Eight years later – Year 1461 A.A.
Kyrovolga Empire
Eight winters had passed since the night of storms and starlight — the night when a child was born beneath skies unlike any the empire had ever seen. The wind had howled like a spirit mourning or rejoicing, and the heavens had unveiled a strange, radiant pattern of stars not charted in any celestial text. For many, that night had been an omen. For some, a blessing. And for a rare few, a warning.
Now, in the present, that child — Noah Alexandrovich, third-born son of Emperor Vaelric and Queen Elenaria — had grown into a boy of eight winters, and already his presence left ripples in the currents of the empire.
Noah had the bearing of someone far older than his years. Though still small in stature, his posture was graceful, his manner calm and observant. His eyes, still the same deep, star-soaked blue, seemed to peer into people's intentions rather than their words. His skin bore the pale elegance of the Alexandrovich bloodline, but it was his aura — quiet, composed, unshakable — that unsettled both nobles and commoners alike.
He was beautiful in a way that was subtle and natural, but it was his mind that drew the most attention, and often, discomfort.
By the time he was six, Noah had learned to read advanced magical theory — not just recite it, but comprehend and question it. His tutors reported that he absorbed texts faster than they could assign them. He had taken an interest not only in history, but in ancient warfare, lost languages, forbidden magic, and realms beyond mortal understanding.
He read not for power, but for understanding. Not for control, but for meaning.
Now, he sat in his private chamber, the cold Kyrovolgan wind rattling the ancient glass windows. Snowflakes danced outside like silver spirits. Within, the air was warm from the fire crackling beside him. A thick tome rested on his lap — "The Shattered Axioms of Spellweaving", an archaic volume most mages didn't touch until academy years.
He wasn't studying for school. There were no tests to pass. He simply wanted to know.
That moment of stillness, however, was cut short by a firm knock at the door. A royal guard entered a second later, fully armored in dark silver, his breath misting in the warm chamber.
Guard:
"Young Master Noah, by order of the Arcane Council, you are summoned to the Spell Chamber. Today is your magical examination."
Noah looked up from his book, his brow faintly furrowing.
He sighed quietly, folding the corner of the page and closing the tome with care.
Noah:
"Now? Can't they wait until I've finished the chapter?"
The guard didn't respond.
Noah rose slowly, brushing imaginary dust from his dark tunic.
He wasn't upset — only annoyed at being interrupted. Yet deep inside, there was something else brewing:
Curiosity.
For years, he had studied every type of magic — from elemental arts to divine blessings, from bloodcraft to soulbinding. He had learned how every person in Aetherra carried a natural resonance, a magical essence tied to their identity. Yet despite all his reading, he had no idea what his own affinity was.
He had never manifested magic accidentally. Never felt a flare of power when angry or scared, as some children did. His body was a vessel still sealed.
---
The Arcane Chamber
He was led deep into the heart of the palace, where ancient magic still whispered through the stone. The Arcane Chamber had not changed in centuries — a vast, circular hall surrounded by towering statues of long-dead emperors, archmages, and battle saints. The domed ceiling above shimmered with constellations enchanted to mirror the real sky in real time. Tonight, they glowed with eerie blue light.
In the center of the floor, a vast spell circle pulsed softly. Runes older than the empire itself carved pathways across the marble, and at its heart was a glowing platform where the magic of a soul could be unveiled.
Noah entered the chamber to find it filled with figures of great importance.
High commanders of the Kyrovolgan military, clad in furs and metal.
Elders of the Imperial Bloodline, robed and adorned in layers of ceremonial charms.
Nobles, ambassadors, and mages — all seated, murmuring quietly.
At the far end of the hall, upon the dais, stood his family:
His father, Emperor Vaelric Alexandrovich XIII, tall and stoic, eyes like glacial daggers.
His mother, Queen Elenaria, her presence radiant, yet restrained.
Beside them were his elder siblings — Seraphyne, composed and elegant; and Kaelrich, proud and silent.
As Noah stepped into the hall, silence fell like snowfall.
One of the elders, a hunched man with runes across his forehead, raised a gnarled staff.
Elder:
"Noah Alexandrovich, third son of the Emperor. Step into the circle. Stand still. Let the magic flow, and your truth shall be revealed."
Without hesitation, Noah obeyed. He stepped into the circle, stopping precisely at its center. The glow beneath him intensified, then surged outward in concentric pulses.
The entire room held its breath.
And then, from the center of the circle, a radiant wall of light erupted — clear and shimmering, shaped like a dome of translucent crystal. It curved protectively around him, flickering with runes and flowing energy.
It was unmistakable.
Barrier Magic.
Not fire.
Not lightning.
Not void, shadow, or divine essence.
A defensive art. A shield.
---
The Whispers Begin
The magic faded, and at once the silence was broken.
Whispers.
Not of awe or wonder, but of doubt.
Noble (muttering):
"Barrier magic? Isn't that a… supporting magic?"
Commander:
"Not offensive. Not strategic. A wall. A wall has no will, no ambition."
Elder:
"Perhaps the Alexandrovich line is thinning. Diluted. Hollow."
The murmurs sharpened like blades.
What had begun as surprise turned quickly into judgment — even hostility.
Some nobles looked to one another in confusion and discomfort. Others, more ambitious, smelled opportunity.
Noble 1:
"Is he truly worthy to bear the Alexandrovich name?"
Noble 2 (whispering):
"Perhaps it is best we remove him. Quietly. An exile… Or a reassignment far away."
Elder (darkly):
"Why exile? Execution would be cleaner. Mercy is a burden we cannot afford."
The words cut like ice.
They were speaking of an eight-year-old child.
But in the halls of power, blood alone was not enough. Magic was everything. And if Noah was not seen as a warrior, a weapon, or a wielder of power, he was seen as a liability.
---
The Emperor's Judgment
And then—
A sudden voice, firm and cold, struck the room into silence.
Vaelric:
"Enough."
The emperor stood, every movement laced with steel and fire.
Vaelric:
"Cease your ignorant whispering. You speak as if you hold the weight of judgment. You do not."
His voice echoed through the chamber, carrying power not from magic — but from authority.
Vaelric:
"He is my son. My blood. Whether his magic is of war or wall, destruction or defense, he is born of the Alexandrovich line — and you will show him the respect due to that name."
Vaelric:
"Not a single one of you holds the right to pass sentence on him. Not now. Not ever."
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Not one dared challenge him.
Not one spoke a word.
---
Noah Walks Away
Noah said nothing. He didn't bow. He didn't weep. He didn't even glance at those who had spoken against him.
He turned. Walked out.
Completely calm.
Eyes forward.
He had heard everything, but listened to none of it.
To him, their words were meaningless.
They were distractions. Obstacles. Pawns.
And Noah Alexandrovich…
He was already thinking far beyond them.
---
End of Chapter 2