The Oyucuria Dynasty stood as a testament to the boundless potential of magic and human ingenuity intertwined. It was a kingdom that breathed enchantment, a sprawling marvel where ancient cobblestone streets snaked between towering spires that kissed the clouds, their apexes humming with arcane energies. Ornate, magically-powered streetlamps pulsed with soft, internal light, illuminating paths typically reserved for the sun. Sky-chariots, propelled by intricate enchantments rather than mundane engines, glided silently between districts, their sleek forms a blend of traditional craftsmanship and subtle magical mechanisms. Fountains didn't just spout water; they sculpted it into shimmering, ephemeral art, maintained by unseen currents of mana. It was a world where fantasy medieval aesthetics met the quiet, elegant hum of magical advancement, a vibrant tapestry woven from centuries of accumulated magical knowledge.At the very heart of this flourishing kingdom, providing its greatest contributions to growth and innovation, stood the Noble Family of Mage.
Their very surname, 'Mage,' was not merely an identifier but a declaration, a resonant echo of their innate connection to the arcane. Generations upon generations of Mages had been born with an almost preternatural affinity for the magical arts, each scion adding to the family's legendary reputation. From their ancestral halls, a steady stream of prodigies emerged, their talents eagerly sought after by the crown. They advised the King, bolstered the kingdom's defenses, pioneered magical advancements in agriculture and infrastructure, and ensured Oyucuria remained at the zenith of mystical power and prosperity.
Their bloodline was considered pure, their magical prowess a divine gift, flowing as freely and powerfully as the rivers that carved through the kingdom's verdant valleys.Yet, whispers, hesitant at first, then growing in insidious volume, spoke of an anomaly, a blot on this pristine lineage. There was word of one child, Tyler Mage, who, despite bearing the hallowed name, possessed no magical abilities of any kind. It was a paradox that clawed at the very foundations of the Mage family's pride, an unfathomable error in their perfect magical tapestry.From the moment he was old enough to understand the sharp glances, the hushed conversations that ceased abruptly upon his approach, Tyler's childhood had been a crucible of cold disdain.
He learned early on that the world outside the protective, if suffocating, embrace of his family's magical legacy was far more forgiving than the world within. Within the Mage family's sprawling estate, every servant, every extended relative, seemed to carry the weight of his perceived failure.His days were punctuated by the sharp, grating tone of his parents, Santa Mage and Luis Mage. Their voices, usually composed and resonant with the casual authority of powerful mages, would warp into something venomous when directed at him. "Tyler, you clumsy oaf! Can't you even manage a simple levitation spell to carry your own books? Your brother Zach could do it before he could walk!" Luis would sneer, his eyes, usually alight with arcane energy, narrowing into slits of pure disgust. Santa, with her elegant, manicured hands often gesturing with delicate, controlled bursts of magic, would snap.
"Look at him, Luis. A Mage, unable to even conjure a spark. It's a disgrace! Every piece of food that enters his mouth, every thread on his back, is a waste. A waste of our resources, our prestige!"These weren't just isolated incidents; they were a daily liturgy of condemnation, recited with a chilling regularity that etched itself into the very marrow of Tyler's young bones. He rarely saw genuine smiles directed his way, only tight, forced grimaces or outright scowls. His younger siblings, quick to pick up on their parents' cues, would often mock him, flinging small, uncontrolled bursts of elemental magic just out of his reach, or whispering cruel japes about his 'empty' hands.The sting of this constant verbal and emotional abuse was made all the more bitter by the insidious nature of his so-called friendships. Growing up, Tyler, desperate for companionship, clung to any child who showed him a flicker of kindness. He shared his meager, secretly hoarded treats, listened intently to their stories, and even defended them against bullies, a small, hopeful part of him believing he had found genuine connection.
But each time, the facade would inevitably crumble. He remembered the sting of betrayal, the sickening lurch in his stomach, when he overheard a seemingly close friend, a boy named Elara, eagerly reporting to his father about Tyler's day, detailing every mundane activity, every failed attempt at mimicking magic he'd witnessed. Elara's face, usually open and friendly, was twisted into an eager, sycophantic grin as Luis Mage nodded, slipping a few silver coins into the boy's palm. It wasn't just Elara; it happened repeatedly, a cruel cycle of hope followed by crushing disillusionment. He learned, with a bitter clarity that curdled his innocent trust, that his "friends" were merely hired spies, their feigned affection a transactional charade orchestrated by his own family, all to monitor if he would ever show even the slightest spark of magical ability. They were extensions of the very scrutiny he desperately wished to escape.This relentless onslaught of negativity, the constant belittling, the crushing weight of unmet expectations, solidified in Tyler a deep-seated hatred for almost his entire family. He built walls around his heart, thick and unyielding, to protect the raw, vulnerable core that still yearned for acceptance. He learned to project an indifferent, almost sullen demeanor, a shield against further emotional wounds. The world of the Mage family became a suffocating cage, its gilded bars a constant reminder of his perceived inadequacy.Yet, amidst this emotional wasteland, one unwavering light persisted: his older brother, Zach Mage.
