After Selene's exam, the applause faded away like an echo that refused to die. Staff members began dismantling parts of the evaluation device, guests broke off into small groups of conversation, and the general murmur turned into a distant background noise, as if all sound were drifting far, far away.
For the Arias–Vides family, however, the truly difficult part was only just beginning.
An attendant leaned toward Manuel.
—The private room is ready, sir.
Manuel nodded without saying a word. His eyes met Johana's for a brief moment. They both knew what this was about. Liora, at his side, gently squeezed her husband's hand.
Before heading to the room, Liora crouched in front of her daughter.
—Selene, love, you're going to rest for a bit with your little brother, okay?
Selene's eyes still shone faintly with the excitement of the exam, but fatigue already weighed on her lashes.
—With nii? —she asked, drowsy.
—With him —Liora smiled, stroking her hair—. He's sleeping. You'll keep him company.
In a nearby room, protected by a sound barrier, Jhosep was sleeping deeply, unaware of everything. Selene climbed up onto the small bed, curled up beside him, hugging a blanket, and within minutes they were both wrapped in a quiet sleep.
Two children sleeping.
Two futures that were no longer so simple.
The door closed softly behind Liora.
Inside the private room, the atmosphere was completely different.
Present were:
Pedro Arias and Silvia.
Pedro Vides and Miladiz.
Rhysair and Aralyn Falkenray.
Alexander.
Yeimi and Cael.
Manuel, Liora, and Johana.
The door closed with a soft, final click.
The last time all those names had shared the same room with "Jhosep" as a topic, that child had barely taken his first breaths.
Now he was breathing normally.
But the problem surrounding him had not disappeared.
It had only become more complex.
No one spoke for a few seconds.
It was a heavy silence, full of things unsaid.
At last, Pedro Vides cleared his throat.
—All right —his voice was deep, direct—. It's time we stop dodging this. What happened when Jhosep was born… and what that means now that he's growing.
His eyes settled on Alexander.
—Explain it. From the beginning. For everyone.
Alexander held his father's gaze for a few seconds, as if needing to confirm that, truly, there was no longer a way to postpone this.
—All right —he said at last.
He stood up slowly. He didn't have a warrior's rigid posture, but the way he gripped the papers in his hands made it clear that this battle had been no less serious than any physical one.
—The day Jhosep was born —he began— his mana core wasn't large. It was… absurd. Very dense, too compressed for the size of his body. Like trying to trap an ocean inside a freshly made glass.
He looked at Manuel and Johana, then at the grandparents.
—A newborn isn't prepared to withstand that. Every surge of mana rushed through his channels like a storm. If we had left it as it was… —he drew in a breath— he would have died within hours.
Johana lowered her gaze. Her hands, resting on her legs, had tightened into fists.
—For an entire week —Alexander went on— we tried everything. Controlled draining, stabilizers, layered medicine, external regulators. Every time we emptied his core, it filled again. As if the mana refused to shut down. He was breaking apart from the inside. There was no margin left.
A dense silence followed. Silvia lifted a hand to her chest, remembering the pale face of the baby wrapped in provisional seals.
Alexander opened the folder slowly, like someone peeling back an old wound.
—At that point, I wasn't looking for an elegant solution—just one that wouldn't kill him. And I found this —he raised the parchment—: the Vital Suppression Seal. An ancient technique, almost always recorded as punishment, but with one property that mattered to us: it could completely halt the flow of mana without destroying the core.
His gaze went around the table.
—I told you the risks that day. You remember: that the seal might block more than intended, might become permanent, that no one would know how to undo it. You all knew what it meant.
Johana closed her eyes. Manuel clenched his jaw.
—And even so —Alexander continued, his voice lower— you all accepted it. Because the alternative was burying your son.
He set the folder down on the table.
—The seal worked. It stopped the flow. His body stopped breaking.
And Jhosep lived.
A small, bitter relief moved around the table. That truth was still a truth.
But Alexander wasn't finished.
—The seal dug deeper than expected. It didn't just stop the flow. It silenced it completely. Internally, Jhosep can't feel mana. Externally, no one can detect it.
He took a breath, as if the next words physically hurt to say:
—To any conventional reading, to any mage… my nephew is the first recorded living being without mana.
No one spoke.
Liora looked toward the wall where, through stone and spells, she knew her children slept.
Selene, a girl recognized by the wind.
Jhosep, a boy unknown to the world.
Pedro Arias broke the silence with a voice that seemed to come from deep within the years.
—We all know mana isn't just energy. It's identity. It's what marks us as part of this world. Mana runs through us, answers us, connects us. It's as natural as breathing.
His eyes hardened slightly.
