Weeks bled into months following the Awakenings. The constant hum of expectation surrounding Elian, the Prodigy, became the dominant frequency within Duke Gareth's household. Granted access to advanced tutors and resources, Elian's natural arrogance blossomed under the sun of constant admiration. He practiced intricate spells openly, his bright azure mana a statement of his superiority, while Seraphina pursued her quieter Adept studies, competent but eclipsed.
And then there was Malrik. The silent shadow. His inability to speak, coupled with the persistent frailty that seemed to sap strength from his slight frame, set him apart even more profoundly than the postponed Awakening. Whispers followed him like his own shadow – pitying remarks about his weak constitution, superstitious mutterings about his silence being part of his 'curse', and open speculation on why the Duke bothered keeping such a flawed child under his roof. Malrik navigated the sprawling estate with a slow, deliberate pace that conserved his limited energy, his presence often going unnoticed until his unsettlingly calm eyes met someone's gaze.
He paid the whispers little mind, sequestered in the library or the quiet solitude of his rooms. His true life unfolded in secret, fueled by forbidden texts and the silent ocean of power within him. He learned to weave mana without sound or gesture, intricate patterns forming in his mind and manifesting as subtle manipulations of energy, invisible to any observer. His control grew daily, a stark contrast to the weak vessel that housed it. Patience remained his shield, secrecy his sword.
One sun-drenched afternoon, the quiet of Malrik's library alcove was broken. Elian stood at the archway, leaning against the stone, a familiar smirk twisting his lips. Malrik slowly looked up from the ancient tome on elemental sympathies he was studying, his expression placid, offering no reaction.
"Still hiding, little brother?" Elian's voice dripped with condescending amusement. He knew Malrik couldn't answer, which only seemed to fuel his desire to provoke. "Gathering dust like these useless scrolls?"
Malrik simply held his gaze, his silence an unnerving counterpoint to Elian's taunting tone.
Elian pushed off the wall, sauntering closer. His eyes flickered over Malrik's thin frame. "Father mentioned your… peculiar interest in the estate's history. Found something you might actually find stimulating, even in your state. In the old northern watchtower." He paused, enjoying the one-sided conversation. "Come on. I'll show you." It wasn't an invitation; it was a command veiled in casualness.
Malrik's mind raced. A trap. Elian never sought his company, never offered anything freely. The derelict watchtower, isolated and decaying, was the perfect stage. Yet, refusing might be construed as fear, or worse, defiance that could draw unwanted attention. Accepting meant walking into the snare, but it offered insight into Elian's methods, his current level of skill, his intentions. Knowledge was worth the risk.
Slowly, deliberately, Malrik closed the heavy book. The movement seemed to require a conscious effort. He rose, his breathing steady but shallow, and gave a single, slight nod.
Elian's smirk widened. "Good. Try to keep up." He turned sharply and strode out of the library.
Malrik followed at his own measured pace through less-used corridors and onto the overgrown path leading to the tower. Elian glanced back once or twice, impatience etched on his features, but Malrik didn't hurry. The walk, though not long, taxed his reserves, a faint weariness settling deep in his bones, but his face remained impassive.
The tower loomed, stones weathered and moss-streaked. Elian shoved open the groaning door. Dust motes danced in the dim light filtering through arrow slits, illuminating a circular stone room filled with debris.
"Well? Aren't you coming in?" Elian prompted from inside, gesturing impatiently. "Or is the walk already too much for you?"
Malrik stepped over the threshold, his senses immediately detecting the recently laid arcane signatures – a containment ward, layered and waiting. He stopped just inside, his eyes scanning the empty space where Elian had claimed interesting artifacts lay. He subtly shook his head, his gaze questioning Elian silently.
Elian's pretense vanished. "Looking for something?" he sneered. His azure mana flared, coalescing around his hands with practiced control. "There's nothing here for you, little brother. Except this!"
With a sharp gesture, the dormant signatures flared. Pale blue lines of energy erupted from the floor, weaving themselves into a cylindrical cage that pulsed with contained power, enclosing Malrik completely. The air hummed.
"Surprised?" Elian taunted, stepping closer to the bars. "Cat got your tongue? Oh, that's right." He laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "You don't have one to begin with! Just like you don't have any magic, any strength. Look at you!" He gestured dismissively at Malrik, trapped and silent. "Weak. Mute. Useless. A stain on the Gareth name."
Malrik stood perfectly still within the cage. The ward pressed against his own carefully shielded power. It felt… amateurish, despite its surface strength. A flimsy net trying to hold back the tide. He could shred it with barely a thought, unleashing a storm that would obliterate Elian's arrogant smirk. But the consequences – revealing himself prematurely – were unacceptable.
"Did you really think I wanted to show you anything?" Elian continued, pacing just outside the bars, clearly enjoying his captive audience. "I wanted to show everyone else what you are. A sneaky, cursed little nothing, trespassing where he doesn't belong. Father will have to listen this time. Perhaps they'll lock you away in the west wing, where you can't bother respectable people."
He leaned close, peering through the energy bars, his eyes filled with contempt. "This is power, Malrik. Something you will never understand. This is the gap between a Prodigy and… whatever you are."
Malrik met his furious gaze, his own eyes calm, almost detached. His silence seemed to infuriate Elian more than any protest could have.
"Stay silent then! Rot in here!" Elian spat, kicking a loose stone that skittered across the floor. "I'll send a guard eventually. After I've explained how I bravely apprehended the deviant intruder. Enjoy the wait, shadow."
With a final, venomous glare, Elian turned and stormed out, slamming the heavy door shut. The boom echoed, followed by the heavy scrape of a bar being dropped into place on the outside. Darkness enveloped the room, broken only by the cold, humming azure glow of the cage surrounding Malrik.
He stood in the silent prison of light. His frail body housed a power Elian couldn't conceive of, his muteness hid thoughts sharper than any blade. Elian saw weakness, frailty, silence. He saw exactly what Malrik wanted him to see. Letting the cage hold him, enduring the humiliation, was a small price for maintaining the illusion. Every insult, every assumption, was another piece of data, another reason to ensure that when his time came, Elian's fall would be absolute. He closed his eyes, feeling the thrum of Elian's magic against his own vast, restrained depths. The wait began.