The main hall of the Vane estate descended into hell in a heartbeat.
The clash of metal against metal was deafening. Duke Garrick Vane moved like a crimson storm. His greatsword, Dragon's Fang, wreathed in scorching golden aura, cleaved through the air and the bodies of the intruders as if they were made of paper.
Black blood—the blood of the Void Walkers—splattered across the white marble floor, hissing and releasing acrid, foul-smelling smoke.
"Do not let them near the children!" Garrick roared.
The knights of House Vane fought with valiant desperation, but their enemies were not human. They were living shadows that could solidify and liquefy at will, slipping past physical defenses in ways that defied logic.
In the corner of the room, hidden behind a massive pillar, Elian held Elara tight. His small, frail body trembled—not from fear, but from sensory overload.
To Elian, the world did not look the way it did to others.
He saw threads of mana in the air—usually calm—now screaming in agony as they were torn apart by the presence of alien Void energy. He saw his father's Aura blazing like a sun, yet he also saw tiny hairline fractures in his father's defense that no one else could perceive.
"Brother... I'm scared," Elara sobbed, burying her face in Elian's thin chest.
"Shh, don't look. I'm here," Elian whispered. His delicate hands stroked Elara's head, trying to muffle the sounds of battle by covering her ears.
Suddenly, Elian's perception screamed.
One of the shadows fighting the knights melted into a black liquid, slithered across the floor past the defensive line, and solidified again just three meters in front of Elian and Elara.
The figure had no face, only a plain white mask with a single vertical eye slit. A serrated dagger dripping with purple poison was raised high.
"Die, spawn of Vane," the creature hissed. Its voice sounded like two rough stones grinding together.
Time seemed to slow for Elian.
His father was too far away. The guards were dead or occupied. Elara was too young and frozen in terror. Elian had no functioning Mana Core. He had no muscles to fight back.
Logically, death was inevitable.
But Elian refused. He stared into that vertical eye slit with his deep black eyes. A primal urge exploded from within his soul. It wasn't magic; it wasn't a technique. It was a request.
No. Not here. Fall.
Elian's mind screamed at the floor beneath the assassin's feet.
CRACK!
It was an impossible coincidence. The solid marble floor, which had withstood centuries, suddenly fractured directly beneath the assassin's foot just as he prepared to leap.
The creature's balance faltered. His foot slipped into the crack. His attack went wide, the poisoned dagger slicing only thin air, inches from Elian's beautiful face.
The wind in the room seemed to swirl protectively around Elian, shoving the assassin's body to the side.
"What—?!" The creature was confused for a split second.
That second was enough.
A spear of light shot from across the room. THUD! The spear pierced the assassin's chest, pinning him to the wall.
It was Duke Garrick's throw.
"ELIAN!" Garrick leaped over the corpses of his enemies, landing in front of his children with heavy breaths. He immediately checked them. "Are you hurt?"
Elian shook his head weakly, cold sweat soaking his temples. His chest felt tight. That "coincidence" just now had drained his energy drastically, as if his very life force had been siphoned away.
He fainted in his father's arms.
***
Two years had passed since the incident.
Elian was now ten years old. The attack had left a massive question mark: How did the Void Walkers penetrate the estate's magical Barrier undetected?
The answer was singular: A traitor. Yet, the culprit was never found.
Over these two years, Elian grew... increasingly different.
He sat in the Vane family's grand library, a thick tome on Ancient Elven history resting on his lap. The afternoon sunlight hit his face, making him look like a living painting.
His black hair had grown long, reaching his upper back, smooth and straight. His facial features had become even more delicate, his eyelashes long, his skin as white as porcelain. He wore a loose, dark blue silk tunic that hid his thin frame.
If a stranger were to see him now, they would undoubtedly address him as "My Lady".
"Young Master," Hanna's voice broke his reverie. The loyal maid brought a tray of herbal tea and a bitter body-strengthening tonic. "Time for your medicine."
"Thank you, Hanna." Elian smiled. A smile that could melt anyone's heart. He drank the bitter medicine without flinching. Pain and bitterness had been his companions since birth.
"Brother!"
The library door opened roughly. Elara, now eight years old, marched in with a confident stride. Unlike Elian, Elara had grown into an athletic girl. She wore tight leather training gear, a wooden sword hanging at her waist. A faint red aura had begun to visibly shroud her body—the mark of a genius who had awakened her Aura early.
"Skipping training again, Elara?" Elian asked gently, setting down his book.