—And someone who lacks that… sooner or later will be seen as something that shouldn't exist.
No one argued.
Not because they agreed with that judgment…
but because they knew how society worked.
Rhysair interlaced his fingers.
—The news will spread —he said—. It might take time, but it will spread. And when it does, it won't be kind.
Aralyn nodded.
—Some will see him as a mistake. Others as an experiment. Others as a tool. But few… very few… will see him as a child.
From where he leaned against the wall, Cael let out a short breath, almost a contained growl.
Alexander closed the folder.
—That's how I summed it up that day, and I repeat it now: the seal saved his life. But the price… is this.
Johana was breathing deeply, trying to hold herself together.
She had heard this before.
She knew it.
But hearing it like this, in front of her entire family, made the guilt feel more real.
Pedro Vides laid a hand on the table.
—All right —he said firmly—. We know what Jhosep is in terms of mana. Now let's talk about what that will mean for his life.
Rhysair picked up the thread.
—The three-year exam isn't just a local tradition. It's a global reference point for families, nobility, alliances. Everyone wants to see which path the children of certain houses take.
Silvia added:
—And a child born between House Arias and House Vides will not be ignored. It's a union everyone is watching.
Manuel's jaw tightened.
—The world already knows an heir from that union was born, don't they? —he asked.
Pedro Arias nodded.
—They know there was a birth. That a son exists. Not the name, not the face, not the details. Just that the Arias–Vides bloodline has extended.
Alexander added, serious:
—When his exam comes, they'll be expecting him. They'll expect something great. They'll expect to see the son of Manuel Arias de Moreno and Johana Vides López shine.
Johana felt her stomach twist at those words.
The weight of their surnames, which had so often propelled her forward, now felt like shackles.
—The physical part of the exam can be done without issue —Cael said, speaking calmly for the first time—. Balance, reflexes, coordination. That can be trained.
—The mana part cannot —Alexander said—. There will be no reaction. No sphere. No reading. Only… silence.
Pedro Vides inhaled deeply.
—We can control what is officially announced and what isn't. For now, what will go out to the world is simple: "The male child born of the Arias–Vides union presents no detectable mana."
Johana lifted her head.
—No name —she said—. No details. Just that.
—Exactly —Pedro V nodded—. The defect, but not the person.
The silence that followed was longer than the rest.
The kind where each person starts to get trapped inside their own thoughts.
On Johana's face, that silence became too heavy.
At first she only tightened her fists.
Then she raised her head.
And it was clear that something inside her had crossed a line.
—There's… something else —she said, her voice quieter, almost a whisper.
Liora looked at her immediately. She knew that tone.
—Something I've been thinking about —Johana continued—. For a while now.
No one interrupted. Something in her expression said that if they cut her off now, she wouldn't speak again.
—We chose to put that seal on him —she said, a knot in her throat—. We chose… to take his mana away. His identity. We did it because we love him. Because we wanted him to live. But the world won't see it that way.
She swallowed, her eyes glistening.
—The world will see… a mistake. A defective child. The only one without mana.
Her voice began to tremble more.
—And the question that's been haunting me for days is: What do we do when the world turns its eyes on him?
Her eyes hardened and filled with tears at the same time—an odd mix that only exists in someone about to do something they know will break their own heart.
—If we show him as something precious —she whispered— they'll tear him out of our hands. If we let them see how much we love him, they'll use him to hurt us. They'll kidnap him, study him, display him, torture him… just because he's "the boy without mana that his family adores."
Silvia closed her eyes.
Johana clenched her jaw.
—And that idea… is killing me.
She lifted her gaze. This time, she looked at all of them, one by one.
—That's why I thought of something else. Something horrible. Something I hate with every part of me. But I can't stop seeing it as a possibility.
Her voice broke on the next line:
—That we… reject him ourselves.
Air rushed out of more than one chest at once.
—Not a half-hearted rejection, not an easy performance —she rushed to clarify—. The world isn't stupid. The nobility isn't stupid. Our enemies aren't stupid. If we pretend… they'll notice.
Her hands were trembling.
—For the world to believe we don't care about him… he has to believe it first.
Liora took a step back, as if the idea were a physical blow.
—If he… if Jhosep… grows up thinking we are cold, indifferent, harsh… that he's a burden… that he's a mistake… the world will assume the same. They'll say: "Not even his family values him. He's not important. He's not a weakness for them." And they'll leave him alone.
At last, a single tear slid down her cheek.
—I know it sounds monstrous. And it is. But I'd rather have a living son who hates me… than a dead son who knew I loved him.
Her voice dropped to a broken thread:
—If I have to be the villain in his story… so that he can have a story at all… I will be.
