The Drayvar mansion's training yard was an impressive structure: an open space the size of three common houses, surrounded by stone walls and equipped with everything a warrior in training could need. Practice dummies, weapon racks, combat circles marked on the ground, even a small armory in an adjacent building.
Kael and Sareth weren't allowed to enter.
But there was a balcony on the second floor, accessible from the secondary library, offering a perfect view of the yard. Nobody had bothered to tell them they couldn't be there—probably because nobody had bothered to think about them at all—so it had become their silent refuge after lessons.
They arrived just as Rylan and Master Torin began the afternoon session.
Torin was everything Corvin wasn't: tall, muscular, with scars telling stories of real battles. His Aether level was Master third layer, high enough to be respected, experienced enough to teach. His gray hair was cut close, and his eyes—dark as wet stones—missed no detail.
—Position —he barked.
Rylan immediately slid into combat stance, training sword in hand, feet shoulder-width apart, weight evenly distributed.
—Better —Torin grunted, walking around his student in slow circles—. But you still drop your left shoulder when preparing to attack. A competent opponent would notice and run you through before you completed the movement.
—Yes, Master.
—Show me the First Flow.
Rylan inhaled deeply, and then it happened.
From the balcony, Kael saw how the air around his older brother began to... change. It wasn't visible to common eyes, but he felt it: a subtle pressure, a tingling on skin speaking of energy moving. And then, for a brief moment, he saw electric blue flashes—the color of storm, the color of Drayvar blood—dance along Rylan's training sword.
It was Aether. Inherited divine power, flowing through the core in Rylan's chest, circulating through his nodes, manifesting as brute force.
Rylan moved, and his speed was completely unnatural for a fourteen-year-old boy. The sword cut through air with a sharp whistle, striking a practice dummy with enough force to pierce the padded armor and bury itself in the wood beneath.
—Better —Torin admitted with something like approval—. You're learning to maintain constant flow. But you waste too much energy in preparation. Thirty percent of your Aether dissipates before the strike lands.
—How do I fix it?
—Practice. A thousand repetitions. Ten thousand. Until your body understands the most efficient path without your mind having to think about it.
Rylan nodded, wiping sweat from his forehead, and began again.
On the balcony, Sareth watched with a mix of fascination and sadness so intense it almost hurt to look at him.
—I'll never be able to do that —he murmured, more to himself than to Kael—. Master Corvin says with my weak resonance, it would take me twenty years to even reach Apprentice second layer. If I manage it at all.
Kael didn't respond immediately. He watched Rylan, but not with envy. He was... analyzing. Seeing how Aether flowed, how Torin corrected each movement, how Rylan's confidence grew with each small praise.
Physical power, he thought. That's what Rylan has. That's what everyone respects.
But he'd seen something else at breakfast. How Elyn manipulated conversations. How Lyssara planted doubts with just a look. How Varen controlled the room without saying almost anything.
Power isn't just strength, he understood with sudden clarity. It's knowing when to use it. It's knowing what people want. It's being indispensable.
—Sareth —he said abruptly—, what does Rylan want more than anything in the world?
His brother blinked at the topic change.
—Uh... to be the heir? To make mother and father proud?
—No —Kael shook his head—. That's what Elyn wants. What does Rylan want?
Sareth frowned, thinking.
—I suppose... he wants to be the best. The strongest. He wants everyone to recognize him.
—Exactly. Validation. Recognition. —Kael smiled slightly—. He's a simple type at heart. Give him praise, make him feel superior, and he'll follow you anywhere.
—Why does that matter?
—Because —Kael said, his eyes still fixed on the yard where Rylan practiced his thousandth repetition—, if we ever want to matter, we need to understand what moves people. And Rylan is the most important person in this house after father.
—I thought you didn't like him.
—I don't —Kael admitted—. But that doesn't mean it's not useful to understand him.
A movement in the yard caught his attention. Lyssara had appeared, sliding from a side entrance with her book still under her arm. She stood at the combat circle's edge, watching without saying a word.
Torin noticed her first.
—Miss Lyssara. Do you need something?
—Just observing, Master Torin —she responded with polite voice somehow sounding condescending—. Continue.
Torin grunted but didn't dismiss her. Lyssara leaned against the wall, opened her book, and proceeded to pretend reading while her eyes constantly drifted toward Rylan's training.
She's analyzing too, Kael understood. Looking for weaknesses. Looking for patterns. Just like me.
And then Lyssara's eyes rose toward the balcony.
They met Kael's.
For a moment—just a moment—there was a flash of something. Recognition? Curiosity? A silent understanding that both were playing the same game?
Lyssara smiled. It was a small smile, barely a movement at the corner of her lips, but it was there.
Then she returned to her book.
Kael felt a chill that had nothing to do with the wind.
—We should go —Sareth said uncomfortably—. If they discover us here...
—Nobody will discover us —Kael interrupted—. Because nobody's looking for us.
