The courtyard stretched before him, shadows long and cold, the air thick with the hum of mana. The swords crackled with magic, their energy pulsing faintly through the stillness. For any other child, this place would have been wondrous. But Dorian wasn’t like other children. His small hands gripped the wooden sword, his green eyes shadowed by something far older than his two years.
The ground felt unsteady beneath him, and each step seemed to shift, as if the earth itself was uncertain. Dorian swung the sword, the weight awkward in his hands, the motion stiff and unnatural. He was caught between two worlds. The magic pulsing in the air didn’t belong to him. It rejected him.
Theodas had tried teaching him about mana, about how it should flow through him like a current. But it never felt like that. Mana slipped away the moment Dorian reached for it, like water running through his fingers. His father was patient, but the lessons only deepened Dorian’s sense of displacement.
Ochrea saw his energy differently. She believed if she could wear him out physically, it would bring him back into balance. The drills were relentless, designed to exhaust him, but Dorian met them with quiet determination. Even at two, he had something to prove—though what, he couldn’t quite say.
He swung the sword again. It moved sluggishly through the air. In the distance, soldiers sparred, their blades aglow with mana, each strike perfect. Dorian watched them but felt detached, as though he were watching from behind a veil. Their movements belonged to this world. His didn’t.
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He glanced at the wooden sword in his hand. It felt like a toy. No matter how tightly he gripped it, the weight seemed wrong. He wasn’t just a boy with a wooden sword. He was someone else, someone who didn’t belong here. Flashes of another life—a world without mana, without magic—kept intruding, turning everything hazy. He could still feel the kick of a rifle against his shoulder, the precise order of machines.
The more he remembered, the less he felt like himself.
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Tessa and Arla, Dorian’s minders, watched him from the courtyard wall. They were Robin’s daughters, one of Ochrea’s most trusted mercenaries. Their mother had wanted a better life for them, something more than rough soldiering. Maybe this life at the castle would refine them, make them into ladies who could find suitable husbands. But for now, they were stuck babysitting a two-year-old who barely acted like a child.
Tessa sighed, watching Dorian swing the sword with a seriousness that didn’t belong on a child. “Shouldn’t he be playing with toys or something?”
Arla shrugged, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “He’s brooding again. Like a little knight with too many problems. What do you think he’s worrying about? Squirrels?”
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Tessa grinned. “Brooding at two. What’s he going to be like at five? Probably writing poetry about his tragic destiny.”
They laughed, but the sound felt distant to Dorian. Their voices came to him like whispers from a dream. He swung the sword again, feeling the resistance in his arms, but the motion was disconnected. They didn’t understand. How could they? To them, he was just a boy playing at being a warrior. But Dorian wasn’t playing.
He wasn’t sure what he was anymore.
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“Dorian.” His father’s voice broke through the haze, and Dorian turned to see Theodas approaching. His father’s presence was calm, solid, like a rock in the shifting sands of Dorian’s mind. In his hand, Theodas held a glowing mana stone. Its light flickered against the dimming sky.
“Feel it,” Theodas said, pressing the stone into Dorian’s small hand. “Let the mana flow through you. It’s part of you.”
The stone hummed, warm and alive. The mana crawled up Dorian’s arm, prickling like electricity, but it felt wrong. It wasn’t just the sensation—it was the way the magic pressed against his thoughts, invasive, trying to slip past the walls of his mind. For a moment, he wondered if the mana would erase him entirely, make him something else.
Is this what I am? he thought, his grip tightening on the stone. A creature of magic?
But the memories pushed back, sharp and clear—the cold weight of a rifle, the precise hum of machines, logic, order. No, Dorian thought, pulling his hand away. That’s not me.
“I can’t,” he whispered. His voice was tight, like it might break.
Theodas looked down at him, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth, but his voice remained gentle. “It will come. You have the blood of both worlds in you.”
Dorian wasn’t sure. The more the memories surfaced, the less he felt like he belonged. The boy who had dreamed of magic was slipping away, replaced by someone who had lived in a world where control and precision meant everything.
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Ochrea approached him differently. She didn’t focus on the magic; instead, she worked to wear him out. Physical training, she believed, would ground him. She ran him through drills, pushing him until his muscles ached. She hoped that by exhausting him, he might find a sense of calm. But Dorian never seemed to tire in the way she expected. He pushed himself harder, as though he were trying to fight something deep inside.
“You don’t have to push yourself so hard, you know,” Ochrea said one afternoon, as Dorian finished another round of drills. His small body trembled with exhaustion, but his eyes were still intense, burning with something she couldn’t quite understand. “You’re two, Dorian. There’s no need to prove anything yet. Rest. Be a child.”
Dorian hesitated. He wanted to rest, to be the child she spoke of, but each time he closed his eyes, the memories returned—flashes of responsibility, of duty, of a world where rest had been a luxury he couldn’t afford.
“I have to be ready,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know why. But I have to be ready.”
Ochrea knelt beside him, her face softening. She kissed his forehead, brushing his hair back. “You’ll grow up strong, stronger than both of us. But for now, just be my son. That’s all I’ll ever need you to be.”
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As the sun set behind the castle, casting long shadows over the courtyard, Dorian stood alone. The wooden sword hung limply in his hand, feeling more like a weight than a weapon. The mana in the air buzzed faintly, but to Dorian, it felt distant. Everything felt distant. The world around him was slipping away, like a dream fading just as he began to understand it.
The urgency inside him grew. He had to hold onto something, anything, before he lost himself completely.
But what?