“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 years old and clearly physically superior to me. Her arms are stronger than mine, her reach longer. But she relies too much on that.

  I do not.

  I move little. Carefully. Every step is deliberate, every breath measured. Tactics are my shield, technique my blade.

  She attacks – straight on, with full force. Too powerful.

  I dodge to the side, letting her blade pass by, and tap her arm with the flat of my wooden sword. No hit.

  “You think too much,” she growls.

  “And you think too little.”

  She bares her teeth. Anger drives her on. She comes again, wilder now. Faster. I parry, block, dodge. A shadow falls over us.

  “Enough.”

  Aurora and I freeze at once. Our wooden swords lower. I do not 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 slides coolly from me to Aurora.

  “Aurora. You are fighting 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. Yet you are on a similar level.”

  Her lips press together. She nods hesitantly.

  He throws her a practice sword. “Show me what you can do.”

  Aurora catches the sword, swallows, and takes her stance. The fight begins – and ends.

  Daemon does not move. He reacts. Aurora rushes 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 ten-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—"

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  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 eight, 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?"

  “I just wanted to ask what you're doing here.”

  “You can see. 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? I bet you've been training too.”

  “All right,” I say. “I'll help you.”

  “Help me? You? With what?”

  I step closer and point my finger at the line of her shoulder. “You're swinging the sword too far. You're using too much force when you only need precision. Less is more.”

  I show her how to swing the sword more efficiently. Without unnecessary movements.

  Aurora is impressed. “Wow, Kael. I never noticed that. Where did you learn that?”

  “From books.”

  “I wish I had sneaked into the library earlier.” She smiles. “Well, thanks anyway.”

  You wouldn't have been able to read anyway. You would never have been able to change Orin's mind, 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. I promise, it will make you stronger.”

  “Yeah, yeah.” This time with agreement. “You too, okay?”

  I nod.

  She steps closer. Kisses me on the forehead. “Good night, brother.”

  She leaves.

  I stay behind. Suddenly, a voice from behind me says, “Do you remember John? He smiled too, before he pointed the gun at you.” I turn around, but no one is there.

  “Why have you helped her twice today, without getting anything in return?” the voice continues. “That is not like you,” says another. “Do you trust her? The way you trusted John?”

  Suddenly, a memory returns.

  Rain falls like icy needles from the grey sky, and a friend presses a gun to my forehead.

  “I am... sorry, Jordan.” John's voice trembles – a thin, broken sound that tells me he never wanted to bring me here. He was my brother, not by blood, but by everything else that matters. By every scar we share.

  The cold barrel of the gun presses into my skin. The metal is so cold it burns. For a moment, I think I am already dead – inside, at least. The world blurs. The patter of rain grows quieter, as if someone has muted the sound of the world. All I can hear is my own breathing. Slow. Heavy. Infinitely tired.

  I look up and meet his eyes. “Do it,” I say. My voice is colder than the rain. “Shoot already.”

  John closes his eyes. A tear falls on my cheek. Warm.

  “Forgive me... please.”

  Then the sound breaks.

  That's how I died. I clench my hands into fists.

  I trusted someone I even considered my brother. I trusted him. I helped him make decisions that brought me no benefit. And yet, in the end, it was he who killed me.

  I wonder how he's doing right now. It doesn't matter. I'll probably never see him again.