But he stood anyway, because he'd seen what he needed to see. Rylan was strong, but predictable. Torin was competent, but following an established script. Lyssara was the only interesting variable.
And she saw me, he thought as they descended the stone stairs. She saw me watching her. And it didn't bother her. That's... something.
He didn't know what that something was yet. But he'd figure it out.
He always did.
Family dinner was always tenser than breakfast, as if the entire day's weight accumulated in the room and threatened to crush everyone beneath its pressure.
That night, Varen arrived late, his face more serious than usual. Elyn was already seated, with a glass of red wine she'd been slowly drinking for the last twenty minutes. Rylan and Lyssara conversed quietly about something—probably Lyssara mocking her brother's combat technique so subtly he didn't realize he was being insulted.
Kael and Sareth entered last, as always, and slid toward their seats without making noise.
The servants brought food: lamb stew, freshly baked bread, roasted vegetables. The kind of food feeding warriors in training. Kael ate mechanically, tasting little, observing everything.
Varen took a bite of stew, set down his spoon, and finally spoke:
—I must travel to Vaeloria in two weeks.
The silence that followed was heavy.
—The capital? —Elyn asked, her voice carefully neutral—. For how long?
—A month, maybe two. The Emperor summoned the Solar Council. Imperial matters.
Imperial matters, Kael mentally repeated. Which means Titus Draconis wants to remind the Great Houses who holds real power.
—You should take Rylan with you —Elyn said, and it wasn't a suggestion. It was a statement disguised as advice.
Varen looked at her, considering.
—He's young still.
—He's fourteen. The same age you were when your father first took you to court. —Elyn leaned slightly forward, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone—. He needs to learn politics as much as combat. And there's no better teacher than seeing the Emperor in action.
Brilliant, Kael thought despite himself. She's selling the idea as education, but what she really wants is for Rylan to be seen. To be recognized. To start building connections in the capital.
Varen stroked his beard, thoughtful.
—He'd have to miss his training.
—Master Torin can wait two months. Connections in Vaeloria cannot.
It was Lyssara who spoke next, her voice cutting through the air like a well-sharpened knife:
—And what about me, father? Should I also go to "learn politics"?
Kael saw immediate tension in Elyn's shoulders. This wasn't part of the plan.
—You're young still —Elyn said before Varen could respond.
—One year younger than Rylan —Lyssara pointed out with perfectly reasonable tone—. And according to records, Empress Cassia attended her first Council session at ten years old.
—Empress Cassia —Elyn said with icy voice— was being prepared to rule. You're being prepared for... other things.
Marriage, Kael translated. She's preparing you to be bargaining chip in a future alliance.
Lyssara didn't flinch. She simply smiled, took a sip of her water, and said:
—Of course, mother. Sorry for the confusion.
But in her eyes was something sharp and dangerous that made Kael wonder if Elyn realized she was raising a serpent.
—Then it's decided —Varen concluded, clearly relieved to end the conversation—. Rylan will come with me to Vaeloria in two weeks. He'll need appropriate clothing for court, and...
He continued talking, detailing preparations. Rylan listened with bright eyes, clearly excited. Elyn nodded with satisfaction. Lyssara had returned to pretending indifference, but Kael had seen that flash.
She's furious, he understood. Not about staying behind. About being dismissed so easily. About Elyn not even having to think about the answer.
And Sareth... Sareth had stopped eating. His fork trembled slightly in his hand as he stared at his plate, doing everything possible to become invisible. As if by being small enough, quiet enough, nobody would remember to ask him uncomfortable questions about his future.
Nobody did.
Kael looked around the table, this dysfunctional ecosystem they called family, and felt something cold and clear crystallize in his chest.
Rylan will go to the capital. He'll see Emperor Titus Draconis, the world's most powerful man. He'll walk through Vaeloria's halls, meet nobles from other Great Houses, begin weaving the network that will someday support him as Drayvar House Head.
Lyssara will stay here, resentful and hungry, sharpening her claws in her brother's shadow.
Sareth will remain invisible, taking refuge in books and fantasies of being useful.
And I...
Kael cut a piece of lamb and chewed it slowly, savoring the salt and fat.
I'll also stay here. Ignored. Forgotten. Average.
For now.
Dinner ended with the same routine as always: Varen withdrew first, Elyn and Rylan left together discussing trip details, Lyssara disappeared with her book like a ghost. And Kael and Sareth remained at the table, finishing the leftovers while servants began collecting plates.
—Do you ever think about what it would be like? —Sareth suddenly asked, his voice barely a whisper.
—What would what be like?
—Going to Vaeloria. Seeing the capital. Meeting the Emperor.
Kael considered the question while wiping his plate with a piece of bread.
—All the time —he admitted—. But thinking doesn't change anything.
—Then what does?
It was a simple question, almost childish in its desperation. But something in it resonated with Kael, finding echo in that cold, determined place that had begun growing in his chest.
—Action —he said finally—. Decisions. Making people need you.
—How?
