The dream always began the same way.
A forest of silver trees, their leaves whispering in a tongue older than men. The sky above split in two — one side burning gold, the other veiled in endless dusk. Lucien stood at the center of a clearing where shadows and light bled into each other, swirling like living mist. A voice — soft, ancient, and aching — reached for him from somewhere beyond. "You are not meant to be," it murmured, not in malice but in mourning. Then came the pain — fire under his skin, like molten veins trying to burst free — and he awoke.
Lucien's eyes flew open. His breath hitched in his throat as moonlight filtered through the lattice window of his room in the eastern wing of House Valis. He sat up, heart pounding, hands trembling slightly beneath the covers. The sheets clung to his skin, damp with sweat. He had dreamt of that place again — the realm that was not part of this world. Not Gaialen, not Solmira, nor Noctherion. Somewhere else. Something... forgotten.
He looked down at his hands. They seemed normal — small, calloused from training, steady. Yet they betrayed him. Over the past moon, his body had begun to ache in strange places. A tightness in his chest when he reached for magic. A chill in his spine during moments of stillness. And worst of all — nothing responded when he tried to touch the mana within. It was as if some unseen hand was strangling the energy inside him, coiling tighter every day.
Earlier that week, his tutor — Master Erien, a druid of the lower circle — had grown silent after testing his mana flow. The old man pressed two fingers to Lucien's wrist, chanted softly, and frowned. "It resists," he said finally, more to himself than to Lucien. "Like a river dammed from within." He left in a hurry, murmuring something about reporting to the household healer. Lucien had not seen him since.
The boy rubbed his eyes and rose, padding barefoot across the stone floor. A pitcher of cool water waited near the windowsill. He poured himself a cup, steadying his hands with practiced care. The reflection that stared back at him from the polished brass was familiar — blonde hair, blue eyes, features fair and noble.
But not true.
He did not remember much from when he was younger, only fleeting moments — the scent of jasmine, a lullaby in a voice not spoken in this house, and once, a mirror that had shown him a different face: ash-blonde hair, eyes like a gathering storm.
"Who am I really?" he whispered, but the water gave no answer.
Morning came swift and golden, and with it the clangor of House Valis awakening. Servants bustled through halls, scrubbing, preparing, polishing every surface for the morrow's great event: the Awakening Ceremony.
Lucien dressed in silence. His clothes, though fine, lacked the personal touch given to the true-born children. His belt did not carry his name. His robes bore no family sigil. In this household, he was known only as Lucien, the bastard nephew — supposedly the son of Lord Alaric Valis's wayward brother, lost years ago on some unnamed battlefield. No one asked questions. It was easier that way.
Yet not all treated him coldly.
As he passed through the atrium, he caught sight of Aurelia, the eldest daughter, her golden hair catching the sunlight like a crown. She stood poised with a bow, loosing arrows into a straw dummy with elegant precision. She noticed him and smiled. "You look pale, little wolf," she said, lowering the bow. "Did the ghosts visit you again?"
Lucien forced a chuckle. "Just dreams."
"You'll be fine tomorrow." She ruffled his hair like a true sister would, then whispered more softly, "Don't let Kaelen get in your head."
It was good advice. Kaelen, the second oldest, had already mocked Lucien twice this week for his pale complexion and quiet demeanor. "You'll probably awaken to nothing," he sneered. "Maybe some common Earthgift, if the dirt likes you." Lucien had ignored him, but the words clung like burrs.
At dusk, the Valis family gathered for supper in the grand hall — a high-vaulted chamber adorned with living ivy and enchanted lanterns. Lord Alaric presided at the long table, stoic as ever, with his three wives seated at either side.
The children took their places according to age and rank.
Aurelia sat tall and radiant, Kaelen beside her with his ever-present smirk. Theron, more reserved, watched Lucien across the table with unreadable eyes. The twins, Lyra and Eiran, giggled at some private joke, their energy a flame barely contained.
Lucien sat at the far end, as always, near the silent stewards.
The meal began with ceremonial thanks to Goddess Gia, and conversation soon shifted to tomorrow's event.
"It will be a fine ceremony," Lord Alaric said. "Aurion's emissaries are expected, as are the stone druids of Oreveth."
Lady Elira nodded. "I have no doubt Aurelia will shine brighter than any in Viridion."
Kaelen scoffed. "She already has." Then, too sweetly, he turned to Lucien. "But I'm curious what the gods have in store for our little stray."
The table fell quiet.
Lucien didn't answer, eyes fixed on his plate. The silence pressed heavy until Lyra chirped in, "Maybe he'll surprise us. Sometimes the quiet ones awaken with fire in their veins."
Eiran looked at her, puzzled. "But if he's not even of the blood..."
"Enough," Lord Alaric said. "All will be revealed tomorrow."
Lucien remained still as a statue, but inside, his thoughts whirled. Would they see it? The blockage, the silence within his soul? Would the gods mock him in front of all — or worse, would something awaken that should not?
That night, long after the candles had guttered out and the laughter faded from the halls, Lucien sat alone on the stone balcony overlooking the garden. A breeze stirred the leaves, carrying with it a faint sound — like the echo of that voice from the dream.
"You are not meant to be…"
And yet, here he was.
Alive. Watching. Waiting.
And tomorrow, the world would change.