Arvind shifted uncomfortably in his carriage seat as the wooden frame creaked beneath him, jolting on the rough road. Each bump sent a dull ache through his lower back. This journey was far from the smooth, cushioned rides he remembered from his past life, where luxury had come standard, and travel was effortless. Now, that world seemed like a distant dream.

He glanced around the modestly adorned carriage. The seats were lined with golden fabric—a symbol of nobility. The exterior bore his family crest: a deep blue field with a silver hawk. It felt like overkill, showing off like this on such a rugged road. But nobles had their ways. The crest, the stitching, all of it signaled lineage and power. Without such symbols, even his family might be seen as weak.

Outside, a small convoy of knights rode alongside his carriage, their movements sharp and disciplined. They escorted him to his new territory—a neglected stretch of borderland, wild and barely explored. This land was his inheritance, if it could even be called that. Was it a gift or a punishment?

He turned to the passing scenery. Dense forests stretched endlessly, towering trees clawing at the sky, with distant mountains lining the horizon. This untamed land was his now. But deep down, he knew the truth—it was his family's way of casting off the son they deemed... inadequate.

His mind wandered back to the ceremony, the one where everything had changed. Standing in the grand hall, surrounded by the intense gazes of family and retainers, he had awaited the revelation of his talent. In this world, where magic and martial prowess determined one's worth, he had dared to hope.

But reality hit hard. His aura—a faint glimmer, almost pitiful. Barely enough to be called "mediocre."

The memory of his father's indifferent nod lingered. Count Eldric Hale, one of the kingdom's most powerful nobles and a Great Knight, had shown no emotion. To his father, power was everything, and he expected his sons to embody it. For Arvind, the faint spark of magic he possessed was painfully insufficient compared to his siblings.

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Arvind's hand moved to the small lotus pendant around his neck—a simple, tarnished piece his mother had given him. "A lotus blooms, no matter the mud," she had said. She had wanted him to remember that. Her words were his anchor, even if he often felt like he was sinking.

"Master Arvind?" A gentle voice pulled him back to the present. He looked up to see Anika, his mother's former handmaiden, offering him a soft, reassuring smile. She had been his mother's last gift to him, a steadfast presence who seemed to understand his struggles without words. In her gaze, he saw something he couldn't find in himself—a quiet belief, as if she thought he could be more than just... ordinary.

Across from him, Shankar, his family's old butler, offered a respectful nod. Shankar had served his mother loyally, staying by Arvind's side even after her passing. To him, Shankar was more than a butler—he was a mentor, a constant reminder that family went beyond blood. Even now, when he was barely tolerated by his own kin, Shankar's loyalty was unshakable.

As the carriage trudged on, Arvind's mind drifted to his new territory. He knew little of the place—only that it bordered the Warcraft Forest and stretched to a desolate coastline frequented by murlocs. It was a forgotten region, a "gift" for the son who had fallen short. But strangely, he felt a spark of curiosity, a quiet pull toward the unknown. Perhaps here, in the wild borderlands, he could carve out something of his own.

He glanced back at the crest on the carriage, the blue and silver of the Hale family. Nobility wasn't just a title; it was a burden, one he would now have to bear alone. If his family saw this land as a test, he would rise to meet it, no matter how lowly his beginnings.

As hours passed, night crept in. The convoy stopped to make camp, the knights moving quickly to establish a perimeter. Arvind stepped out, stretching his stiff limbs, breathing in the cool evening air as tents rose around him. The smell of roasting meat drifted from the fire as the knights settled in for the night.

Anika approached, offering him a bowl of stew. He took it gratefully, savoring the warmth and flavor as he ate in silence. Shankar joined him soon after, his eyes calm and steady.

After they finished, Shankar spoke, his voice measured. "Young master, this land may be harsh, but it is yours. Every tree, every river, every stone. You have the power to shape it, to make it your own."

Arvind met Shankar's gaze. The old butler's words stirred something inside him—a faint, stubborn determination. For too long, he had lived in the shadow of others, burdened by expectations he could never meet. Perhaps here, he could find his own path. If his family had abandoned him, then he would rise without them.

Later, as he lay in his tent, Arvind stared at the stars through a tiny gap in the canvas. His mother had once told him that stars were guardians, watching over those who felt lost. Her words brought a faint smile to his lips. Maybe, just maybe, she was still watching over him.

He thought of her lotus pendant, her gentle but unwavering spirit. "A lotus blooms, no matter the mud." If he was to be ordinary, he would turn that ordinary into something extraordinary. With that resolve, he closed his eyes, letting the quiet strength of his vow guide him into sleep. Tomorrow, his new life would begin.