Kael Vahn stirred from unconsciousness, his lashes fluttering against the warm light spilling through gauzy curtains. The sterile scent of tonics and bitter herbs hung in the air, and his body ached with a dull soreness that throbbed with every breath.
He turned his head slightly and blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling. The walls were clean, decorated with healing talismans and faintly glowing sigils—symbols of minor restoration magic. He was in the medical wing of House Vahn. The irony wasn't lost on him.
A soft weight pressed against his left side. There, on a small stool beside his bed, Lyra rested with her head bowed, asleep. Strands of her chestnut hair spilled across his blanket, her delicate frame curled in exhaustion. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, as though praying.
Before he could even speak, the wooden door creaked open and in stepped an elderly man in long white robes. His beard was snow-white and trailed down his chest like fine silk. His eyes, though tired, were filled with wisdom.
"Ah, you're awake," the old physician said, walking slowly to Kael's bedside. "She didn't leave your side all night. Refused to eat or sleep until your fever broke."
Kael looked at Lyra, guilt and warmth blooming in his chest.
The physician placed a wrinkled hand on Kael's forehead, murmured a soft incantation, and nodded. "Your body's healing. But what weighs heavier is your heart."
Kael didn't respond.
The old man sighed and sat beside him. "I know what happened. Everyone in this mansion knows. Those boys... and the knights... it's shameful. But child, you must not cling to hatred. You have no Crest, and the Age Ceremony is near. You will be removed from this house. That is truth. Let the pain go, and focus on surviving what comes next."
Kael's eyes trembled, but he said nothing.
Lyra stirred at that moment. She blinked, stretched slightly, and when her gaze met Kael's, her eyes widened.
"Master Kael! You're awake!" she exclaimed, tears springing up almost instantly. She rushed forward, her hand brushing his arm. "Thank the gods! I thought—"
"I'm fine," Kael lied softly.
"You're not," she said, her voice tight. "You were unconscious for two days. They… they hurt you so much. I…" She bit her lip, holding back her own sobs.
The physician rose and gave them both a quiet look. "You'll make a full physical recovery in a few days. For now, rest. Both of you."
He left, closing the door gently.
Kael looked at Lyra again. "Why… why do you care?"
She stared at him in shock. "Why wouldn't I? You were always kind to me, even when the other nobles ignored me. You… you treated me like a person."
A knot tightened in Kael's throat. A part of him cracked.
At least someone cares.
The next few days passed in a haze. Kael healed slowly, the bruises fading from his skin, though not from his soul. Lyra remained at his side as often as she could, bringing bland rice porridge and warm cloths to ease his pain.
Eventually, he was strong enough to return to his room.
But nothing felt the same.
The halls of House Vahn now felt more like a prison than a home. No one greeted him. The servants no longer bowed. His name was no longer whispered with pride, but with ridicule.
He buried himself in books, trying to find answers.
Ancient scrolls. Forbidden texts. Forgotten alchemy tomes.
There had to be a way to restore a Crest. To rebuild what was broken.
But every path ended in despair. Crests were imprints of blood and soul. Once shattered, they could not be reforged.
His brothers passed by his room sometimes, smirking or tossing crude insults. Tristan's jeers, Damon's cold sneers. But they no longer laid hands on him.
He was too pitiful now. Not even worth bruising.
Time passed. Days bled into each other. Kael marked the calendar in silence. His fourteenth birthday loomed—less than two weeks away.
And with it, his exile from House Vahn.
He tried to think of a plan. What could a Crestless do? No mage would accept him. No noble would hire him.
He would become a drifter. A beggar. Or worse.
"I could go to the countryside," he whispered to himself. "Maybe find a farm. Pick apples. Dig soil."
But he knew the truth. Even peasants mocked the Crestless.
He didn't even know how to plow a field. He had trained his whole life as a mage.
His meals, once feasts of meat and rich stews, were now reduced to bland porridge. Every day, the same thing. His tongue had gone numb, his appetite dead.
The dining hall no longer welcomed him. His food was brought to his door by silent servants.
He hadn't seen his father once since that night.
Not once.
Did Ardyn Vahn even remember he existed?
Kael stared at the cold walls of his room, the same place that had once been a haven for dreams. Now, it was a cell.
A knock came at the door.
He flinched.
"Come in," he muttered.
Lyra entered, a light shawl wrapped over her maid's attire. Her expression was gentle but concerned.
"You've been quiet lately," she said, sitting beside him. "Is it still hurting?"
Kael looked at her, surprised. "No… not really. Just… lost."
She nodded. "I figured. You're always thinking so hard. I brought you some fresh bread today. With honey."
He took it gratefully.
"Lyra… what do Crestless people do?" he asked.
She tilted her head. "Depends. Some become servants. Some get sent to the labor camps. A few… vanish."
Kael felt a cold knot tighten in his stomach.
"I don't know anything else," he whispered. "I've never trained for anything else. Just spellwork. Theory. Combat. It's all I had."
Lyra bit her lip, then seemed to come to a decision.
"I know a blacksmith," she said quietly. "Near the eastern district. Old man named Boran. He's grumpy, but fair. He always complains he can't find good hands. Maybe he'd take you in."
Kael blinked. "A blacksmith? But I've never even lifted a hammer."
"You're stronger than you think," she said with a smile. "And I'll talk to him. I'll convince him. He owes me a favor."
"…Thank you."
She reached out and gently squeezed his hand.
But as the warmth of her gesture passed, Kael's thoughts returned to Selene.
Her words still echoed like poison.
"Did you think your mother died of illness?" she had whispered.
That cruel smile. Those eyes that had seen too much.
"Father poisoned her… to force your awakening… to forge pain into power…"
He wanted to deny it. To scream that it was a lie.
But Ardyn's cold gaze on the night of the supper… the way he hadn't come once since…
Was it true?
Kael shook his head. "No. It can't be. He… he called me his pride…"
Yet his heart offered no comfort.
The days dragged on. Each sunrise another reminder of the ticking clock.
Every night, Kael read until the candle burned to its stub.
Every morning, he waited for some miracle.
None came.
He was a ghost in House Vahn.
A boy with no Crest. No family. No place.
And soon, he would be nothing at all.
But something still burned in his chest — a stubborn ember.
If I must fall, I will fall with my eyes open.
And I will remember the faces of those who watched me burn.