Years ago...
That day The Elven capital did not rise—it bloomed.
Silver-white arches curled like petals around the Grand Palace, threaded with living vines that glimmered faintly with mana. And at its center sat the Monarch, the Queen of the Elves, radiant and serene.
On that late autumn day, she descended the palace steps holding the hand of a small boy.
The nobles whispered like wind among reeds.
"Who is he?"
"The Monarch never takes in outsiders…"
"His features…he resembles—no, impossible…"
The Queen halted and spoke, her voice as calm as moonlight over a lake.
"This child bears my blood. He is the son of my vanished sister."
The courtyard froze. The boy stared at the stone tiles, fists small and trembling. No one approached, no one greeted him—yet the Queen draped her cloak over his shoulders and led him forward as though he were heir to an ancient throne.
For years he endured whispers. Elven society prized beauty, grace, and unbroken lineage; anything uncertain was treated like a stain on silk.
And his lineage was a mystery wrapped in absence.
But the Queen favored him—read with him, taught him, shielded him. And so he stayed.But until that day,the turning point of his life.
The day of Baptism.
On the year children turned ten, the day of Baptism dawned—a sacred rite in which every young elf received blessing from the World Tree, the being they revered as goddess and ancestor.
At the plaza's center rose the colossal Tree itself, roots spiraling like rivers across the marble floor.
Above, countless motes of green light swirled, waiting to descend.
The priest lifted his staff.
"Let the child step forth."
The children before him had been bathed in shimmering light—each time the motes descended, seeped into skin, and their spirits blossomed. Laughter and tears of joy followed.
Kylus stepped forward.
The elder began the invocation, weaving bright runic light.
"Oh,mighty World tree,Bless this child, as the spirits bless all children of Silvaris !"
The motes drifted toward him like a gentle tide…then halted. A pulse rippled outward, unseen yet undeniable. The motes scattered like startled birds.
The priest blinked, startled, then composed himself.
"Again."
The motes gathered once more—this time like a brilliant stream.
Again, the invisible force repelled them. They flew upward and dissipated.
Gasps spread. Mothers clasped hands to lips. Nobles exchanged unsettled glances.
"Again!" the priest demanded, voice strained.
A third attempt. The repulsion hit harder—green motes slammed against a barrier no eyes could see before scattering into the roots of the Tree.
The priest stumbled back.
"H-His body rejects the blessing…"
Silence rippled out, cold and sharp.
"He is refusing the World Tree—"
"That is not refusal…that is curse."
"A cursed child…in the palace?"
Then came the whispers.
Soft at first.
Hissing.
Rooting.
Spreading like rot through velvet halls.
"A child without blessing…" "No spirit will touch him…"
"He isn't normal..."
"Cursed… cursed…"
Not loud enough to accuse.
Just loud enough to condemn.
Only the Queen moved—stepping down, eyes soft yet brimming with silent turmoil.
"Enough !" She shouted.
She placed a hand over his trembling head, shielding him from the crowd with her presence alone.
But the damage was done.
From that day, no spirit answered his call. No blessing clung to him.He was not able to form a contract with a spirit or summon them.
While elven children learned Magic and archery from their Parents and spirits—he learned loneliness.
Years later, the palace halls slept under silver moonlight.
Kylus passed the Queen's study, door slightly ajar. Voices leaked through—the Queen's and the Captain of the Silver Guard.
"Your Majesty," the Captain murmured, "the court demands it. A cursed child who rejects the Tree cannot remain. The nobles fear ill omens."
The Queen's voice wavered like a candle in wind.
"He bears my sister's blood. I will not cast him out."
"Then they will act without you. Some speak of…accidents. Others of blades in the dark."
Kylus froze—breath caught in his throat.
"Would they dare?" the Queen whispered.
"To keep the lineage pure, they would dare anything."
The queen's fist struck the desk—not with rage, but quiet despair.
"My sister vanished because of their schemes. I will not lose her child to them as well."
Silence.
"Your Majesty… the court's patience is fraying."
The Queen said nothing.
the silence pressed like a hand upon the heart.
" my people won't do something against me!" Shouted the queen.
Captain replied "But that may soon fade away..."
He continued."Every feast, every council — there are whispers."
They say 'The Monarch neglects the people for a cursed child.'
'The World Tree has turned her face from us.' 'Blight will come.'
It spreads like mold, unseen until it rots the beams of a home."
Kylus's fingers curled against the wall, knuckles pale.
The Queen exhaled softly.
"Are you saying that...they blame me…?"
"They do," the Captain answered, voice low, heavy.
"They call you indulgent. They say love has clouded your judgment. Even the High Priests grumble — they question whether the Spirit king chose the right Monarch."
The Queen laughed once — soft, bitter.
"How quickly loyalty fades."
The Captain continued, his words rasping like steel drawn from a scabbard.
"It is not just slander anymore. If unrest spreads… the nobles will act first. They would rather cut away what they fear will stain them."
