At midnight.
Inside a luxurious mansion reminiscent of ancient Italian palaces, every light remained on, as though its residents were busy with important affairs.
A young man of eighteen stood by the window of his room on the top floor, gazing at the night sky with his sky-blue eyes.
Inside the room, he walked over to his writing desk, opened the top drawer, and took out a black pencil and a rectangular sketchbook.
He also grabbed the wooden chair beside the desk and carried everything back to the window.
Sitting down with the pencil and sketchbook in hand, he leaned back in his chair and stared at the night sky for several minutes before finally beginning to draw.
It did not take long before he raised the sketchbook in front of the window.
In a single page, he had captured the beauty of the night with remarkable skill.
Lowering the sketchbook onto his lap, he thought to himself:
"Yeah... this drawing suits an artist striving to reach the pinnacle of Artonics. One day, I want to become the Master of Arts."
Artonics was a discipline devoted to the study of colors, design, and visual expression. It had been founded during the era of King Raoul, who earned the title of Master of Arts because of his extraordinary talent.
Aaron closed the sketchbook and returned it, along with the pencil, to the drawer.
He remained standing by the window, his arms crossed as he stared into the distance with a sharp gaze.
Then, a knock echoed from behind him.
Turning his head, his dark blue hair swayed down to the middle of his neck.
"Who could that be at this hour? I told everyone not to disturb me during my free time... damn it."
A respectful voice came from beyond the door.
"Young Master Aaron, are you awake? Master Martin wishes to speak with you in his office. He asked me to escort you there personally."
"Mahaan? What's going on? Explain."
"I'm afraid I can't. I was only ordered to bring you to him."
"Fine. Give me a moment to put on my black robe."
A short while later, Aaron opened the door.
Standing before him was a fifty-seven-year-old man in excellent health, dressed in a servant's uniform adorned with golden embroidery.
After closing the door behind him, Aaron followed the old servant.
The two walked through the mansion's corridors until Mahaan stopped in front of a heavy iron door bearing a plaque engraved with the name:
Martin Hotfield
Mahaan knocked firmly while Aaron stood behind him, adjusting the collar of his robe.
A deep voice answered from within.
"The door is open."
Mahaan grasped the brass handle and stepped inside, bowing respectfully to the man seated behind the desk.
Aaron entered after him and immediately noticed the stern gaze fixed upon him.
Mahaan moved to stand behind the desk, while Aaron took a seat on a square sofa facing his father.
Martin adjusted his posture, resting his elbows on the desk and interlocking his fingers.
His brown eyes remained fixed on Aaron like a hawk watching its prey.
Silence filled the room.
Second after second passed.
A bead of sweat rolled down Aaron's forehead.
The room wasn't air-conditioned, but that wasn't the only reason he felt uneasy.
Finally, he broke the silence.
"Father... why did you want to see me?"
Martin answered with a question of his own.
"What day is it today?"
Aaron searched his memory.
Sunday. The fifth month.
Then it struck him.
Today was his birthday.
He had turned eighteen.
Martin continued.
"Today is Sunday, the fifth month, Year Thirty-One of the Oval Era."
He paused briefly before speaking again.
"For years, I've treated you with indifference and cruelty. The reason is simple."
He looked directly into Aaron's eyes.
"You are not my son by blood."
The Oval Era marked the arrival of magic into the world. Before that event, history had been divided into the age known as Before the White. The era earned its name because magic spread across the world with astonishing speed.
Aaron shot to his feet.
Shock overwhelmed him.
Questions flooded his mind.
How could this be?
Why hadn't anyone told me?
Did everyone in this house know the truth?
Slowly, he sat back down.
"Does everyone know about this?"
"Only the family and Mahaan."
"Mahaan...?"
"Yes. But that's not all I wanted to tell you."
Martin's voice turned colder.
"Pack your belongings and leave this mansion. You are never to return."
"W-What...?"
Aaron stared at him in disbelief.
"Why?"
"Don't ask questions. Just do as you're told."
Aaron rose to his feet again, his voice trembling with anger.
"No. Tell me why. Is it because I'm not one of you? Is that it?"
Martin slammed his hands onto the desk and stood.
"Enough."
His eyes narrowed.
"I won't repeat myself. Leave this house before I lose my patience."
Aaron clenched his fists.
Without another word, he turned and ran out of the office, leaving the door wide open behind him.
Mahaan, who had silently witnessed everything, stepped forward.
"Master Martin, may I leave?"
Martin waved a hand dismissively.
"Go. And close the door behind you."
Mahaan nodded and left the office.
He found Aaron walking slowly through the corridors, his face pale and lifeless.
Eventually, Aaron reached his room.
The moment he entered, tears streamed down his face.
He collapsed to his knees, covering his face with both hands as quiet sobs turned into cries of anguish.
Standing at the half-open door, Mahaan watched with sorrow and sympathy.
He stepped inside.
"Young Master... if you keep crying like this, you'll lose your voice."
"I know... just leave me alone."
Aaron lowered his hands.
