It had started as nothing more than a curious question that had been nagging at me for years.
Why was Arthur Nightingale, supposedly the son of an ordinary knight captain and guild master in the Slatemark Empire, so unnaturally gifted? So impossibly talented that he had been born with a Gift as fundamentally broken as Mythweaver—an ability that defied every known classification system and operated on principles that even the greatest magical theorists couldn't fully comprehend?
The power wasn't inherited from my father. Douglas Nightingale, for all his skill as a warrior and his integrity as a man, hadn't possessed anything even remotely approaching the kind of transcendent capabilities that defined my existence. His abilities were respectable for someone of his station, but thoroughly conventional in every measurable way.
So how had such overwhelming potential come to manifest in me?
