I woke up on the bed, pillows wet.

As I opened my eyes, everything from the eve flashed in my mind — I teared up again.

#

After that, it didn’t take much longer. The birth of my brother; the catalyst needed to unlock everything else. Soon rumors of the now well-late naming ceremony, and of the “Heaven’s blessing” — presenting the newborn child to the other families — floated around.

The rumors were true, about 2 weeks later.

It happened.

I, alongside Gregoire, and a plethora of other servants lined the walls of the ceremonial room

I stood out like a sore thumb, my obnoxious mask and my formal attire making me look like an overly fashion conscious koompwat.

The servants too looked odd, but differently. Despite the muted colors of their clothing, one would have been excused to confuse them with members of the nobility.

The event would start in the morning, and last for 3 days. Gregoire had woke up at 5 and dragged me along, insisting on me assisting today; if not for him, I would be leisurely self deprecating in my bed. I was barely standing, my eyes heavy, and I yawned often; the unending wait not helping me stay awake.

Maybe I was leaking bad energy into the air, or yawned too much; because soon he called me to order. “Jeremy, I know you don’t want to be here, but please don’t let it show.”

The way Gregoire addressed me had changed. He wasn’t quite used to it yet as it felt it wrong to treat me — the son of my father — with anything less than utter reverence. However, his master had slapped his hands pretty hard, reminding him that no matter how well intended he was, his reverential language could tip off our opponents about who I was. His eyes gleamed with anger as he said that.

With order coming directly from father, he could do nothing but fold. Still, it was ingrained in him, so he still struggled with it.

As for why Jeremy…

I hated that name.

Gregoire looked at me, sighed, before going back to his waiting.

As we waited inside, we could see the guests trickle into the ceremonial room.

Drop by drop.

I got nervous as I knew every single person who came here would be respectable persons from their respective families.

First were the Grimjaws, a group of man dressed in fancy black suits, with long canines sticking out their mouths. Far from looking scary, they all looked like stereotypical princes charming — their ominous teeth only giving them a savage charm. They were 15, lead by a muscular man, easily towering over Nathanael Balmung, who was not a small man. He advanced slowly, followed by his group to their designed table, holding a bone staff in his hand. One of their members separated from the group and left what looked like a skin bag on a remote table, a table meant for gifts. Despite their bestial faces, they stayed silent and composed.

After them followed the Sarchwurks, a heterogeneous group of both men and women, also numbering 15 who came dressed in fancy gowns. They too went to their designed table without a noise and came with gifts.

After them followed likewise, eight groups, all releasing different auras and vibes. Some seemed savage, some seemed classy, some seemed kind, some seemed cruel. The only thing they seemed to all have was a sense of respect.

They knew where they were, and thus even the families who had rivalrous relationships controlled themselves and kept to themselves. Along this heteroclite group of people, the one who grabbed my attention, were a group of men dressed in white suits. They all wore glasses, and the aura they released was inquisitive, as if trying to gauge the very nature of everyone present.

Their mana flow was nothing special. It seemed in fact much tamer and reserved than the ones of the others, however, looking at their cold eyes, and the one who seemed like the leader of the group. I knew nothing good would happen from messing with them.

As Gregoire saw me stare at the group he said with a soft chuckle

“Don’t worry, they have no reason to take you.”

At these words, I knew my suspicions were right. The Galvrungs...

The worst nightmare of every kid; even grownups avoided them as much as possible.

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

When I realized that, I stopped looking at them, afraid that they could somehow detect me watching them, and returned to my observation. In this room, every single person present released a visible dark purple light. None of them could compare to father’s; still, some, like the Grimjaws, stood out from the rest and branded fear in my heart.

Do I really have to be here?

Seeing such a cohort of powers, I felt out of place and…

I clenched my teeth.

I stopped looking at everyone else and thought back to the guards. These guards weren’t normal though, this energy they released easily compared to some people here.

I pulled on Gregoire’s sleeve, curious. “Hmm, what’s wrong?”

“Do you know anything about the four guards guarding the entrance..?”

“I think their names were Harry and Barry?”

“Harry? and Barry? Um, I do know them, but nothing out of the ordinary comes to mind.. why? Young — youngin?”

“Uh really, they seemed pretty strong, so I was wonder—”

“Did they now..? Well, I assume to a kid like you anyone would, but master Balmung is much more powerful!”

I looked at his face radiating with pride while complimenting Father, and was forced to agree with a grumble.

“Yeah, their energy doesn’t compare to him, but it does rival with some attendees”

“Uh?” he looked at me, perplexed.

