The three years that followed my fifth birthday slipped away in a blur of ordinary childhood. The dramatic birth of my Void Bind seemed almost a distant dream, its violent eruption and the chilling voice fading to a memory. The violet pillar of light never erupted again, nor did the mysterious voice echo in my mind. I lived a relatively normal life within the castle, engaging in the usual studies and play common for a young prince, albeit one with a legendary, dormant power within him.
But that normalcy was bound to change. As I turned eight, the age when all young Drakarian began their formal education, my father led me to the royal hall. The air inside was thick with tension. Many counselors stood, their voices raised in heated debate with my grandfather, King Harald, who sat on his throne. Their argument, I quickly gathered, was about me. They insisted I must go to the Drakarian Royal Academy, following tradition.
Then, my grandfather's booming voice cleaved through the clamor. 'Silence!' he roared, and the hall instantly froze. His gaze swept over the counselors, firm, resolute, and unwavering. 'Venator will not be going to the academy here. He will be trained within these very castle walls.' A ripple of surprise, almost a gasp, went through the room, but King Harald wasn't finished. 'And at the age of eighteen, he will attend the Unity Academy in Farland, the human capital.
A ripple of surprise went through the room, but King Harald wasn't finished. "And at the age of eighteen, he will attend the Unity Academy in Farland, the human capital."
What's the Unity Academy, Grandpa?' I asked, looking up at him after the counselors dispersed, still a little stunned by the sudden shift in my future. He explained, 'It's an academy where every race, as a symbol of peace after the Eldr Peace Treaty, sends three of their very best representatives to study. It's a place where the brightest minds and strongest warriors from all five races learn alongside each other.'
And so began my unique training within the castle. My primary instructors were my grandfather, King Harald, and my father, Reingard Thorranson. But I also spent countless hours training under my father's vice-general, Gustav Thorkelsoon. Gustav was a formidable Drakarian, every bit as tall and powerfully built as my father, with shoulders like boulders and arms thick as tree trunks. His bald head gleamed under the training hall lights, framed by his strong, uncurled horns that spoke of a warrior forged in countless battles, rather than royal birth. His perpetually stern expression, etched with the lines of rigorous drills, was softened only by the brutally honest lessons he imparted. He was incredibly strict; if I made a mistake, he wouldn't hesitate to punch me in the gut, his Fire Bind making each blow a lesson I wouldn't soon forget. At first, the blows would send me reeling, almost making me faint. But as the years passed, by the time I reached sixteen, I had grown stronger and taller, capable of taking his punches without flinching.
Under their rigorous tutelage, I developed exceptional martial abilities. I learned to wield any weapon placed in my hands with proficiency, the weight and balance of steel becoming an extension of my will. In one-on-one combat, I never lost—that is, unless I was facing Gustav or my father. They always used their elemental binds—my father's crackling Lightning and Gustav's roaring, formidable Fire. 'That's cheating!' I'd complain, the words a frustrated puff of air, but they'd just grin, their eyes glinting with amusement.
Frustratingly, despite all the intense training, the sweat and effort poured into every session, I couldn't do anything with my own Void Bind. No matter how hard I tried, no matter how much I focused, straining every fiber of my being, it remained stubbornly dormant, a silent, unresponsive power. No one could help me either; the knowledge of the Void Bind was truly lost with King Sigurd himself, a secret buried centuries deep.
As I reached sixteen, my interests began to shift in other directions too. **Before this, I was always close with my aunt Allana. She visited me often after she learned I wouldn't be attending the Drakarian Royal Academy, a fun aunt who seemed to thrive on mischief. She'd tell me about Grandpa's secret storage of roast meat, which we'd then gleefully steal together. Sometimes, we'd even sneak out and play a prank on Gustav, which probably explained why he threw such hard punches at me during training. Other times, she'd lead me on adventures to sneak out of the castle walls, just to savor the street food of the Drakarian market. My aunt Allana had a daughter herself, but as soon as her daughter went to the Drakarian Royal Academy at age eight, my aunt grew bored at home, and perhaps she felt a little sorry for me, unable to play with kids my own age.
She was married to a merchant named Houru Gertsoon. He was a tall Drakarian man, but not sturdy and powerfully built like my father and Gustav. He was skinny, with slicked-back black hair and glasses, and his horns were notably smaller and less imposing than many Drakarian men. I always thought that if he ever made my aunt cry, I'd punch him in the gut like Gustav did to me, but that never happened. My aunt truly loved him, and he wasn't a stubborn man at all; in fact, he was remarkably kind, unlike many Drakarian men I knew. My aunt married him precisely because of that, rejecting many marriage proposals from well-built, war-machine generals. She often said the castle was boring, which was why she moved out with her husband. Every time we met him during our escapades, my aunt Allana would kiss him long enough for me to stare, a playful smile on her lips as she teased her husband. I didn't understand why, but every time I witnessed their affection, a strange warmth would spread through my body, and a peculiar tension would build deep inside me. My mother, Edna, always scolded Allana whenever we came back or she visited, saying, 'Don't teach my Ven to be mischievous, Allana!' But Allana would just smile and run off with me, leaving my mother to continue her scolding to the empty air.
