The garden courtyard of the Marcellus estate was a mosaic of vibrant greens and delicate blooms, an oasis of serenity that mocked Charles’s mounting frustration. The late afternoon sun streamed through the latticework of vines, casting dappled shadows on the cobblestone paths as Ardella Vaelcroft, head mage of House Marcellus, watched Charles attempt to manipulate the air mana around him.
“Again,” Ardella said, her voice clipped but patient. Her piercing amber eyes glinted with expectation.
Charles grimaced, raising his hand to focus on the invisible currents swirling through the air. Drawing mana wasn’t the issue—he could feel it rushing to him eagerly, like bees swarming toward nectar. With a sharp exhale, he tugged at the energy, forming it into a wisp-like thread. It held, shimmering faintly, and his chest swelled with satisfaction.
Then it snapped.
The backlash jolted up his arm like a static shock, leaving a dull ache that made him wince. “Son of a—” He cut himself off, shaking his hand out as if that would dispel the residual sting. “How do you people make this look easy?”
“You’re too tense,” Ardella said, stepping closer. “Mana isn’t a leash, Charles. You can’t just yank it into place. It requires finesse.”
Charles smirked. “You mean like knitting? Should I fetch some needles and a rocking chair?”
Ignoring his sarcasm, Ardella extended her hand. Without fanfare, the air around her coalesced into a luminous strand of mana. The string pulsed faintly, unbroken and steady, as she began weaving it into a graceful pattern. “It’s not about force,” she explained, her voice taking on a lecturing tone. “It’s about guiding the mana with intent and control. Observe.”
Charles did, leaning forward with genuine curiosity. He noticed something odd—a faint sheen of Ardella’s internal energy wrapping around the mana, reinforcing it like scaffolding. His brows furrowed. “Wait a second. You’re cheating.”
Ardella blinked, startled. “Cheating?”
He gestured toward the glowing strand. “That. You’re not just using air mana—you’re propping it up with your internal power. It’s like—” he paused, searching for an analogy that fit, “—like your trapping the air mana.”
Ardella frowned, her posture stiffening as she considered his words. “What are you implying?”
“I’m saying you’re not really controlling the air mana,” Charles replied, standing straighter. “You’re controlling your internal power and using it to boss the air mana around. I don’t have internal power yet—probably because I haven’t completed my first mana ring. So, of course, your strings don’t snap, your internal magic is strong enough to hold everything together.”
The mage’s eyes narrowed as she mulled over his observation. “That… is not entirely incorrect.” A faint smile tugged at her lips, though it was tempered by a note of reluctant admiration. “I may not even know how to manipulate air mana without my internal mana.”
“Well, thanks for the compliment—wait, was that a compliment?” He rolled his shoulders, smirking again. “I’ll take it.”
Before Ardella could respond, the sound of laughter drifted into the courtyard. Charles turned, his gaze snapping to the garden entrance. Striding toward them, arm in arm, were Joanna Valen—daughter of Prince Valen and an undeniable thorn in the Prince’s side—and Cassian, his ever-dutiful older brother. Joanna’s tinkling laughter carried on the breeze, light and airy, while Cassian’s resigned expression suggested he’d rather be anywhere else.
“Well, well,” Joanna called, her vivid blue gown swishing as she approached. “Practicing mana manipulation, Charles? I didn’t take you for such a diligent student.”
Cassian sighed, running a hand through his hair. “She insisted on coming to see the estate. Said it would make our outing more ‘enriching.’” His lips quirked into a helpless smile. “I couldn’t exactly refuse.”
Joanna ignored the exchange, turning her bright smile on Ardella. “Lady Vaelcroft, I hope these lessons are going well. Though judging by Charles’s expression, I imagine there’s been… mixed success?”
Charles scowled, but Ardella gave him a pointed look before he could retort. “Charles is making progress,” she said, her tone neutral but firm. “With time, he may surprise us all.”
Her amber eyes shifted to Joanna, narrowing slightly. “Though one must wonder what a guest of Prince Valen is doing wandering places where she doesn’t belong.”
Joanna’s bright smile didn’t falter, but there was a new edge to it now, like a blade glinting beneath silk. “Ah, Lady Vaelcroft, ever the protector of propriety. You misunderstand me. My dear late mother made my father promise that I could marry anyone I wished. Anyone.” She glanced at Cassian, who shifted uncomfortably. “It is a privilege I intend to explore fully, even if it means exercising my right to view a reluctant suitor’s... residence.”
Cassian’s expression was a mask of forced calm, but Charles could see the tension in his jaw. Joanna, evidently amused by the discomfort she was causing, turned her attention back to the courtyard.
“Well,” she said airily, extending a hand, “since I’m here, why not provide a demonstration of my talents?”
With a flick of her wrist, the air shimmered, and strings of mana began to form around her fingers. They twisted and stretched into intricate shapes: flowers blooming in midair, a coiled serpent, and finally a delicate chain that rotated between her hands like clockwork. She watched Charles closely, her smirk deepening as she noticed the glimmer of interest in his eyes.
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“Impressive, isn’t it?” Joanna said, her voice light and teasing. “Though perhaps not surprising to someone as… gifted as you, Charles.”
Charles stepped forward, his skepticism briefly overridden by fascination. His eyes traced the lines of mana as they shifted and spun, his brow furrowing as he observed the fluidity of her control. He muttered under his breath, “How is she maintaining it so easily?”