He then called a servant and asked them to substitute for him. As head servant, Gregoire’s authority in the manor was only below the Balmung’s. He then made sure no one had heard what I had just said, and dragged me outside the room as inconspicuously as possible.

He then asked me asked me, “What do you mean their internal energy compares....?”

“N-no no no no no, what do you mean? You can see their internal energy?”

“Uh, yes?” As far as I was concerned, anyone could see what I saw. I didn’t have to put any sort of effort into seeing it, too.

“Oh, heavens...” He stood there in a daze with his mouth so wide opened I feared for his jaw.

Before suddenly wiping off the drool of his chin and moving energy from his core towards his left hand.

He cleared his throat. “Did you notice anything?”

“Uh, you loaded your left hand with energy, right?” I said, my tone uncertain at what exactly was the matter.

He exploded into a fit of laughter as he fell to his knees.

"Great Dianthea," Gregoire said looking fiendish, "this humble one can only handle so much blessings."

He laughed, and laughed.

“Gregoire... you are scaring me...” I said as I shook him vigorously.

“Gregoire?”

When he continued, I slapped his face.

“GREGOIRE!”

He finally snapped out of it.

His unfocused eyes slowly regained composure as his face suddenly became flushed.

As he cleared his throat again, he said, “Excuse this pathetic show.”

Caressing his non-existent beard as he collected his thoughts.

“It’s just that... okay, how do I explain that?”

“Internal flow and energy is something that is secret — like thoughts.”

“Aura is but a manifestation of this internal flow, or if I follow up with the analogy is like words. They can soothe, they can threaten, they’re a tool that can serve many purposes, but the speaker has full control over what they say and thus what can be heard from them.”

“Only masters facing against opponents much weaker than them can see or feel someone else’s energy, and even then it is only vaguely…”

“… This ability of yours to see internal flow — as you’re doing — is simply unheard of.”

“Really?”

Hearing that, I was special, put a genuine smile on my face.

However, his look was complicated. He seemed both genuinely happy to learn of this talent of mine, but also worried. He made me promise to keep this ability a secret, and when I asked why, he said, “No one likes mind readers.”

[…]

Back in the ceremonial room.

We finished our discussion just in time, as the most important guest among the attendees, along with his cohort, entered the room in fanfares.

As he did, everyone quieted down and stood up from their seats to kneel.

He’s dangerous, I thought.

A droplet of sweat sliding down the side of my head, as I saw the roaring sea of molten magma inside him. He was without a doubt stronger than anyone here.

“We bow to the Great Southern King of Avdarth!” everyone said in unison. As I heard the name pronounced, I shook as I could finally put a face on that infamous name — this was the Great Southern King of Avdarth, Ryven the Terrible.

The fanfares kept playing as the cohort lead by the king went to their table, a table set aside decorated with special care and served only by our most beautiful servants.

The king didn’t head there, however. He, followed by his personal escort, walked to the stage. He was radiating an air of dignity and strength.

He was in shape — a circle — but despite his regal chubbiness, no one was foolish enough to think him weak. One didn’t become and stay king of such an empire without significant power to back it up.

He stood on the stage in silence for 30 whole seconds, 30 seconds that felt like an eternity. He didn’t even exude aura, the weight of his presence and prestige kept us kneeling.

It was an eternity during which everyone in the room stayed genuflecting, with their head low. The fanfare had stopped playing, so it was 30 seconds of pure silence.

He then chuckled and said with a proud smile, as if satisfied, “Be at ease, my friends. Today is an occasion to rejoice.”

After these words, he gestured with his hand to sit, and everyone sat back silently.

“We have all gathered here to honor the invitations of Nathanael Balmung, The Winged Hound, and to do something rarely done; celebrate the naming of his firstborn son and revel in the potential of his newborn conjointly!”

At these words, my heart ached.

“I am glad that we were all able to put aside our differences to make this ceremony an event that these young winged cubs will remember!”

He then continued spouting boring platitudes for the next 10 minutes. No one dared utter a word, show dissatisfaction or yawn in the audience; they knew that this powerful king was also rather temperamental. He wasn’t dubbed the Fiery Emperor of Hell, Ryven the Terrible for nothing.

Even with his flowery words, if someone earned his scourge, it wasn’t unlikely that their head would roll. On the spot.

He finally concluded.

“I won’t make myself longer, bring the children,” He said with a clap and proud smile.

As he said that, father, mother (who was carrying my little brother) and "I”, entered the room.

Murmurs could be heard in the room, “I can’t feel his energy.” "Is this the heir of the Balmungs?"

[...]

“Is he really the first-born son?”

My thoughts were elsewhere though. Brother?