Year 1953, Jan, Imperial Calendar
In the eerie stillness of the night, flames danced wildly, casting twisted silhouettes on the charred remains of what was once her sanctuary. Embers flickered like dying stars in the dark sky, reflecting the devastation below. Amidst the chaos, a young girl stood motionless, tears streaming down her dirt-streaked face, her eyes fixated on the inferno that consumed everything she held dear. Through the desolate landscape, the crackling of burning timber echoed like a haunting symphony, each fiery snap a mournful note in the orchestra of destruction. Heavy in the air hung the acrid scent of smoke, a suffocating blanket that choked the girl's senses, leaving her struggling to reconcile the reality of her irreparable loss.
"Ma…ma…"
Her voice was barely audible above the roar of the blazing inferno. Agony resonated in every syllable, a desperate plea for comfort in a world suddenly devoid of warmth.
But there was no response, only the merciless advance of the fire, devouring memories and dreams with relentless fervor. The girl's heart ached with pain too profound for words, her grief a silent scream echoing in the vast emptiness of the night.
Yet, as the flames swayed to the tune of their macabre dance, a simmering anger stirred within her, kindling a hunger for vengeance that burned brighter than the flames consuming her past. For in the wreckage of her home, among the debris of her shattered innocence, lay the unmistakable imprint of deliberate cruelty.
----------------------------------------
Year 1959, April, Imperial Calendar
"Two dead and one injured!"
"What do you have to say for yourself, Ignatius Blaze Emberheart?" General Aldric bellowed. Though his voice carried the weight of anger, its undertones spoke more of frustration, stemming from the added workload and a profound lack of concern for the tragic loss of innocent lives.
"I sincerely apologize, Sir Aldric," His words tinged with a hint of defiance, though carefully veiled.
It was the third time Ignatius had repeated those words, each repetition feeling less genuine than the last. Guilt did not weigh heavily on his conscience; instead, he cursed his incompetence. His attempt to use endowment magic on lamp oil in the library had engulfed a significant portion of the library in a blaze, incinerating two of his cousins and leaving another with minor burns.
"Remember Ignatius that you are a pureblood of the Blaze family! You must be aware of that fool Tristan who died in an explosion after attempting to concoct a fire-endowed pill in the kitchen just a few days ago!"
The recent string of incidents involving the reckless pursuit of dangerous techniques bordering on suicide had undeniably soured General Aldric's disposition. This atmosphere of disregard for safety rendered Ignatius' offense even more intolerable in his eyes.
"I understand, Sir Aldric"
"Tsk, enough of this tedious scolding. I still have the kitchen damages to attend to. Consider yourself lucky this time. I understand the urgency since you only have 2 weeks left to prove your strength to take part in the Succession Trials, but don’t rush and blow yourself up. There is no hurry to humiliate yourself again. Understand?"
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
Ignatius' expression tightened at the remark, his inner turmoil simmering beneath the surface. Suppressing his anxiety, he ceased biting his lips and replied with forced politeness, "Yes, Sir Aldric. I appreciate your counsel."
"Tsk, just get out, damn Emberheart!"
With a curt nod, Ignatius swiftly departed, his mind clouded with thoughts of waning motivation and mounting stress. Time was running out, and he could not afford any further setbacks.
As he shut the door behind him, a faint murmur reached his ears. "Tsk. He’s gonna get himself killed too…"
Ignatius pays it no mind.
----------------------------------------
Ignatius stormed along the corridor, his mind ablaze with frustration. He had expected the scolding during the meeting, yet the sting of it still cut deep, grinding what little remained of his pride into dust.
"Why am I cursed with only endowment magic? It's all because of my parents' genetics!" he muttered to himself, his steps echoing with each heavy footfall as he navigated the corridors of the castle.
Lost in his swirling thoughts of resentment and self-pity, Ignatius rounded a corner without paying heed to his surroundings, completely unaware of the young girl quietly standing in his path.
With a loud thud, Ignatius collided with the girl, sending both of them sprawling to the ground in a tangle of limbs and confusion. Ignatius swore loudly, his frustration boiling over as he struggled to disentangle himself from the unexpected obstacle.
"What in the world are you doing standing there?" he shouted, his voice filled with irritation as he glared down at the girl.
The girl remained silent, her gaze fixed on Ignatius with an unsettling intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. Her emotionless eyes resembled the ocean: tranquil on the surface, yet harboring an undercurrent of unseen peril.
As Ignatius struggled to regain his composure, his eyes flickered over the girl's features, taking in the details of her appearance. He noted the burn marks that marred her hands, clear evidence of failed attempts at mastering fire magic. Her hair, a striking silvery-white, stood out in stark contrast to his family's characteristic orange.
At that moment, Ignatius felt a surge of disdain towards the girl, dismissing her as yet another failure in this castle filled with defects. Perhaps she was an illegitimate child, he mused, or a victim of some grotesque experiment gone wrong.
With a scoff of disgust, Ignatius stood up, brushing off his clothes with a dismissive gesture. "Stop wasting my time, you little brat," he snapped, his tone laced with contempt as he turned to leave.
But as he walked away, Ignatius couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the pit of his stomach. There was something about the girl that unsettled him, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Ignoring the feeling, he continued to march back to his room, eager to put the encounter behind him.
----------------------------------------
Ignatius trudged wearily back to his chambers, the weight of his failures heavy upon his shoulders. Collapsing onto his bed, he let out a frustrated groan, his mind consumed by the troubles that plagued him.
Endowment magic was a constant source of vexation. In the ducal house of fire that revered the power of generation and enhancement fire magic, many often dismissed endowment magic as inferior because of its subpar destructive force. Weapons imbued with fire were too hot and therefore unwieldy for those lacking proficiency in fire enhancement, while projectiles often ignited prematurely, rendering them useless. The reliance on flammable materials further compounded the impracticality of this magical discipline.
Recalling his humiliating failure during the Succession trials only deepened Ignatius' dejection. Despite using his parents' esteemed name to secure a place in the trials, his performance had been nothing short of disastrous. Wetting himself during the qualification test had sealed his fate, earning him the disdain of the head of the family and a swift exile to this remote castle of defects.
The bitterness of betrayal gnawed at him as he pondered his parents' lack of protest against the family head's decision. How could they stand idly by while the family head tossed him aside like a broken tool?
Lost in his frustration, a sharp knock on his chamber door startled Ignatius. Rising reluctantly from his bed, he braced himself for whatever unwelcome intrusion awaited him on the other side.