The Queen's breath trembled.
"Kylus is an innocent child."
"And that is precisely why they fear him," the Captain replied.
"If he grows, if he manifests something unknown — what then? What if he undermines the priests? The spirits? The order they have cultivated for centuries?"
Then the Captain spoke, reluctant and heavy.
"If he remains, assassins will be sent. If he leaves, he may at least live."
Those words echoed like bells of mourning.
Live.
Kylus's heartbeat thudded in his ears. Unknown. Fear. Stain. Words without shape or mercy.
The Captain hesitated — then delivered the words he wished he did not have to speak.
"Your Majesty… they have begun to discuss removal."
The Queen's voice cracked.
"Rebellion?"
Kylus's breath hitched. Shadows seemed suddenly deeper, thicker, filled with unseen blades.
"You are still beloved," the Captain added, "but for how long? The court believes you favor an outsider over your own bloodline. They mutter treason without saying the word."
"My own people hate me…" the Queen whispered — not in self-pity but in sorrow for a house divided.
The Captain's voice softened.
"Not all. But enough to make war within the palace itself."
Silence lingered — aching, fragile.
"If he stays," the Captain finished, "you will lose the court. And he will lose his life."
The Queen's voice wavered for the first time.
"What if… what if he contracts spirits like other elves.?"
The Captain paused. He weighed the idea with more seriousness than hope.
"Then… at the very least, they would no longer treat him as an outcast."
Kylus's breath caught. Hope — a tiny thing — flickered for the first time in years.
"Yes...If the spirits accept him, even once, the people might stop calling him cursed."Said the Queen.
Kylus' heart fluttered. "..If that happens… then I won't be a burden?"
The Captain exhaled.
"If not, and things continue as they are… agents may act without the Council's approval. I have already found and arresed suspicious individuals around the castle."
Kylus didn't understand those words.But the weight behind it made his stomach twist.
The Queen's voice trembled, the first and only time during that conversation.
"Do you mean assassins,Captain?"
Kylus swallowed hard.
The Captain didn't answer immediately. He just nodded.When he Answered, it was with quiet shame.
"It seems some of the ministers have already maken a move."
His voice trailed off.
Kylus didn't wait to hear more.
His hand slipped from the door. He stepped back, vision blurring, throat tight.
It's my fault.
" Because of me… they hate her… they want to hurt me…"
His hand trembled against the wood of the door.
Creak—
The door shifted open. For a heartbeat, no one breathed.
The Queen turned. The Captain turned.
Their eyes widened.They were shocked to see Kylus.
"Kylus! " Shouted the queen.
But he was already sprinting down the corridor, bare feet silent on the carpets, like a startled fawn escaping into the gardens.
That Night,He sat on the edge of his small bed, knees buried in his arms.
His thoughts whirled in circles he could not calm.
So it really is because of me…
If I weren't here, people wouldn't hate her.
Tears slid down his cheeks silently — not the dramatic sobs of collapsing despair, but the fragile, leaking kind that children never learn how to stop.
He pulled his knees close, chin resting atop them — a small defense against a world far larger than he understood.
Assassins.
Accidents.
Hate.
He did not even fully grasp why they felt such things.
He had tried — truly — to be graceful like other elves, to smile when spoken to, to keep quiet when not.
Yet the blessings of the Tree had pushed him away. And where blessings fled, people fled as well.
He stared out the window.
If he stayed, the Queen — the only person who had ever looked at him without revulsion — would suffer.
They would blame her. Strip her crown. Or worse — strip her dignity.
And He thought something for the first time in his life.He thought what will happen if he left.
Would they chase him?
Would they forget him?
Would the Queen cry?
His chest tightened — not from danger, but from a kind of sorrow that children should not need to feel.
He did not run that night.
He simply thought — and feared — and imagined futures that felt like stories told in the wrong order.
He thought "If I stay, she get hate. If I go… maybe she won't..."
That was the beginning of his choice.
" I'm the reason she suffers… I'm the burden."
The moon climbed high. At some point, exhaustion pulled him under.He fell asleep with his face pressed to damp sheets.
But the decision he took was already starting to grow in his mind.
The night passed by,the sun rose up and turned morning.
Still Kylus sleeping in the same position.
Then a knock tapped against his chamber door.
Kylus blinked awake, eyes swollen. "Come in…"
His maid entered, graceful and composed as all elves, though her gaze softened a touch when she saw him.
"His Majesty the Queen requests your presence."
Kylus nodded, rubbing his eyes. He did not ask why. He already knew.He got ready and went to the Royal court.
The Royal Court was vast — branches of silverwood intertwined overhead, forming arches like cathedral vaults.
Elders, ministers, and citizens filled the terraces in respectful silence.
Thousands of eyes watched him.
Not with hatred — elves seldom indulged in such crude emotion — but with something that hurt just as much:
Expectation and doubt.
The Queen descended from her throne of living vines. Her first words were not ceremonial, but motherly.
