Before Vesa became a name spoken with disappointment, he had been a miracle.
From the moment his magic awakened, the palace had treated him differently. Tutors bowed lower, mages lingered longer, and nobles whispered with careful awe. His power was immense—raw, radiant, and rare even among royalty. Gold-threaded robes were tailored for him before he could understand why, and every mistake he made was forgiven with indulgent smiles.
"You'll surpass us all," they said, again and again.
As a child, Vesa believed them.
His mother watched him constantly, pride and fear entwined in her gaze. She loved him deeply—of that there was no doubt—but her love was sharp-edged, anxious. She arranged lessons, rituals, and blessings. She worried aloud about balance, about destiny, about whether the kingdom would be safe enough for a son like him. Vesa thought it was care.
He didn't yet understand that what frightened her most was not losing him—
—but losing his magic.
On the morning of his twelfth birthday, the palace prepared for a celebration grand enough to rival coronations. Lanterns lined the corridors. Music rehearsed in distant halls. Vesa woke early, restless with excitement, and slipped out of his chambers before his attendants arrived.
That was when it happened.
The corridor was empty. Too empty.
A man stepped from the shadows, face hidden beneath layered wards. Vesa barely had time to react before pain ripped through his chest—not physical, but deeper, colder. His magic screamed as it was torn from him, siphoned violently into a vessel he could not see.
He collapsed.
By the time guards arrived, the attacker was gone. And so was Vesa's power.
They told him it would come back.
His mother clung to that hope desperately. She refused to believe otherwise, dragging him from mage to mage, ritual to ritual. "It's suppressed," she insisted. "Delayed. Dormant." She smiled at him too brightly and whispered reassurances that felt heavier than chains.
Just endure. Just wait.
The evening of the party arrived anyway.
Vesa stood before the court dressed in gold that no longer meant anything. When the royal mage demanded a display, silence swallowed the hall. He tried. Again. And again.
Nothing.
Murmurs spread like poison.
The truth spilled out in front of everyone.
The king's fury was immediate and merciless. Accusations followed—of deception, of weakness, of betrayal. Orders were barked. Investigations launched. But beneath it all lay something colder: disbelief.
The king decided his son had lied.
Vesa was sent away soon after. Far from the court. Far from expectation. The search for the thief continued, but half-heartedly, fading as years passed without results.
Vesa learned early what it meant to be useful only when powerful.
---
The present was less forgiving than memory.
Vesa stood before the budget holders now, palms flat on the table, posture rigid. His words were measured, calm—but beneath them lay desperation.
"The guild can be repaired," he said. "We cleared an S-class dungeon. That alone—"
"That alone caused destruction," one man interrupted coldly. "Three years of losses. No meaningful contribution. Why should we invest further?"
Another scoffed. "You're clinging to a failed dream. Give it up. Find a hobby. Something harmless."
Vesa swallowed.
Then laughter rang out behind him.
His sister—his tenth sibling—leaned against the doorway, expression sharp with amusement. "This is pathetic," she said lightly. "Begging like this?"
She tilted her head. "Here's a challenge, dear brother. If you don't achieve something noticeable soon, I'll make sure you're quietly stripped of your title. A commoner's life might suit you better."
The room froze.
Vesa didn't hesitate.
"I accept."
Shock rippled outward. Some nobles whispered that he was foolish. Others muttered that he was arrogant, biting off more than he could chew.
Vesa bowed once and left.
Two weeks later, the guild stood repaired—stone replaced, wards reforged, its halls cleaner than they had ever been.
When the team gathered again, something felt different.
There was a celebration that night. Modest food. Laughter came easier than expected. For the first time, the guild felt less like a mistake and more like a beginning.
Reya spoke first.
"I want to leave," she said quietly. "Open my own shop."
Vesa nodded, listening, trying to persuade her gently. When she refused to be swayed, he offered her time instead.
Later, Frey admitted she understood Reya's fear.
But Lenny couldn't stay silent.
"He chose us," Lenny said, voice shaking but firm. "When no one else did. When we were last in line. When stronger mages were available. He believed in us. That should matter."
Silence followed.
Eira stepped forward last.
"The past stays in the past," he said calmly. "We cleared an S-class dungeon. That's nothing. This is a fresh start."
One by one, they agreed.
Vesa looked at them—truly looked—and felt something unfamiliar swell in his chest.
Pride.
Not in power.
But in people.
The excitement came quietly—disguised as paperwork.