Zach, a formidable 24-year-old, stood in stark, almost divine, contrast to Tyler's magical barrenness. He was not merely a mage; he was a phenomenon. From infancy, Zach had displayed an innate, effortless mastery over the arcane, a talent that had only grown with age. He could control all elements with a fluid grace that bordered on poetry – conjuring swirling vortexes of wind, unleashing torrents of shimmering water, commanding pillars of raw earth to rise from the ground, or igniting blistering gouts of fire with a mere thought. His healing spells were renowned for their efficacy, mending grievous wounds and dispelling even the most stubborn curses. He knew many advanced spells, incantations so complex they twisted the tongues of elder mages, yet Zach wove them with ease. He could enchant items with a casual flick of his wrist, imbuing mundane objects with powerful magical properties, and effortlessly cast old ancient spells that even Grand Wizards, masters of arcane lore, struggled to comprehend, let alone replicate. Zach performed these feats not with showmanship, but with an almost serene, quiet power, as if he merely tapped into the natural order of the universe. The difference between Tyler, the magical null, and Zach, the magical titan, couldn't have been clearer; it was the difference between a barren desert and a vibrant, overflowing oasis.But unlike the rest of his family, Zach saw past the absence of magic in Tyler.
He saw the boy, the brother, the person aching for connection and dignity. Zach treated Tyler with a consistent, unwavering care and love, a stark contrast to the glacial contempt of their parents and siblings. He was the only one who spoke to Tyler without judgment, who offered quiet encouragement, who acknowledged his existence as something more than a magical void. Tyler clung to Zach's affection, a lifeline in a sea of hostility, a single, precious exception to his pervasive hate for the Mage lineage.To carve out a space for himself, to find freedom from the constant scrutiny and the weight of his family's disappointment, Tyler turned to the physical. He found solace in movement, in the raw, undeniable reality of his own body. He devoured every scrap of knowledge he could find on parkour skills, studying the way the city's architecture could be navigated, viewing every wall, every ledge, every gap not as an obstacle, but as a pathway. He practiced in secret, scaling the less-trafficked walls of the estate, leaping across rooftops, finding exhilaration in the mastery of his own limbs, the wind whipping past his face as he ascended beyond the reach of hateful voices. These high places became his sanctuary, literally and figuratively, a place where he could be out of reach, where the magic that defined his family held no sway.And then there was skateboarding. It was an oddity, a peculiar wheeled board he'd stumbled upon in a forgotten storage room, a relic from a distant, perhaps more technologically inclined, past. But it became his passion. He spent hours, often late into the night, practicing in the desolate courtyards of the estate, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels against the ancient flagstones a comforting counterpoint to the silence of his isolation. He learned to carve, to balance, to leap and spin, the board becoming an extension of his will.
It was the only thing he could really do around the house that didn't involve magic, a physical art that required discipline, balance, and a keen understanding of momentum—skills utterly divorced from arcane incantations. In the precise control of his body and the board, he found a profound sense of self-worth that his family vehemently denied him. These hobbies weren't just pastimes; they were his rebellion, his therapy, and his very means of escape from the suffocating atmosphere of the Mage household.
As Tyler crossed the threshold into seventeen years of age, the already unbearable atmosphere at home curdled into something even more acrid. The subtle sneers sharpened into overt declarations of disdain, and the whispers morphed into outright accusations. His parents, already cold, became icicles of judgment."Seventeen years!" Santa Mage declared one evening at dinner, her voice ringing with performative anguish, a silver goblet of magically chilled wine clutched tightly in her hand. Her gaze, usually fixed on Zach with proud admiration, now bore into Tyler like twin shards of ice. "Seventeen years we have poured resources into this… this project! And for what? Not a single spark, not a whisper of mana! The cost of feeding him, clothing him, housing him, it's astronomical! Money that could have funded a new wing for the Arcane Library, or sponsored half a dozen promising young talents."Luis Mage, seated at the head of the impossibly long, enchanted dining table, merely grunted in agreement, his fork clinking against his plate with exaggerated disdain as he pushed a piece of perfectly roasted wyvern away. "He is a waste, Tyler. A drain on our family's coffers. A testament to some unknown flaw in our otherwise pristine lineage. The very resources expended on your upkeep could never be earned back. You simply couldn't amount to anything good in this family, not with your… condition."The comparisons to Zach, which had always been a sharp, persistent thorn in Tyler's side, became a bludgeon.