—I don't know yet. —Kael stood, pushing his chair back—. But I'll figure it out, Sareth. I promise.
Sareth looked at him with those gray eyes too large for his face, filled with hope so fragile it threatened to shatter at the slightest touch.
—You promise?
Kael hesitated. Promises were dangerous. Promises created expectations, and expectations created disappointment. But Sareth was his brother, the only one in this house who saw him as more than a shadow.
—I promise —he said.
And as they climbed the stairs toward their rooms, Kael wondered if someday he'd have to break that promise. If the price of stopping being invisible would be leaving Sareth behind.
I hope not, he thought. But if I have to... I will.
Because that was the difference between him and Sareth. Sareth still believed the world could be fair. That if you were good enough, loyal enough, kind enough, you'd eventually be rewarded.
Kael already knew the truth: the world didn't reward goodness. It rewarded power.
And he would find a way to get it.
Kael's room was cold when he entered. It always was. The window without proper curtains let in drafts that made shadows dance on the walls. Outside, the sea roared against the cliffs with renewed violence, announcing another storm.
He approached the window and looked toward the darkness. Clouds covered the moon, but occasional lightning illuminated the landscape in white, blinding flashes. The raging sea. The stone cliffs. The distant towers of Stormvale, the city sharing this coastal region's name.
Out there, he thought, is a world that doesn't know me. That doesn't know I exist. That probably will never know my name.
Unless I do something about it.
He reviewed the day in his mind. The breakfast where he was invisible. The lesson where Master Corvin barely noticed him. Rylan's training that would never be his. The dinner where his existence was so irrelevant Varen didn't even consider mentioning his name.
Average, the resonance crystal had said a year ago. Average.
The ceremony was still fresh in his memory. The Storm Temple, with its tall columns and perpetual candles. The Resonance Stone, an ancient crystal the size of his head, pulsing with faint light. Varen on one side, with impenetrable expression. Elyn on the other, with barely disguised indifference. Rylan and Lyssara watching from behind, bored. Sareth clutching Kael's tunic, whispering "it'll be fine, it'll be fine" like a mantra.
Kael had cut his palm with the ceremonial dagger—the pain was less than expected—and had let three drops of blood fall onto the crystal.
The reaction had been... strange.
The crystal had glowed blue, the color of Drayvar storm, but there was something else. Something that flickered for an instant, so fast Kael thought he'd imagined it. A distinct flash...
But it vanished before anyone else noticed. Or so he thought.
Lyssara had seen it. On the balcony today, when their eyes met, Kael had seen the recognition. She knew something had been different about his ceremony.
But what does it mean? he wondered. A crystal error? An anomaly? Or something more?
The priest who'd presided over the ceremony had declared: "Average resonance. Blood Aether present. With dedicated training, he can improve, but only to a certain point."
In the world, Aether divides into six levels: Apprentice, Knight, Arms Master, Archon, Ascended, and Eternal—only two beings reach the last. Five layers per level, except the last, unique and exclusive. A rigid system separating the useful from the legendary.
The young man nodded, aware that beyond will, few crossed those borders. Some strive to be Knights or Masters, most barely reach an Apprentice's mediocrity.
—Average resonance —he murmured to himself—. Useful, yes, but never legendary. Never divine.
Never enough to matter.
Thunder exploded over the mansion, so loud the walls trembled. Kael didn't startle. He was used to it. Stormvale didn't have that name by chance.
He turned from the window and dropped onto his narrow bed. The rough sheets scraped his skin, but it was better than nothing. Better than sleeping in the soldiers' barracks. Better than being an orphan in the city streets.
Small victories, he thought with bitter smile. I'm invisible but I have a bed.
He closed his eyes, but sleep didn't come. His mind kept spinning, processing information, building strategies still too vague to be useful.
Rylan is strong but simple.
Lyssara is intelligent but resentful.
Sareth is loyal but broken.
Varen is distant but not cruel.
Elyn is cold but predictable.
And me? What am I?
Invisible. Observer. Patient.
Enough?
Another thunder. Another flash of white light illuminating his room for a second.
And in that second, Kael made a decision.
I won't stay like this.
It was a simple decision, almost childish in its determination. But it was real. It was his. And for the first time in his almost nine years of life, he felt something like... purpose.
He didn't know how he'd do it. He didn't know how long it would take. He didn't know what he'd have to sacrifice along the way.
But he knew this: the world that had ignored him would eventually learn his name.
Kael Drayvar.
Not the concubine's son. Not the forgotten brother. Not the average resonance.
Just Kael.
He opened his eyes and looked at the dark stone ceiling, where shadows kept dancing to the storm's rhythm.
—Average —he whispered to the void—. As if they knew what that means. As if a crystal could measure what I'll do.
Thunder responded, a savage roar shaking the mansion's foundations.
And Kael smiled.
It was a small smile, barely a movement of lips in the darkness. But it was there. Cold. Determined. Hungry.
The smile of someone who had just declared war on the world.
Though the world didn't know it yet.
Not yet.