In a vast expanse of cloud, I stood on a winding marble staircase that spiraled endlessly upward into the heavens. My head felt foggy, like I wasn't fully conscious. With nothing else to do, I began to climb.
The higher I went, the more the stairs lost their shape. They flickered between marble and cloud, unsure of what they wanted to be. My feet sank deeper into the mist, but I didn't stop. All I cared about was reaching whatever waited above.
By the time I was waist-deep in cloud, I finally looked up—and my breath caught. Floating above the horizon was a palace of crystal, its towers glimmering with light that seemed to come from every star in existence. The stars themselves circled it in perfect patterns, as if the palace sat at the center of all creation.
I caught glimpses of rivers and trees scattered around it, but nothing compared to that shimmering citadel. I pushed upward, half climbing, half swimming through the clouds. Then I saw it—a massive tree, hidden behind the palace. Its silhouette alone was enough to make my heart freeze.
Clarity burst through the fog in my head as I stared at that tree. Then, suddenly, the clouds beneath me gave way.
I fell.
The air roared past me, and when I looked up again, the palace—and the tree—were gone. Even the stars had vanished. All that remained above me was the faint outline of something too large and too far away to name.
I woke up with a start, drenched in sweat. My body no longer ached from the morning's fight; all the wounds had already healed.
"Edward! Bath!" I called.
"Yes, my prince!" he answered, scurrying off.
Only then did I really look around my room. It was simpler than I'd expected for a prince. No gold, no tapestries—just clean stone, a giant bed fit for a Jotun, and a sturdy table and chair. The walls hid compartments everywhere; old habits from when the Jotun were still warring tribes, I guessed. My bathtub stood in the corner, separated by a simple filter screen for privacy.
Edward returned, carrying buckets of steaming water and handfuls of herbs. He poured them into the tub, and the scent filled the air—sweet and earthy, though I realized they weren't magical at all. Just for foam and fragrance.
He placed two glowing stones in the water and began helping me undress. I sank into the warmth with a long sigh.
"The king wishes to remind you," Edward said as he fixed my sheets, "that your teachers and the other students will be arriving soon."
"Today?"
"Yes, prince. There are things a prince must learn."
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered. "Bring me some food."
"What would you like, my prince?"
"I'm not hungry." He looked confused. "It's for you. You look like death warmed over."
He hesitated, then bowed. "Yes, prince."
"Oh, and bring me blocks of wood—three shades. Different kinds."
When he came back, he carried a plate of food and a satchel of wood. I opened it and smiled. One block was a deep red, another a stark white, and the last a turquoise so vivid it almost looked like crystal.
"Hey, Edward."
"Yes, prince?"
"You didn't think I'd just stare at this wood all day, did you? I need a carving knife."
He blinked, like a scolded puppy.
"Oh, and something to preserve the wood. Nothing with salt."
He nodded and rushed out, returning moments later with everything I'd asked for—and a brush, too. He was learning.
I started carving. Small pieces first, simple cuts and forms. I left the turquoise wood for last; it was too beautiful to waste on mistakes.
Edward's food had gone cold, so he pulled out a fire stone and reheated it. I filed that away—fire stones could be used for more than combat.
By the time I was done, the table was littered with curls of wood. I'd made a crude little case from the turquoise block, then coated everything with the preservative. My hands moved almost on instinct, carving symbols that mimicked the markings on my skin. They seemed to glow faintly as if approving of my work.
When I looked up, Edward was still standing there, staring.
"Were you eating standing up?" I asked.
"A servant could have done this for you, your grace."
"No," I said, laughing softly. "Not like this." I gestured to the carvings, then the mess. "Servants are for cleaning up, not art."
He looked more confused than ever.
"So clean it up, Edward. And have someone fit hinges on that case when it dries. If they damage it, I'll have their head."
He jumped into motion immediately.
I leaned back and admired my handiwork. A chessboard. Crude, sure, but serviceable. I doubted the game even existed here—but it would. I needed something to pass the time in this place that had little in the way of entertainment.
'Mother's birthday is coming soon,' I thought. 'Maybe I'll let her play a game with me.'
I bathed again to clean the sawdust from my skin and dressed for my lessons. Another servant guided me to the classroom while Edward stayed behind to tidy up.
Inside, a group of Jotun children sat waiting, all different ages. At the front stood a tall, thin man who looked more scholar than warrior.
"Seithr," he began without preamble, "or what humans call mana, exists all around us—in the air we breathe, the food we eat, and within all living beings." His tone was calm, measured. "It is an external energy. Mortals cannot store it; we must draw it with our minds and souls."
His gaze swept the room before landing on me. He smiled faintly and continued.
"Jotun are unique. Our bones are dense, our bodies heavy, our strength unmatched. But what we gain in power, we lose in speed and flexibility—unless trained otherwise. We are a warrior race. There are three paths to power: Body, Mind, and Soul. Most of you have spent your lives honing the Body. Here, we focus on the other two."
He paced slowly as he spoke.
"The soul is the hardest to strengthen. It requires will, experience, and time. The strongest souls develop what we call an [Influence]."
He wrote the word on a board.
"An [Influence] is when your soul becomes so defined, so unique, that it begins to coalesce into a single idea. It affects not only your power but your mind. It changes who you are. There are nine grades to it—Spark, Ember, Concept, Value, Character, Nature, Distinct, Trait, and Individuality."
The class scribbled notes furiously. I just listened.
"Now," he said, "close your eyes. Think of what draws you. What feels safe. What you desire above all else. Your Seithr source should come naturally—it already exists within you."
I closed my eyes. My heart thrummed. I didn't have to think hard. I already knew what I wanted. What I needed.
Light.
The moment I chose, heat surged through my body. My markings flared and danced across my skin. When I opened my eyes, the room was bathed in white glow.
"Congratulations, Prince," the teacher said with a knowing smile. "You know yourself well."
"A mix of talent and luck," I replied, grinning.
He chuckled and stepped closer. "My name is Merlin Torst, your grace."
"Nice to meet you, Merlin. Don't you have a class to teach?"
"That's what interests me," he said, studying me. "That was not the response of a child."
"And yet it is," I countered, wary of his gaze.
"The way you speak, the timing of your self-awareness… Either great trauma, or an [Influence] already formed."
"Well, my father is a king."
He laughed. "That he is, your grace." He pulled out a small vial. "May I?"
"You may."
He brushed my hair aside and held the vial above my temple. "This test will reveal your [Influence]. But know this—awareness comes at a price. Once you know it, it begins to shape you. Some never recover from that knowledge."
"Just do it," I said flatly. "You're already touching me with your dirty hands."
He smiled faintly and poured. The liquid slid down my face, clinging to my skin instead of falling.
At first, nothing. Then—thump.
My heart beat once in my ears, loud enough to shake the world.
Then silence.