Through a window with golden edges — or one might say it was made of gold — sunbeams slipped in, bestowing a faint warmth. Nearby, shelves held books whose thickness alone hinted at the depth of their contents, though they appeared elegant and showed no signs of excessive use.
In the center of the spacious room rose a wooden platform resembling those found in ancient temples. Heavy curtains shrouded its perimeter, veiling its corners as if concealing something sacred from the eyes of visitors.
On this platform sat a young man, draped in a robe that hid most of his body. His hair was colorless, and a mask concealed his face. His posture was straight, bearing a noble demeanor, as though every movement was carefully calculated.
The curtains did not obscure his presence; his allure remained captivating despite his deliberate concealment. He sat in silence, eyes closed as if nothing could stir his interest, yet this silence was soon broken by a subtle motion.
"Enter, Arven," said the young man without opening his eyes.
"Servant Arven greets the Young Master," declared the man, dressed in a black suit. His hair was white, deep wrinkles lined his cheeks, a scar marked his left eye, and his perfectly bowed posture revealed both elegance and profound experience.
"Speak," the young man permitted. Arven nodded and raised his gaze, though he dared not lift it high enough to see what was hidden beneath the robe and behind the curtain.
"Young Master, I have conveyed all your proposals to the Clan Head and the Elder Council. The Grand Elder informed me they will consider the proposal and its feasibility," Arven said swiftly and evenly, leaving no time to digest his words — perhaps confident the young man would understand without issue.
The young man hummed in acknowledgment and spoke in a faint, nearly emotionless voice:
"So, did they grant me permission to explore the clan's territory?"
The servant trembled as if he hadn't expected the question but quickly regained his composure, replying in a deep voice tinged with regret:
"Unfortunately, Young Master, the Elders refused."
His words were followed by a heavy silence, weighing like a stone on Arven's back.
"Hmm, as expected. You may leave."
Arven relaxed instantly upon hearing these words, though they were uttered with cold indifference. He bowed and turned to leave, but a chill ran down his spine when the young man spoke again, making his heart sink:
"The Clan Council is planning something, aren't they?" said the young man, his voice devoid of emotion.
"It doesn't matter anyway. If I wanted to leave, I would do so without permission. Be grateful your prince is understanding."
As soon as he finished speaking, Arven found the scene before him had changed—
He was now outside the room.
Arven let out a long sigh, and the tension in his stiff bones melted away as if he had narrowly escaped a death sentence. It wasn't because he feared death at the young man's hands — death would have been an honor — but because he had been in the presence of a figure of immense importance within the clan.
Atherion von Kailith.
The prodigy of the Kailith Clan, a being who appears only once in an era.
A person endowed with a monstrous talent since birth — a talent not granted to him but an inherent part of his very being. Moreover, he possessed a unique trait linked solely to him, inseparable from him and not something that could be treated as an independent power.
Lumis.
In a prophecy — foretold by the clan's founder — recorded in the ancient archives of Trarga.
Archives preserving the clan's legacy across millions of years.
It spoke of eyes, or rather, of their bearer.
Eyes said to be capable of seeing anything without exception. They were not a power that could be classified or compared to others, nor did they conform to concepts of rarity or superiority, for they never existed as an independent ability to begin with.
These eyes were absolutely bound to Atherion himself and to his soul — unable to be removed, inherited, or even conceived of existing outside his being. Their existence was not the cause of his power but a direct manifestation of it.
In appearance, his eyes were dark and deep, with a white starlike mark fixed in the center of each pupil, appearing as a natural part of the eye's structure.
To others, these eyes might seem like a power or an incomprehensible phenomenon. But to Atherion, they were merely an outward reflection of what he already possessed — an external manifestation of an ability that did not depend on the eyes but was merely revealed through them.
————○○○○○———
Atherion was an infant in the rain when Rathn Kailith, grandfather of the current clan head — the former leader — found him. What caught Rathn's attention wasn't just a child abandoned in the wilderness, as it was common among the poor to leave unwanted children to die.
What captivated him was that Atherion was not like other infants: his gaze was fixed on the sky, and his starlit eyes shimmered faintly. He did not cry but remained silent in a way that sent shivers down one's spine, as if he had accepted the idea of being abandoned.
When Rathn approached, his eyes met Atherion's. His own eyes widened at the sight of those mesmerizing eyes, but they were black.
He couldn't stare for long, as if his very being screamed at him that he would uncover something profound within himself he wasn't ready for.
His hair was black — thin and soft, harmonizing with the atmosphere of the rainy night.
Impossible.
Rathn couldn't believe it — no, he didn't want to believe it.
How had his hair turned red?
Rathn swore with certainty that Atherion's hair had been black. But the moment he held the child in his arms and glanced at his hair a second time, avoiding his eyes...
He was met with beautiful red hair. For Atherion, black had been his favorite color — perhaps influenced by the child's eyes or due to the nature of his authority — yet he found the red captivating.
Rathn felt curious, not afraid. After all these years, he felt excitement toward the unknown.
How?
Was it an illusion? No, it couldn't be. He's just a child — how could he cast an illusion on me?
Rathn decided to adopt him.
For the first time in a long while, Rathn felt truly alive. Every cell in his body screamed of danger, yet at the same time, it promised the mystery an explorer savors when uncovering profound truths.
When he brought him to the clan, this decision sparked debate and conflict among those in power. The reason was clear: not just anyone could enter the clan, and this child was frightening.
Throughout the journey back and even upon entering the clan, the child never cried nor showed any desire for food, despite his fragility and the ease with which his delicate bones could break under any pressure.
Upon arriving, Rathn asked people about the color of his hair. He was astonished to find that every person he met described it differently.
Rathn conducted a quick investigation and discovered that the secret behind it was simpler than he had expected, yet at the same time, it sent shivers down his spine.