should have known it would be complicated."
"You have no idea." Vaelor's voice was cold, lacking the innocence a child should have. "What I'm capable of."
The assassin charged.
It was a mistake.
Vaelor waited until the last moment, until the man was close enough for his curse to take full effect. Terror paralyzed the assassin halfway, his eyes wide with absolute panic.
The dagger found his heart.
◇ ◇ ◇
When it was all over, Vaelor was covered in someone else's blood.
Lyria looked at him with an unreadable expression. There was no fear in her eyes, only... astonishment.
"Young master..." She whispered. "How...?"
"I don't know." Vaelor admitted, and it was the truth. Those movements, that killer instinct... didn't come from his amateur training in the tower. They came from somewhere else. "But I know one thing."
"What's that?"
Vaelor put on his mask, hiding his eyes once more.
"We can't stay here anymore. Tonight, we leave."
Lyria nodded slowly.
"Where will we go?"
"Anywhere." Vaelor replied as he wiped the blood from his dagger. "Anywhere I can become stronger. Where I can protect you as I should have from the start."
And in the darkness of the bloodstained tower, servant and master began to plan their escape.