Two years later
"Focus," my stepmother snapped as I stared at the flame dancing on a candle.
"I am focusing," I replied, scowling in frustration.
"If you were, your flame wouldn't be overheating! The candle is melting! Extinguish it, start again, and concentrate!"
"I'm trying!" I shouted, and in my rage, the candle incinerated into a puddle of wax and ash. She sighed and stood.
"You've failed," she said coldly, turning on her heel and leaving.
I sat there quietly, then retrieved another candle from the shelf. By the time she returned an hour later, I had mastered the task.
"Wonderful. Remember—a calm mind is the key to victory in battle. Never let your emotions guide you. Never lose control."
Fire users are more prone than others to losing control of their power, so meditative training is mandatory. I nodded to show I understood.
"It's been three days. Are you hungry?" she asked, and I could see in her eyes that she hoped I'd say yes—to reward me.
"I'm not hungry," I replied, flat.
She sighed. "Would you like to go to the park?"
"No. I'd like to spar." I replied.
She blinked in surprise. "You're only two."
We age twice as fast as humans, so I looked about five.
"I want to see the fruits of my training," I told her.
She studied my expression, then shook her head. "No. You're not ready. You'll spar next year. Not sooner."
I didn't argue, though disappointment burned in my chest.
"Oh! I know—why don't I make you a training outfit from Impregnable Fabric?"
That caught my attention.
"Yeah! Let's do it." She smiled, relieved to see me excited.
After we returned from the market, I went straight to the training room. My stepmother headed to the tailor with the fabric we bought, so I was alone. I relit the candle from earlier and focused on controlling the flame.
That's when my eldest brother, Tiren, walked in.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice dripping with condescension.
I didn't answer.
He stepped closer and barked, "I said, what are you doing?"
"You have eyes. Use them," I muttered without looking at him.
He grabbed my wrist—but recoiled instantly as the heat of my skin scorched him. I smirked slightly while he blew on his reddening hand.
"I'm sorry," I said—not out of guilt, but for the record. So if our parents asked, I could truthfully say I'd apologized.
"You bastard! Why'd you burn me?"
"It was an accident." And it was. But I didn't regret it.
"…Since you're already training, we should spar," he offered.
Tiren was ten years older than me—fully grown, over two feet taller, and the heir before I was born. Of all my brothers, he was the strongest. I knew he only wanted to spar as an excuse to hurt me. But I met his emerald eyes, smiled confidently, and said:
"If that's your wish, brother, I'd be pleased to accommodate you."
We bowed politely.
"Let me know when you're ready," he said.
"I'm ready."
The moment the words left my mouth, vines shot up and wrapped around my ankles. His eyes glowed neon green, muscles swelling just before he drove a hook into my jaw. I turned with the strike to lessen the impact, incinerated the vines, then caught his wrist mid-swing and brought my elbow down—snapping his forearm with a crack.
He staggered back, wincing, and I struck his chest with my palm, slamming him into the wall and engulfing him in flames.
He screamed, trying to crawl away. I reduced the intensity of the fire and stepped closer. Once he was within reach, I squatted down and whispered,
"Yes, that's where you belong—at my feet."
That's when our stepmother entered, holding my new clothes.
"What's going on?" she demanded.
"Big brother asked me to spar. I didn't think I could refuse—he is my elder, after all," I said sweetly.
"Is this true?" she asked Tiren, now panting, scorched, and trembling.
"Yes," he admitted, gritting his teeth. His broken arm jutted unnaturally, and his shirt hung in tatters, exposing blistered, blackened skin. After catching his breath, he fled the room—humiliated.
He'd wanted to put me in my place. To prove I didn't deserve to take the throne from him.
But I couldn't allow that.
Even before then, Tiren hated me. He'd glare, spit in my food when no one was watching, and remind me daily what a sin it was that I was born. I didn't think he could hate me more—but I was wrong. His mother had passed, and my stepmother secretly favored him. After that day, he challenged me again and again.