"Kylus. Did you eat last night?"
Kylus nodded. "Yes."
Her eyes softened; she knew the lie instantly. But she said nothing. She lifted her arm up.
"Let the summons begin."
Light pooled from her hand — not blinding, but pure, like dew catching dawn. It rippled outward in circles across the marble, resonant with ancient tone.
Spirit Call.
A high level summoning spell used to summon hundreds of spirits at once.
The world trembled — then hundreds of spirits bloomed into appearance.
Fireflies of flame. Wisps of wind. Amber sprites with wings shaped like leaves. River spirits draped in water veils.
Even a few rare star spirits shimmered like constellations.
A murmur spread through the crowd — equal parts awe and envy.
The Queen's voice carried clear:
"Kylus. One hundred spirits have answered. Approach, and choose one to form contract."
Kylus swallowed. His palms were damp. His steps tiny.
The crowd leaned forward in anticipation. For elves, this rite was sacred — beautiful — symbolic of harmony with nature.
For them, contracting a spirit was as natural as breathing.
For Kylus… it was his chance.
His chance to prove he wasn't cursed.
He stepped forward. A smaller spirit approached first — a water wisp the size of his palm.
It shimmered with pale sapphire light, curious.
Kylus raised his hand.
And then —
Something shifted...In his eyes.His vision turned,and became purple,transparent,and magical seeing through everything Like an X ray.
Then His Vision got cracked and his eyes turned purple,seeing showing him things inside the spirit.
At first,it was only a flicker at the edge of his sight — like ink dissolving into water.
Then color warped. Blue bled into violet. The whites of the world dimmed, swallowed by shadows that weren't truly shadows.
The court, spirits, and world blurred into a palette of purples and deep violet. It was not painful — merely overwhelming. His normal sight vanished.
His pupils constricted.
His breath hitched.
"What… is this?" He wondered.
It didn't hurt. But it was overwhelming — strange and foreign, as if someone had opened an unseen door behind his eyes.
The water spirit trembled.
Kylus blinked — and the world changed.
The spirit was no longer a simple wisp of light.
His vision pierced through it.
He saw layers.His vision passed through the spirit's body.
The outer light peeled away, revealing swirling streams of mana — coiling, twisting — revealing a translucent skeletal structure of pure arcane geometry.
Then deeper.
Through that — to a small core suspended in a lattice of runes.
A heartbeat of magic.
Every line carved within it thrummed with an ancient pattern.
Too complex for a child — too complex for most adults — too alien to comprehend.
Kylus didn't understand any of that.
All he knew was that the spirit — the creature of pure beauty everyone praised as gentle — suddenly looked unbearably fragile.
It was Strange,Flawed and Vulnerable.
He quickly Understood that he was seeing the very inside the spirit to it's core.
Its tiny voice cracked like a snapped harp string.
"D–don't look—!"
The spirit flickered, its form destabilizing — then vanished, dissolving into motes of panicked starlight.
The audience gasped.
Kylus staggered back, clutching his head.
"Wh-what… what was that?"
His vision swam. The vibrant violet hue remained — darker now, richer, as if painted with crushed amethyst.
Every spirit he glanced at trembled violently.
Another tethered to leaves squeaked:
"N–No! His eyes… his eyes—!"
It fled into the bark of the world tree.
A cluster of flame sprites scattered upward, orbs shaking.
"D–don't show me my core!" "Make it stop!" "Close those eyes!"
Kylus blinked rapidly, trying to dispel the purple haze, but the world remained dissected.
Every spirit he looked at was laid bare — veins of mana, cores, structures, flaws — as if his gaze peeled away the very essence of what they were.
The spirits ran away in fear and some dissapeared,while some Hid behind other elves.
The elders stood from their seats, stunned.
The priests froze.
Even the queen — for the first time — lost composure. Her breath caught, lips parting as she watched the spirits flee in terror.
"The spirits are scared!" a minister whispered.
"That is not a normal fear…"
"No elf can scare away spirits just by his eyes—!"
Then a brave spirit came trying to confront Kylus.
For the briefest moment, spirit and boy stared at one another with mutual terror.
Then the sprite vanished, abandoning the court entirely — not fleeing in fear, but retreating beyond reality, where contracts could not reach.
The audience whispered.
Kylus staggered and turned toward another spirit — a small ember spirit, warm and kindly.
But the violet sight pierced it too — past flame, past form, past existence, into something that spirits were never meant to show a mortal.
An elder whispered "The spirit are scared of...his eyes?"
Kylus blinked rapidly as normal vision returned.
His hands trembled.
He had wanted acceptance.
Instead — even the spirits ran.
The ministers lowered their heads.
The elders averted their eyes.
And the people—thousands of them—repeated the same sentence in terrified silence.
Not blessed.
Not chosen.
Not one of them.
And that was the moment the whispers became a verdict.
The cursed elf with cursed eyes.
A title that would cling to him for the rest of his life—
whether he wanted it or not.