The room fell silent as Ark lowered his hand, the faint currents of wind dissipating into nothingness. The air felt heavier now, charged with the residual energy of his spell. Elder Selene regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and caution, while the younger tutor, Master Darius, seemed almost startled by what he had just witnessed.

“That’s enough for today,” Selene finally said, her voice calm but her expression guarded. “You show promise, Arkadius. Perhaps more than we expected.”

Ark frowned but didn’t respond. He wasn’t sure whether to feel flattered or wary of the attention his abilities seemed to attract. His grip on this new world was still tenuous, and every passing moment reminded him how little he truly understood about the rules that governed it.

As the tutors departed, Luna entered the chamber, carrying a tray of tea. Her silver hair shimmered in the soft glow of the lanterns, and her calm demeanor provided a small reprieve from the tension of the lesson.

“You’re progressing quickly, my lord,” Luna said as she placed the tray on the table. “Your magic is... different.”

Ark glanced at her, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. “Different how?”

She hesitated for a moment before responding. “Most nobles inherit a trace of elemental magic, but it’s usually weak—more symbolic than practical. Your control over the wind feels... alive. As if the element itself is responding to you, not just obeying your commands.”

Ark sipped the tea, his mind racing. This wasn’t just about talent. It was about something deeper—something tied to his very existence in this world. If the winds themselves were drawn to him, could that mean his power was greater than even he realized?

Later that evening, Ark found himself summoned to the great hall of the Calderon estate. The vast chamber, with its gilded columns and intricate murals, seemed almost too grand for the sparse gathering of people within. His father, Duke Reynard Calderon, sat at the head of the table, his stern face a mask of authority. Beside him were Ark’s elder brothers: Victor, the eldest and heir to the Calderon name, and Elias, the second son, a knight with a reputation for unmatched skill on the battlefield.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Ark bowed respectfully as he entered, taking his place at the far end of the table. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension.

“You’ve been making progress in your studies,” Duke Reynard began, his voice as sharp as a blade. “Your tutors speak highly of your magical aptitude. I must admit, I did not expect much from you, Arkadius. But it seems you are determined to prove me wrong.”

Ark held his father’s gaze, refusing to show any weakness. “I aim to meet the expectations placed upon me, Father.”

Victor smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Expectations? Don’t get ahead of yourself, little brother. Magic or not, you’re still the third son. You’ll never have the responsibilities of an heir, nor the glory of a knight. Best you focus on being useful in... smaller ways.”

Elias chuckled, though his expression was less mocking than Victor’s. “Don’t listen to him too much, Ark. But he’s not entirely wrong. The third son has little place in matters of power.”

Ark felt the familiar sting of their words but kept his expression neutral. “Perhaps,” he said calmly, “but even a gentle breeze can grow into a storm.”

The room fell silent for a moment, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Duke Reynard raised an eyebrow, his gaze sharp and calculating.

“We shall see,” the Duke finally said. “Your progress in magic is promising, but potential means nothing without results. A tournament will be held in three months’ time, where nobles and knights from across the kingdom will compete. You will represent the Calderon name in the mage’s division.”

Ark’s heart skipped a beat. A tournament? He barely understood the fundamentals of magic, let alone how to use it in combat.

“Father, I—” he began, but the Duke cut him off with a wave of his hand.

“You wish to prove yourself?” Reynard’s tone was cold and commanding. “Then do so on the battlefield. Otherwise, you will remain nothing more than a footnote in this family’s history.”

That night, Ark stood on the balcony of his chambers, staring out at the city of Avalon. The spires glimmered under the moonlight, their beauty masking the harsh realities of the world they overshadowed. He clenched his fists, his mind racing with a mix of frustration and determination.

He had no intention of remaining a footnote. If this tournament was the key to proving his worth, then he would seize the opportunity. But to succeed, he needed more than raw potential—he needed knowledge, training, and allies.

“If I’m to survive this world,” Ark murmured to himself, “I’ll need to master not just magic, but the art of power itself.”

The winds around him stirred gently, as if answering his resolve. For the first time since his rebirth, Ark felt a glimmer of hope. This was his chance—not just to rise within his family, but to forge a legacy of his own.

And no one, not his brothers, not his father, and not the forces that sought to keep him in the shadows, would stand in his way.