He never won.
A year later, I started school.
Everyone vied for my attention, but they were transparent. Their parents had told them to befriend me. I could see it in their eyes: flattery, greed, opportunism. It was irritating.
"Hey, Serco, want to come to the Parlor after class?" Fling asked.
"No." I walked away. We weren't allowed to use our powers freely, and walking everywhere was… inconvenient. I wished I could just fly or teleport.
"Wait!" Fling yelled as he caught up to me.
"Please come!"
"I don't want to." I answered apathetically.
"Don't be such an antisocial prick!" He spat.
That amused me, so I said,
"Alright. I'll come."
She ran off to tell the others, satisfied.
That night, at the Parlor, they took turns singing karaoke while Fling bought a table full of food. The smell alone was enough to make me nauseous—my appetite is lower than most Infaniyans.
"Your turn," Fling said, handing me the mic.
I sang—only to get it over with. Yet when I finished, applause filled the room.
"Wow, I had no idea you could sing."
Empty praise. I hadn't even tried.
"Yeah, that was great!" someone else added, and the rest nodded like trained pets.
"I'm leaving," I said, tossing the mic to the nearest person. Then I teleported home.
Every day after that was just as dull.
At first, my parents were disappointed in my grades—but within the year, I was top of my class. My mother—King Seran's new wife—was rarely around due to politics, and the divorce with my stepmother was dragging on. So, I was proud to bring her good news. It was the only time I got to talk with both of them, without my other troublesome family members around.
Strangely, the higher my achievements, the more my classmates resented me. They glared. They whispered. They avoided me.
That was fine. I never liked people anyway.
It wasn't until secondary school, six years later, that I met my first real friend.
She charged at me with everything she had, aiming for my face—but her legs were wide open. I swept her easily.
"First point for Serco," Trainer Neal announced.
She sprang up and charged again, smarter this time—but still too slow. I spun behind her and stopped my kick just inches from the back of her head.
"Second point to Serco! Serco wins!"
She puffed her cheeks and pouted. After class, she marched up to me.
"You're so mean! You could've gone easy on me!"
I scoffed. "Sorry for treating you like a capable warrior. I won't make that mistake again."
I tried to leave, but she blocked my path.
"I want to fight again."
"Unsupervised sparring could get us expelled."
She frowned but backed down. "Then… can you tell me what I did wrong?"
I raised an eyebrow, nodded, and sat down. She followed.
"Weak guard. Sloppy footwork. You're stiff and overthink. You rely too much on your eyes—most opponents move faster than you can track. Work on reflexes and spatial awareness."
She stared at me blankly, then stood.
"F@#k you."
After cussing at me, she stormed out. You're the one who asked…
The next day, she "accidentally" shoved me in the hall. Then spilled grape juice on my white gi. Then—finally— a week later, we were matched again for sparring.
This time, I didn't wait. My foot was at her head before she moved.
"First point to Serco."
In round two, she swept low. I jumped, spun, and kicked—but she blocked and rolled away. Impressive.
I laughed—for the first time in years.
She froze, startled—and I tapped her chest with a quick jab.
"Second point! Serco wins!"
She growled and yanked at her snow-white hair.
Then she rushed to me.
"I hate you. You're such a jerk!"
I smiled, sat on a bench, and said, "Want to be friends?"
My words caught her off guard and she blushed furiously. "S-sure."
"What's your name?"
"…Crescent... Are you serious?" she asked, voice shaky.
"About what?"
"About being friends?!" Crescent clarified.
I laughed again. "Why would I ask if I wasn't?"
"To toy with me." She mumbled out, as if she was afraid that this was the truth. I tapped my chin, pretending to think.
"No. That sounds like a waste of time."
She blinked, then sat beside me.
"…Alright."
We talked until class ended. And I watched the last traces of her hostility melt away.