"Look at your brother, Zach," Santa would coo, turning her gaze to her eldest son, her voice softening into a cloying sweetness that made Tyler's stomach churn. "He was performing complex elemental transmutations at your age. He's already discovered three new healing variants, single-handedly bolstered the city's magical defenses, and just yesterday, he perfected the ancient Arcane Shielding ritual, a feat only whispered about in dusty scrolls! And you, Tyler? You fall off a wheeled board and scrape your knee, or you cling to rooftops like a common thief! It makes us feel smaller and useless just to acknowledge your existence as a Mage."Tyler would sit through these nightly rituals, a knot of icy dread coiling in his gut, his eyes fixed on some distant, unseen point beyond the opulent dining hall. He had long since learned not to react, to keep his face a mask of practiced indifference.
Each insult, each comparison, was a fresh laceration on an already heavily scarred soul, but he refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing his pain. Inside, however, a storm raged—a tempest of resentment, humiliation, and a crushing sense of worthlessness. He yearned to scream, to shatter the delicate enchanted glassware, to run far, far away from this gilded cage.The inevitable came a week later. Tyler was in his cramped, barely furnished room, practicing a difficult handstand on his skateboard, his body taut with concentration. The rhythmic creak of the board against his palms was the only sound in the otherwise silent room, a comforting drone that usually helped him clear his mind.
Then, a sharp rap echoed at his door, too firm for a servant. He dropped from the handstand, his body instantly alert. The door swung open to reveal Santa and Luis Mage, their faces devoid of even their usual cruel expressions. They were simply… cold. Formal. Like judges delivering a verdict.Luis spoke, his voice clipped and precise, entirely devoid of emotion. "Tyler. Your presence here is no longer tenable. Our efforts to find a place for you, a non-magical, within the family structure, have proven fruitless. You are a constant reminder of… an imperfection."Santa stepped forward, her hands clasped before her, her voice equally flat. "The elders have concurred. You are to be banished from our family. Your name will be struck from the lineage scrolls. You are forbidden to ever return to this estate, or indeed, to the lands of the Oyucuria Dynasty proper. You have two days to pack your things. A carriage will take you to the Outlands. Do not attempt to contact us, or your siblings, ever again."Tyler felt a chilling sensation, like an invisible hand squeezing his heart. He had anticipated this, logically. He had known, somewhere deep down, that this day would come. Yet, hearing the words spoken aloud, with such clinical detachment, still tore a fresh wound. His face, however, remained impassive, a testament to years of forced emotional suppression.
He merely nodded, his gaze unwavering, betraying none of the turmoil within. "Understood," he managed, his voice surprisingly steady. The formality of his response seemed to throw his parents off for a fraction of a second, a flicker of something unreadable in their eyes before their expressions hardened back into stone. Without another word, they turned and exited, the heavy oak door clicking shut with a finality that echoed the severing of a familial bond.Word of the banishment spread through the Mage estate like wildfire, sparking hushed gossip among the servants and hushed, triumphant whispers among Tyler's siblings. But when the news reached Zach Mage, it landed like a physical blow. He had been in his private study, meticulously enchanting a set of protective amulets for the royal guard, his purple eyes glowing faintly with focused power. The servant who delivered the news stammered, fearing the prodigy's reaction.Zach's hand, poised over a complex runic inscription, stilled. The faint arcane light around him flickered, then intensified for a moment, a barely perceptible surge of his immense power, before he brought it back under control.
His shadowed face remained unreadable, but the air around him seemed to crackle with suppressed emotion. He dismissed the servant with a terse nod, then rose, his red robe flowing around him like liquid shadow.He walked directly to his parents' private chambers, his footsteps unusually heavy. He didn't bother with the customary knock, simply pushing the ornate doors open. Santa and Luis looked up, startled, from their council."You have banished Tyler," Zach stated, his voice calm, but with an underlying current of something cold and unyielding that made even his powerful parents flinch slightly. His purple eyes, usually radiating serene wisdom, held a glint of something akin to quiet fury.Luis started to speak, "Son, you know he is a liability. A stain—""A human being," Zach interrupted, his tone cutting through his father's words like a sharp blade.