As for my other aunt, Valerie, I wasn't close with her despite her living in the castle with us. She always stayed in her room, and I never knew what she did in there. Sometimes, just for fun, my aunt Allana and I would knock on her door loudly and then run away before she could answer
Then, a shift began. My fascination with Aunt Allana's playful chaos started to wane, replaced by a growing curiosity about the world beyond pranks and stolen roast meat. It was then that my attention turned to Aunt Valerie. She still kept to her room, a quiet enigma, but one day, instead of knocking and running, I simply lingered by her door. I heard the rustle of ancient scrolls, the soft turning of pages. Driven by an uncharacteristic impulse, I knocked gently.
To my surprise, she opened it. Her perpetually gentle smile was still there, but her crimson eyes, usually downcast, held a spark of surprise, then a quiet welcome. Her room wasn't just a sanctuary; it was a library, filled with maps, historical texts, and strange artifacts. From that day on, my visits to Aunt Valerie's room became a regular occurrence. She began to teach me—not about fighting or mischief, but about the intricate histories of Eldorian, the politics of the other races, the forgotten lore of ancient civilizations. She had a quiet, profound wisdom, and her explanations, delivered in a soft, patient voice, opened my mind to a world far larger and more complex than I had ever imagined. It was a different kind of adventure, one that fed my intellect and broadened my understanding, a stark contrast to Allana's playful chaos. I found myself drawn to her calm demeanor and the depth of her knowledge.
One day, she announced her engagement. Her husband was a Drakarian council member named Tern Jagardsoon, who came from a respected military family. He was a nice man, and sometimes, when I was younger, he would teach me about politics and diplomacy. He was smart, and his words commanded respect. I knew my Aunt Valerie was in good hands. But before the ceremony, when I congratulated her, she hugged me tightly. 'Thank you, Ven,' she said. I felt tears welling up. 'I'm going to miss you,' I admitted. She smiled gently. 'No worries, Ven. You'll find your true love somewhere.'
After Aunt Valerie married and moved out, I grew frustrated. My intellectual explorations with her had ended, and the castle felt emptier. My attention, previously split between mischief and wisdom, now drifted towards the castle ,though with a new, perhaps more nuanced, curiosity
My mother's teasing about my supposed 'specialness' gave way to her outright scolding, her voice a constant, exasperated refrain. She complained endlessly to my grandfather about my growing habit of finding comfort with many of the castle maids. Grandpa, however, just laughed whenever he heard her grievances, a deep, rumbling sound. 'As expected from the Sigurd bloodline,' he'd declare, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. I never quite understood the full implications of that, but I did realize one thing: I seemed to possess a natural charm with women. And I truly appreciated them all. Drakarians, with their inherent beauty, aged slowly after twenty-five, meaning many women, even those who were forty, still appeared to be in their vibrant prime.
Now, I was eighteen. The time had come for me to embark on my journey to the Unity Academy. My entire family—my mother, father, grandfather, and grandmother—came to see me off at the bustling harbor. The salty air bit at my cheeks, filled with the mournful cries of gulls and the rhythmic creak of ships against the docks.
My grandmother, Getrude, held me tight, her voice thick with emotion, a fragile whisper against my ear. 'Take care, my boy,' she murmured, patting my back, her hand lingering.
My mother, Edna, hugged me next, tears welling in her crimson eyes. 'Write often, Ven,' she choked out, her voice barely audible, a raw plea. Then, she pulled back, a stern look replacing her sadness, her gaze unwavering. 'And don't you dare bring me a grandchild from Farland! I know how good you are at attracting women.'
My grandfather, King Harald, let out a booming laugh that echoed across the water at my mother's warning. 'Beware of the Iskiran ladies, Venator!' he called out, his crimson eyes twinkling with a knowing amusement. 'They truly are as beautiful as legend says!'
Aunt Allana, ever the prankster, ruffled my hair with a playful grin. 'Don't get into too much trouble without me, Ven!' she teased, winking. 'And try not to get too distracted by all those pretty faces, or your mother will never let me hear the end of it!'
Aunt Valerie, now with a quiet glow about her since her marriage, stepped forward. Her gentle smile was tinged with a touch of wistfulness. She simply squeezed my hand. 'Learn well, Venator,' she murmured, her voice soft but firm. 'The world is vast, and knowledge is its truest power. Explore it all.'
My father, Reingard, typically the more stoic of the two, didn't smile. He just walked up to me, and with a familiar, firm thwack, punched me lightly in the gut. It didn't hurt like it used to; it was more a gesture, a last test, a final affirmation of my strength. Then, he pulled me into a fierce, proud hug. 'Bring pride to Drakarian, son,' he rumbled, his voice filled with an unspoken weight of expectation, a legacy passed on.