———
The world was dissolving into a grey static. The searing pain in Kael's shoulder was the only thing tethering him to consciousness, a failing anchor in a rising tide of exhaustion. The volatile energy that rage had granted him was gone, spent in the catastrophic unraveling of Lysander. Now, he was just a boy in a broken body, staring down the embodiment of his family's contempt.
Cassius stood before him, the air around him thickening with raw, untamed power. The decorative trinkets in the room rattled on their shelves. This was no petty jinx or arrogant spell. This was annihilation.
"YOU… YOU A CRIPPLE!! YOU DARE?! I WILL OBLITERATE YOU WITH MY BARE HANDS!" Cassius roared, his voice no longer that of a sneering noble, but of a primal force.
A sphere of swirling, violent energy—a "Void Crusher"—began to form between his palms. It was a spell designed not just to kill, but to erase. Kael's mind, even in its foggy state, could perceive its horrifying structure: a vortex of pure destructive potential. But he had nothing left. No strength to move, no focus to deconstruct. He could only watch his death approach, a cold acceptance settling over him.
So this is it, Arga's thought was a faint echo. The final calculation.
Cassius thrust his hands forward.
"Enough! That's enough!."
The word was not loud, but it cut through the chaotic mana in the room like a scalpel. It was calm, authoritative, and brooked no argument.
The "Void Crusher" at Cassius's fingertips wavered, its energy destabilizing before dissipating with a frustrated hiss. Cassius spun around, his face a mask of fury. "Valerius! This defect just—!"
"Silence, Cassius."
The eldest son of Duke Valerius stood in the shattered doorway. He was not as physically imposing as Cassius, but his presence commanded absolute attention. His posture was erect, his features sharp and intelligent, and his eyes, the same steely grey as his brothers, held a depth of cold calculation that made Cassius's hot anger seem childish. This was Valerius, the heir, the future Duke.
He didn't even look at Kael, who slumped to his knees, his vision blurring. Instead, Valerius's gaze was fixed on the floor around his youngest brother.
"You blunderhead," Valerius said, his voice dripping with icy disdain. "You were a heartbeat away from committing suicide."
"What are you talking about?!" Cassius spat, gesturing to Kael's bleeding form. "I was about to scrub this stain from our family!"
Valerius took a slow, deliberate step into the room, pointing a slender finger at the floor. "Open your eyes. Look past your rage. His blood. The scuff marks from his fall. Do you see it?"
Cassius stared, uncomprehending. But Kael, from his place on the floor, felt a flicker of grim satisfaction. He hadn't had the strength to draw it perfectly, but in his final moments of consciousness, he had used his own blood and the dust to trace a pattern. A crude, incomplete, but fundamentally sound schematic he'd memorized from the library: the "Rune of Mana Devouring."
"It's a trap," Valerius stated flatly. "A dead man's switch. He used the last of his will to make himself the core of a backlash formation. The moment a significant amount of mana—like your idiotic Void Crusher—made contact with that pattern, it would have triggered. It wouldn't have hurt *him*. He has no mana to be devoured. It would have latched onto you." He finally turned his chilling gaze to Cassius. "It would have sucked the mana, and the life, straight out of your body until you were a desiccated husk. You would have been killed by your own spell, powered by your own arrogance."
The color drained from Cassius's face. He looked from the faint, bloody markings to Kael, who met his gaze with a sliver of defiant triumph before darkness finally claimed him.
———
Kael awoke to the familiar sight of his own bedroom ceiling. The pain in his shoulder was a dull, bandaged ache. He turned his head, expecting to see Elara.
He saw Valerius instead.
The eldest brother sat in the chair by the bed, perfectly still, reading a small, leather-bound book. The sight sent a jolt through Kael, dislodging a memory, bright and warm like a forgotten sun. He was small, maybe four years old, chasing fireflies in the garden. He'd tripped and skinned his knee. It was Valerius, then a teenager, who had picked him up, his voice gentle as he cleaned the cut. "Don't cry, little Kael. Look, the stars are out. See that bright one? That's the Sentinel. It means you're safe."
The memory faded as quickly as it came, leaving behind the cold, sterile present. The brother who had once shown him the stars now looked at him as if he were a problematic equation.
"Valerius...," Kael croaked, the old childhood address feeling strange on his tongue.
Valerius closed his book with a soft snap. "You're awake." He stood, looking down at Kael, his expression unreadable. "It seems your mind has finally found a… unique outlet."
He walked toward the door, pausing without turning back. "Cassius is a fool, led by emotion. He sees your weakness as an invitation to crush you." He glanced over his shoulder, his grey eyes locking with Kael's. "He failed to understand that knowing your own weakness is, in itself, a form of strength. A dangerous one."
With that, he left, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving Kael alone with the echo of his words. It wasn't concern. It was a warning. A recognition.
Before Kael could even process it, a firm, authoritative knock sounded on the door. It opened to reveal the Duke's stern-faced chamberlain, a man whose loyalty was to the title, not the person.
The chamberlain bowed, a shallow, perfunctory motion. "Young Master Kael," he intoned, his voice devoid of all emotion. "His Grace, the Duke, demands your immediate presence in his study. Do not keep him waiting."