When Milo gained consciousness, he immediately wished he hadn’t. His body alternated between burning hot and freezing cold; his skin felt boiled, like they would slough off his bones at any moment; currents of furious electricity ran through his veins in place of blood.

He groaned, wishing for the pain to stop.

Instead, he heard the sound of a match striking, a pipe lighting, and a man’s satisfied exhale.

Milo continued wishing for relief.

“I know you’re awake,” said a man’s deep, regal voice, followed by an exhale and the smell of smoke. “You’d best open your eyes before I make you.”

“Brother,” began another voice, more familiar and petulant, but whatever he was about to say was silenced.

The.. mage… Milo thought, and for a moment, there was a brief respite from the pain as anger took its place.

He opened his eyes with effort and saw he was in some kind of cell. He had been in enough of those over the years to recognize the trademark utilitarian design, but this one was far drier and cleaner than the City Watch ones. Unmarked stone walls, empty chamber pot, unrusted iron bars. He even laid atop simple bedding and not just the floor.

To his right, on the other side of the bars, two men. One sat atop a simple wooden chair, legs crossed, a bone pipe in his mouth. Lord Ancaster, the head of the household. Clean-shaven face, flowing black hair, well-built. Lighter skin than Milo’s tan with sharp hazel-green eyes. He wore rich and layered robes of gold and turquoise, and a heavy arcane-looking medallion hung around his neck.

Behind him, the mage who’d nearly killed Milo. The bastard, in both senses of the word.

“You know, I was in the middle of dinner with the King when you tripped my golem’s alarm,” Lord Ancaster said casually between puffs of his pipe. “I wouldn’t have [Teleported] back had you not also awoken the Blade of Ancaster. That thing has been sleeping since my grandfather’s time. Now it’s telepathically nagging my ear off. Very annoying.”

Milo breathed in a ragged breath. “Why… am I… still alive…?”

“Good question,” muttered Bastard Ancaster in a sullen tone.

“You’re alive,” Lord Ancaster said with an edge, “because my dear, sadistic, idiotic brother here decided to torture you to death instead of just killing you outright. He filled you with mana, which to non-Awakened people is antithetical to their being. But instead of killing you… he somehow forced an Awakening.”

“N… not possible. I’m six..teen…” At least, so he thought. Milo wasn’t exactly sure when his birthday was.

“Late Awakenings are rare, but they do happen. You must’ve had the seed of it within you, yet for some reason, it didn’t bloom. There’s a rather radical proposal circulating right now that Awakening is contingent on proper nutrition and health, which is why Awakened are more likely to be from the children of nobility.” Lord Ancaster puffed on his pipe contemplatively. “Many of my peers do not like such an idea. I find it fascinating. Regardless, when my brother filled you with mana, he must’ve ignited the dormant furnace, so to speak.”

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Milo didn’t understand. You had one shot at Awakening when you turned 13; it was an ancient pact between the gods and the first peoples. If you missed it, you missed it. He couldn’t have Awakened.

As the thought came, so too did a strange jolt of power through his body. It felt strangely fluid and alive, like something was swimming inside him.

“But here is my dilemma, thief,” Lord Ancaster continued. “You stole from me. You broke into my home. You stepped all over my precious garden, which my wife cares for so dearly. I am well within my rights to kill you right now. However, the King’s Law states that all Awakened must be taken to Numeron, the Academy of the Mystic Arts, so that they may be trained to serve the kingdom and her interests.

But no one knows you’ve Awakened. Your friends and family, if you even have any, are Dregfolk. Lowlifes. You’ll just be another missing body. A statistic for the census-takers.”

Milo knew what the man was getting at. “What… do you want…?”

The lord grinned. “You will attend Numeron, thief. And you will do so under my service. I will secretly indenture you into my household, and you will covertly work to push my interests in the school, as I no longer have access upon accepting my father’s position as lord. My children must also remain unaffiliated with any such business, as they are too valuable to risk. But you, a Dreg lowlife thief? You are perfect.”

“I’m… disposable…you mean.”

“Exactly!” Lord Ancaster abruptly stood up, handed his pipe to his brother, then gripped the bars of the cell with one hand.

Something swelled in the air. Milo couldn’t rightly tell what it was, but the energy inside him reacted to it negatively. Like it was frightened.

The iron bars incinerated. In an instant, they were turned into a cloud of ash, and the lord walked through casually.

Survival instincts kicked in, and Milo struggled to his feet, though the action nearly made him pass out from dizziness. He used the wall to support himself and weakly raised his fists.

The lord chuckled and thrust out his hand. “[Earth Meld,]” he casted.

The stone wall melted into goop and stuck to Milo’s body like wax to a cast, forcing him in place. Milo didn’t even have the strength to cry out, though. He felt so unbalanced internally, it was honestly helpful to have the wall support him like this.

Lord Ancaster stopped in front of Milo and bent down to look at him with dangerous eyes.

“You are mine now, do you hear me? You. Are. Mine. Every breath you breathe, every bite of food, every sip of water; everything you do is by my mercy. All you have to do is prove your worth. Show the initiative and cunning you displayed last night by stealing from my house—successfully, I may add, if not for your blunder with the Blade. You have skill and drive, as most Dregfolk do. That is something my peers cannot comprehend. It is why they will never rise beyond their position. It is why I will one day become King.”

Lord Ancaster touched Milo’s simple shirt with the tip of his finger and burned it away. He then lifted his amulet over his head and charged it with mana. It began glowing with an arcane blue light, illuminating the various symbols etched onto it.

“But…” the lord said. “You are still Dregfolk. You are still lesser. You cannot be trusted. And so, I brand you into my service.”

He pressed the amulet directly over Milo’s heart. A burning flare of heat erupted on that spot, and Milo screamed as the heat traveled through his skin and imprinted directly onto his heart itself.

When the pain passed, he felt violated. Fundamentally changed.

“It is a living brand I have burned into you,” Lord Ancaster said. “There are no rules, no loopholes to exploit. It exists to enforce a simple command. Do not betray me.”

“Now, my brother will take you to Admissions at the school. He will take care of the paperwork and legality. You, however, have much work to do. You are entering the school at sixteen when every other student enters at thirteen. The school will not give you any leeway. You must prove your worth and maintain your position. Do not let me down.”