The first pleasant memory I can recall… is warmth.
The warmth of her arms—my mother's gentle embrace. Her left hand cradled my back while her right softly stroked my hair, her touch like the whisper of spring wind.
"You're my blessing, Arthur," she murmured, her voice a raspy sweetness against my ear.
In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to remain there forever.
...
I remember the scent of lilac clinging to her robes, faint, but always there, like a reminder that some things were soft in a world made of steel and pressure. Her fingers, though worn from long hours of tending to the estate's duties, held no harshness when they touched me. Just warmth. Just quiet love.
The hearth in her study crackled beside us, casting long shadows on the marble floor. I remember burying my face in her shoulder, clutching the silken folds of her dress, trying to soak in every ounce of her comfort. Because even as a child, I knew—moments like this didn't last. These brief moments between my hectic daily life trying to become 'The Perfect Son' for this family was what truly kept me going.
"I'm proud of you," she said. "No matter what happens, always remember that."
I didn't understand why she said it with such sorrow. Back then, I thought she was simply being kind. But now… now I know. She said it knowing what lay ahead.
Because love in a Divine Family was a fragile thing. Conditional. Fleeting.
And my mother, perhaps the only one who truly saw me, not as a tool or title, but as her son—was trying to preserve what little warmth she could give before the world claimed me for its own.
...
It was just after the Talent Grading Ceremony, a grand occasion hosted once every decade by the Twelve Divine Families—noble bloodlines who shaped the balance of power in the Clockwork Kingdom of Virelion.
For many of their golden-spoon heirs, it was little more than a traditional celebration.
But for me, it was everything.
Every breath of my existence had been devoted to this moment. From the instant I could walk, I had been trained—in etiquette, mana arts, and noble poise.
"You have to be better than them."
"You're the last hope of our lineage."
"You're brilliant—there's no way we'll remain at the bottom with you!"
"WHY ARE YOU SO USELESS? TRY HARDER!!"
I was eight.
Each day blurred into the next, full of compliments, cruelty, envy, and hollow love. I didn't truly understand any of it. I only knew this: we were the lowest-ranked family among the Twelve Divines. And if we stayed that way, we'd be cast out.
So I ran harder. Learned more. Slept less.
All for my family.
They loved me, after all… didn't they?
...
When the day arrived, I didn't fail.
...
The ceremony was divided into two parts. The first assessed mana capacity—vital for any mage. The second measured elemental affinity.
One by one, the heirs stepped forward, placing their hands on the translucent mana sphere. Its color shifted to match their potential. As tradition dictated, the order went by house rank.
I was the last to go.
I stepped forward, placed my hand on the orb… and the whispers began.
Faint words—fragments of gossip—rippled through the chamber. They grew louder.
"So this is the Valen boy?"
"Poor child. Such high expectations..."
"Will he even reach red?"
It boiled my blood.
Infuriated—that was the only word for what I felt.
But I didn't need to silence them. My results did.
The orb blazed gold.
Gasps. Silence.
Genius.
That was the word echoing now.
The mana sphere glowed in tiers:
White
Blue
Green
Purple
Red
Gold
Black
Black was myth. One in a billion. The highest anyone had reached before me was red.
And now… gold.
The room had barely recovered when I placed my hand for the second part.
Dual Affinity: Fire and Wind.
A potent combination—aggressive destruction and evasive speed. Not unheard of, but deadly in the right hands.
...
The Valen name surged. Our house rose to the upper echelons of the Divine. For once, our banner flew high.
The Twelve Divines—those families who kept the equilibrium of Virelion, a kingdom of brass towers and mana-fed engines—looked at us with begrudging respect.
A realm where mana defined one's worth. Where the magicless were shadows beneath cogwheels.
...
Seven years later.
The air carried a strange marriage of scents—blossoming copperrose petals and faint oil musk from the nearby rail-lines. Steam vents hissed softly beneath brick-laced walkways, warming the streets still cool from the last of winter's frost. Clockwork swallows, built by tinkerers' guild apprentices, zipped between wrought-iron lampposts blooming with filament-fed lantern flowers.
Trees, part-organic and part-engineered, unfurled their bronze-veined leaves with mechanical grace, their roots fed by mana-charged canals beneath the city. Above, the sky wasn't quite blue—more of a soft, mist-streaked silver, with drifting clouds tinted by refinery smoke and airship trails
Beneath that silver sky stained by refinery smoke, I—the Young Divine, the pride of the Valen house—lay on the ground, broken.
"It… it must be a mistake…" I croaked.
A man in white stood over me. Our family's vitalmechanist, trusted by even Father.
He exhaled.
"There's no mistake. It's most certainly Drift Syndrome. That explains the blackouts and your unstable control over mana."
...
It started slowly—then all at once.
We tried to contain it. Deny it. But truth finds cracks.
And soon… they all knew.
Whispers turned to mockery. Allies became vultures.
Our business faltered. Our name rotted.
And all because of me.
If not for my little brother, we would've crumbled.
Fourteen days later, during the next grading ceremony, he was officially named the heir.
Gasps filled the grand hall.
"Arthur has golden mana and dual affinity! This is madness!"
"Is the Valen patriarch losing his grip?"
"Such a rash choice!"
Then silence.
A wave of dread swept the chamber.
I felt it too—something ancient. Unbelievable.
Black.
The orb turned black in his hands.
A phenomenon that hadn't occurred in ten thousand years.
Even I, once the family's miracle, stood frozen.
No—this wasn't awe.
This was panic.
What's going to happen to me now…?
...
To Be Continued.
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