The silence that followed was unlike any before.
It was heavy, sick, almost unbreathable.
Cael stood up so fast the chair screeched against the floor.
—What the hell did you just say? —he burst out, eyes wide with disbelief.
Johana looked at him, too drained to defend herself.
—You're seriously suggesting your son grows up, year after year, believing you hate him? —Cael's voice cracked between fury and something deeper—. That you despise him? That he's a disgrace?
He didn't wait for an answer.
—First you rip his mana away —he went on, voice climbing—, you take the one thing that connects everyone to this world, you make him the first living anomaly without essence…
His breathing quickened.
—And now you want to finish the job on the inside. You? His mother?
He slammed his hands down on the table.
—Do you have any idea what that does to a child's mind? Do you know what it feels like to grow up believing the people who were supposed to protect you are the first ones to reject you?
His eyes snapped to Manuel.
—Are you really listening? Are you really considering this insanity?
Manuel said nothing.
But his silence said too much.
Cael dragged a hand through his hair, desperate.
—You want to "prepare him for the world" by filling him with hate before the world even gets its turn. That's the plan? Break his trust, his self-worth, his ability to love—so that when they hate him outside, he's already used to it?
His words were knives.
—And then… how exactly do you plan to explain it? Are you going to sit him down someday and tell him: "Son, we sealed your mana and made you believe we didn't want you, but it was to protect you"? Do you seriously think that's something he'll forgive?
No one answered.
—What you're proposing —Cael said, voice low and torn— isn't love. It's fear, turned into punishment.
He turned toward the door.
—Do whatever you want. I'm not his father. I don't decide for him.
He opened it.
—But if you choose that path… don't ask me to get close to Jhosep when he grows up. Because when I look at him… all I'll see is the result of your stupidity.
The door closed with a sharp bang.
The silence that remained behind was as heavy as stone.
Manuel rubbed his face with both hands.
—Cael is right —he whispered—. And so are you, Johana.
She looked at him, shattered.
—Your idea is cruel —he went on—. It could destroy him inside. But what you're afraid of… is also real. The world can be worse than us.
His voice trembled.
—I… don't know what the right path is. I just know that whichever we take… will hurt him.
Pedro Vides, who had stayed silent through most of the outburst, finally spoke. His voice wasn't harsh or soft; it was firm.
—Cael is right —he said—. And you know it, Johana.
She lowered her head, too drained to lie to herself.
—What you're proposing isn't just a strategy. It's a scar. One that doesn't fade. If a child grows up feeling rejected by his parents, no amount of explanation will erase that. He'll remember the feeling, not the reasoning.
His gaze softened a little, but not his seriousness.
—What you decide is your business. I'm not here to impose how you should raise your son. But think very carefully before you take that step. There's no turning back from it.
Pedro Arias, who had been watching everything with a furrowed brow, spoke up then.
—There's something else you can do —he said.
Manuel looked up, exhausted.
—If the problem is that the world will see him as weak, as defective, as an easy target… —Pedro A continued— then give him something this world actually respects.
He paused briefly.
—Strength.
Johana looked at him, confused.
—Send him to Lauren's training unit —Pedro A explained—. That's where the heirs of our branches train. Children from linked families, future pillars of the house. It's not a gentle place. It's discipline—physical, tactical, mental. Mana helps, yes. But it isn't everything.
His eyes locked onto Manuel's.
—If Jhosep can't rely on mana, then let him rely on his body. His reflexes. His ability to stand on his own two feet. Let him not be seen as prey.
Then he looked at Johana.
—It won't fix everything. It won't erase what was decided the day he was born. But it will give him a foothold. A path of his own, even if it's different.
No one answered right away.
Liora closed her eyes for a moment, imagining that boy without mana surrounded by shouts, training, sweat, falls, and getting back up.
It wasn't a soft scenario.
But it wasn't an empty one either.
Johana drew a deep breath, feeling that every word spoken in that room was carving itself under her skin.
Manuel glanced toward the door Cael had walked through.
Then toward the wall behind which his two children slept.
Selene, recognized by the wind.
Jhosep, to whom mana had been denied.
Two different paths.
Two difficult futures.
And in the middle… them.
The adults. The ones who had chosen the seal.
The ones who now had to decide how to bear the consequences of that choice.
No final resolution was reached that night.
There was no clear agreement.
No closed plan.
Only a shared certainty:
Jhosep's future would not be an easy one.
And whatever decision they made… would mark him forever.
Just a few meters away, unaware of everything, two children slept, breathing in the same rhythm.
One with the blessing of the wind.
The other with the weight of a silence he did not yet understand.