"My brother. You cast him out, into the Outlands, where he has no magic to protect himself."Santa sighed, waving a dismissive hand. "He has his… peculiar skills. He will adapt. Besides, it is done. The elders approved. It is for the good of the family name."Zach stood there for a long moment, the faint, shimmering symbols stitched onto his red robe seeming to pulse in the dim light. He knew arguing was futile. Their ideology was too deeply ingrained, their pride too absolute. His expression softened, the anger receding into a profound sadness. "Very well. But I will personally oversee his departure. I will ensure he leaves the domain safely." It was not a request, but a quiet declaration, an unshakeable resolve that his parents recognized and did not challenge. They merely nodded, relieved that he wasn't openly defying their decision.Later that afternoon, Zach found Tyler in his sparsely furnished room, sitting cross-legged on the floor, running a calloused thumb over the worn wooden surface of his skateboard. The room, devoid of the magical trinkets and enchanted decor that adorned every other Mage family chamber, felt stark and empty, a reflection of Tyler's standing within the household.Zach entered quietly, closing the door behind him. Tyler looked up, his face carefully blank, but Zach saw the tremor in his hands, the subtle tension in his jaw."Tyler," Zach began, his voice soft, a gentle balm in the harshness of their world. He sat down on the dusty floor opposite his brother, eschewing the single, uncomfortable chair. "I heard. I... I'm very sorry."Tyler merely shrugged, looking away.
"What's there to be sorry for? It was always going to happen. I'm a disgrace, remember?" The words were flat, devoid of self-pity, yet they carried the heavy weight of years of internalizing that very condemnation."No," Zach countered firmly, his purple eyes fixed on Tyler. "No, you are not a disgrace. You are my brother. And you are a remarkable person, Tyler. You have a spirit that shines brighter than any arcane flame, a resilience I've rarely seen. You've faced more hatred and scorn than most mages will in a lifetime, and you still stand. That takes a strength no magic can teach."Tyler's carefully constructed indifference wavered. He risked a glance at Zach, seeing only genuine empathy in his brother's shadowed gaze. "They hate me," he mumbled, the words barely a whisper. "Everyone but you.""I know," Zach said, his voice laced with regret. "I wish... I wish things could be different. I wish we could live as a normal family, where this wouldn't matter. Where you would be celebrated for who you are, not condemned for what you aren't. But I know, with the ideology our family was raised in, it would be impossible. Their minds are too rigid, too steeped in tradition and power. They don't see beyond the magic." He paused, a long, mournful silence filling the small room. "I'm sorry I couldn't change their minds. Sorry I couldn't protect you more."A fragile dam in Tyler's heart began to crack. He had never heard Zach apologize for his family's actions so directly, so personally. It was an admission of powerlessness from a man who wielded god-like magic, a rare moment of vulnerability."What do I... what do I even take?" Tyler finally asked, his voice thick. He looked around the barren room, at the few meager possessions that constituted his entire life. A stack of worn books on anatomy and physics (he'd always been fascinated by how the non-magical world worked), a faded map of the kingdom, a small, intricate carving tool he'd once used to whittle scraps of wood, and, of course, his beloved skateboard.
Zach rose. "Anything you need. Anything that will help you survive. We will pack it all." He moved to the small, rickety wooden chest that served as Tyler's only storage. Tyler watched, a flicker of surprise in his chest. Zach, the prodigy who could conjure packing crates with a gesture and teleport objects with a thought, was kneeling, his large, powerful hands carefully folding a spare tunic and even adding a few daggers from his own robes.
"You're... not using magic?" Tyler asked, the words escaping before he could stop them.
Zach looked up, his purple eyes meeting Tyler's. A faint, sad smile touched his lips, barely visible in the perpetual shadow around his face. "No," he said softly. "This isn't about magic, Tyler. This is about you. This is about showing my respect and care for you. And I want you to know, whatever happens out there, you are still my brother. And I will always care." He picked up a worn leather bound journal, its pages filled with Tyler's rough sketches of parkour routes and skateboard designs. Zach's fingers, accustomed to wielding raw magical energy, handled the simple object with a surprising tenderness. He placed it gently into the travel sack he had retrieved from somewhere in the room—a sturdy, unadorned canvas bag, devoid of any magical enchantments.
As they packed, a quiet, heartfelt brotherly conversation unfolded. Zach spoke of the Outlands not as a death sentence, but as a challenge, hinting at his own studies of its geography and flora, knowledge he usually reserved for strategic war planning. He advised Tyler on foraging, on tracking, on recognizing dangerous creatures. He didn't sugarcoat the dangers, but he instilled in Tyler a quiet sense of readiness. Tyler, in turn, found himself speaking more freely than he had in years, recounting small anecdotes from his lonely childhood, moments of silent defiance he'd never dared share. Zach listened, nodding, his shadowed face conveying a profound understanding. He folded Tyler's clothes with precise, deliberate movements, arranged his few toiletries, and even helped him carefully secure his skateboard to the outside of the simple travel pack. There was no magical efficiency, no glowing spells, just the quiet, methodical actions of a brother preparing his sibling for a harsh, uncertain future. The silence in the room was not empty, but filled with the unspoken weight of their shared history, their fractured family, and the unique, enduring bond between them. Zach's actions, stripped of all arcane power, spoke louder than any grand spell could.