"Training is boring! The instructor said I've already mastered the basics." Elara pouted, then walked over to Elian. Her gaze softened when she looked at her brother. "Brother... you look pale again."
Elara climbed onto the sofa, sat beside Elian, and unhesitatingly hugged his arm, resting her head on his shoulder.
"You smell nice, like Moonflowers."
Elian chuckled, stroking Elara's silver hair. Their bond had grown closer since the incident two years ago. Elara had become extremely protective, even possessive, of Elian. She swore she would become the sword for the brother who could not fight.
"Father is summoning us," Elara mumbled. "There are guests from the Capital. Someone from the Holy Church."
Elian felt a premonition of dread. The World around him suddenly felt cold.
They walked to the drawing room. Inside, Duke Garrick sat with a tense expression. Across from him sat a middle-aged man wearing white robes with gold embroidery—a Bishop of the Holy Empire.
And beside the Bishop was another man... a noble from the Southern region, Viscount Morgran.
Elian's eyes narrowed when he saw Viscount Morgran. The man smiled kindly, but the "sound" around him hissed like a snake.
"Ah, are these your son and daughter, Duke Vane?" The Bishop smiled, his eyes fixing on Elian with a strange glint. "Your son... truly possesses a beauty that transcends gender. Such a pity his Core is defective."
"What is your purpose here?" Garrick cut in coldly.
"We bring the Emperor's decree," Viscount Morgran said, placing a scroll on the table. "The Empire suspects collusion between the Vane Family and foreign races. The attack two years ago... is suspected to be a charade to cover up an exchange of information."
"Preposterous!" Garrick slammed the table, cracking it. His golden aura exploded, shaking the room. "I have spilled my blood for this Empire!"
"The evidence says otherwise, Duke," the Bishop said calmly. "We found Void artifacts in your armory this morning."
A setup. Elian realized it instantly. Someone had planted the evidence.
"Father..." Elian tried to step forward, but Garrick raised a hand.
"Take the children out," Garrick ordered Hanna, who was trembling in the corner.
"But Duke—"
"NOW!"
Hanna grabbed Elian and Elara's hands. But before they could exit the door, a massive explosion shook the estate.
BOOOM!
The roof of the hall collapsed. The ceiling, which once displayed paintings of the gods, now revealed an afternoon sky filled with magical warships.
Not Void ships, but warships of the Empire and the Holy Church.
"Betrayal..." Elian whispered, his eyes widening.
The enemy didn't just come from outside. The enemy was within. The other nobles' fear of Duke Vane's military power, combined with the incitement of foreign spies infiltrating the Church, had created the perfect storm.
"Garrick Vane! Surrender on charges of treason!" A magically amplified voice boomed from the sky.
Garrick looked at his two children for the last time. That gaze was full of love, pain, and farewell.
"Hanna! Take them to the secret passage! Go to the Eternal Mist Forest! Find Baroness Lyra!" Garrick shouted as he drew his sword, preparing to face the hundreds of mages and elite knights descending from the sky.
"FATHER!" Elara screamed, struggling to run to him.
But Hanna, with the strength of a loyal servant who was also a former soldier, dragged them both away. Elian did not scream. He only stared at his father's receding back, surrounded by flashes of destructive magic.
He saw his father cleave the Bishop in two, saw Viscount Morgran flee in terror, but the number of enemies was too great.
As they ran down the dark corridor toward the secret passage, Elian felt something snap inside him. Not his Core, but his innocence.
This world was cruel. Kindness meant nothing without power.
When they arrived at the secret exit on the edge of the cliff behind the castle, misfortune struck again. A stray magical blast struck the cliff face.
The ground gave way.
"Young Master! Miss!" Hanna tried to reach them. She managed to catch Elara's hand.
But Elian... he slipped.
His hand grasped empty air. His black eyes met Elara's wide, horrified blue eyes.
"BROTHER!!!"
Elian fell. Falling into the dark abyss beneath the cliff, toward the raging river that flowed into the forbidden territories.
In the darkness of his fall, Elian felt no fear. He closed his eyes, letting the wind embrace him.
Ah... so this is what it feels like to be discarded by humans, he thought.
However, before his consciousness was swallowed by the cold river water, he heard another voice. Not a human voice. The voice was primal, deep, and full of authority, as if the World itself was speaking to him.
DO NOT FEAR, CHILD. WE WILL EMBRACE YOU WHEN THEY CAST YOU ASIDE.