Joanna noticed his scrutiny and let out a soft laugh, closing her hand to extinguish the display. “I’d show you more, but it seems I’ve already captured your attention.” She tossed a glance at Cassian and added, “It’s unfortunate when some don’t know how to appreciate such artistry.”
With that, she turned on her heel, her gown swishing dramatically as she strolled back toward the estate. “Come along, Cassian,” she called over her shoulder. “I’m sure there’s someone interesting in your home.”
Cassian hesitated, offering Charles a helpless shrug before reluctantly following. Joanna didn’t spare another glance at either brother.
Once they were out of earshot, Charles turned to the empty space where Joanna’s ribbons of mana had floated moments ago. His fingers twitched at his sides, and his eyes gleamed with realization.
“Ardella,” he said quietly, his tone unusually serious, “I think I just figured it out.”
Her gaze snapped to him. “Figured what out?”
“Why my attempts kept snapping,” he replied, his voice quickening with excitement. “Internal magic is like sculpting clay—you can shape it easily because it’s an expression of your will. But air mana?” He gestured to the space around them. “You can’t treat it the same way. Mana from the air is air. It doesn’t obey you because it’s not meant to. What you were doing before was more like… reshaping energy. Forcing it.”
Ardella tilted her head, watching him intently. “And what would you suggest?”
“Don’t force it,” Charles said simply. He raised his hand and drew a thin thread of mana from the air, letting it float loosely above his palm. “Guide it. Let it do what it wants to do.”
The strand shimmered faintly, twisting and billowing like a breeze caught in his grasp. Charles smiled, moving his fingers gently. The mana swirled around them, flowing in natural, winding shapes. It seemed alive, responding to his intent without resistance.
“See?” he said, his voice tinged with triumph. “It’s not about control—it’s about understanding. Air is restless. You can’t pin it down, but you can… let it travel.”
As his confidence grew, he pulled more strands of mana into his hands, weaving them into a twisting column. The strands began to spiral on their own, forming a miniature vortex. The twister expanded, its energy feeding off itself as it grew larger and more forceful.
Charles’s grin faltered as the twister spun out of his control. The courtyard filled with a roaring wind, scattering leaves and petals in all directions.
“Enough!” Ardella stepped forward, her hand slicing through the air. A wave of her internal magic surged outward, extinguishing the twister in an instant. The courtyard fell silent, the only sound the faint rustling of disturbed foliage.
She rounded on Charles, her expression severe. “Do not experiment recklessly, especially with outsiders present. If Joanna had seen that…” Her voice trailed off, but the implication was clear.
Charles held up his hands defensively. “I wasn’t trying to make a tornado! It just… kind of happened.”
Ardella exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of her nose. “That’s precisely why you’re not ready to experiment openly. Magic isn’t a game, Charles. Next time, you could cause real damage.”
Charles nodded, chastened but still buzzing with the thrill of discovery. “Fine. No more secret wind-twisting sessions. For today.”
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Joanna’s casual dismissal of Charles during her visit had spread through Mar’Vareen’s social circles like wildfire. Whispers of his lackluster magical talents reached every corner of the city. From gilded salons to bustling taverns, the consensus was clear: Charles Marcellus might be a scion of a respected house, but his supposed potential had been vastly overstated.
The initial fervor surrounding his ceremony cooled, and the curiosity of the public shifted to fresher gossip. The family, much to their collective relief, found themselves no longer under the relentless scrutiny of Mar’Vareen’s nobility—at least, not from the ordinary crowd.
But to those with keener eyes and loftier ambitions, the Marcellus estate had never been so interesting.
The Church of the Celestial Court, for one, seemed far from satisfied with the public narrative. Week by week, high ranking investigators arrived at the Starspire Chapel, ostensibly to review records of the ceremony. Yet their furtive glances and probing questions hinted at a deeper agenda.
Thick tomes bound in ancient leather, sealed with the Prince’s personal crest, were delivered in the dead of night by discreet couriers to theMarcellus estate. They were addressed to no one in particular but always found their way to Ardella’s study. She refused to speak of their contents, her lips pressed into a thin line whenever questioned. The books only added to the air of mystery surrounding the household.
And then there was the family itself.
For those paying attention, the subtle shift in their behavior was undeniable.Viscount Adrian virtually disappeared, the official story was that there was an important trade mission, but sightings reported him throughout the sea visiting old allies. Lady Celeste, usually composed and cold, began taking an unusually active interest in Charles’s activities. Her watchful gaze followed him during meals and quiet moments in the garden, though she never voiced her thoughts.
The one who rejoiced most in the aftermath was Cassian. His relentless dating schedule finally lightened up... somewhat. He still had to endure a date every week or two—once the gauntlet had been thrown, there was no gracefully taking it back.
Charles, for his part, took advantage of the lull to carve out some peace for himself. The household staff, however, seemed to find endless amusement in Cassian’s romantic escapades, their sudden interest in his love life bordering on gleeful gossip. Charles couldn’t resist stoking the fire, offering his older brother encouragement and the occasional piece of questionable advice when Cassian returned from his outings.
The rumor mill painted Cassian as a charming and noble young man, but one who failed to ignite that elusive spark with any of the eligible ladies. While love wasn’t always a necessary ingredient in noble marriages, without a strong incentive, neither side seemed eager to press forward. One by one, potential matches fizzled out, much to Cassian’s quiet disappointment—and to everyone’s growing amusement.
“Enjoy the quiet while you can,” Ardella had told Charles one evening, her tone more resigned than warning. “It won’t last. My mentor arrives in a month, and with her, the questions will reignite.”