"And stop calling me 'Young Master.' I'm not one anymore."
Mahaan looked away.
"I'm sorry I never told you."
Aaron interrupted him.
"Don't apologize."
He wiped his eyes.
"I just want to know... how did I end up here in the first place?"
Silence lingered between them for a few moments.
Mahaan let out a long sigh.
"You were a helpless child left near the mansion gates."
Aaron froze.
"So who found me?"
"One of the servants discovered you before resigning from his position. He brought you to me, and I informed Master Martin."
"What did he say?"
"At first, he refused to let you stay. But I begged him to allow you to remain until you came of age."
Mahaan smiled bitterly.
"He agreed on the condition that everyone believed you were part of the family."
He paused.
"Two or three years later, during the magical aptitude examination, we learned that you possessed no magic at all."
Aaron lowered his head.
"I already know that part."
Mahaan sighed.
"Right... forgive me. My memory isn't what it used to be."
Aaron stood and walked toward his wardrobe.
He pulled out a faded green backpack and began packing his clothes.
Then he opened the desk drawers and carefully gathered his drawing supplies.
When he finished, he turned toward Mahaan.
"Goodbye, Mahaan."
As he started to walk away, Mahaan placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Wait."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver pocket watch attached to a chain.
Handing it to Aaron, he said:
"Take this."
Aaron's eyes widened.
"Isn't this your son's watch?"
Mahaan nodded.
"It is."
His expression softened.
"I have no need for it anymore. I want you to keep it."
He closed Aaron's fingers around the watch.
"But don't open it until one hour from now. Promise me."
Aaron looked at the old servant for a long moment.
"...I promise."
With his bag over his shoulder, Aaron walked past him and left the room.
Meanwhile, Mahaan returned to Martin's office.
As soon as he entered, he froze.
Martin was standing in the center of the room.
Beside him were his wife, Mirabel, and his four children:
Jacob, the eldest son with the scar across the left side of his face, and the twins, Rei and Zai.
Mahaan frowned.
"Master... is something wrong?"
Martin's expression was unreadable.
"Yes."
"There is."
Jacob, the eldest son, rose from the sofa and glared at Mahan with burning fury.
"You filthy head butler... How dare you lay your hands on my father's wife? Answer me!"
He stormed toward Mahan, his fist already drawn back to strike.
Before he could land the punch, Martin seized his son's shoulder with an iron grip.
"Jacob. Stand down. I gave you no permission to attack him. Return to your seat, or you'll be punished."
Clicking his tongue in frustration, Jacob turned away and reluctantly sat back down.
Martin then faced Mahan.
"The reason we've gathered here is simple. Lisia has accused you of physically assaulting her for days. She says you threatened to kill her if she ever told anyone."
Lisia lowered her head before speaking with a trembling voice.
"I... I couldn't tell you sooner, my lord. I was too afraid of him..."
Mahan's eyes widened.
"What...? That's impossible! I never—"
Martin raised his hand, silencing him immediately.
"I don't want to hear another word of your lies."
He turned toward his wife.
"Lisia. Show him."
Slowly, Lisia stepped forward.
As she lifted her face, bruises covered her cheeks and jaw. Tears streamed down her face while her body trembled.
Mahan stared at her in disbelief.
"No... I didn't do this!"
"You're lying!" Lisia cried. "You're nothing but a liar!"
The room fell silent.
Martin's expression grew colder.
"Enough."
He looked toward the twins.
"Bring me my sword."
Then his gaze shifted to Jacob.
"Restrain him."
Jacob rushed forward without hesitation.
Although Mahan could have resisted, he remained strangely calm, allowing Jacob to force him onto his knees.
Moments later, the twins returned carrying a brass sword fashioned in the style of old Victorian blades.
Martin accepted it and slowly drew the crimson blade from its black scabbard.
The twins helped Jacob hold Mahan firmly in place.
Martin stepped closer, lifted Mahan's chin with one hand, and looked straight into his eyes.
"Do you have any last words?"
Mahan remained silent.
His gaze drifted behind Martin...
There stood Lisia.
A faint, sinister smile spread across her lips.
In that instant, he understood.
Everything had been fabricated.
The accusation...
The bruises...
It had all been a trap.
A single thought crossed his mind.
Who are you... and what do you want?
He turned back toward Martin.
"It has been an honor serving you, my lord."
Martin's face twisted with rage.
Without another word...
He swung the sword.
---
At the same time, Aaron walked through the mansion's corridors carrying his belongings.
He passed through the main gate and stepped outside without looking back.
Ahead of him, the estate's outer gate stood open.
As he approached it, something unusual caught his eye.
A square metal box lay abandoned on the ground.
He looked around, searching for its owner, but the area was completely deserted.
After hesitating for a moment, he placed the mysterious box inside his bag and continued on his way.
As he walked through Mercury City, he let out a bitter sigh.
"So... this is my new life."
"I just hope I don't run into any gangs tonight."
More than an hour later...
Aaron finally settled in a narrow, dark alley.
Leaning against a cold stone wall, he closed his eyes for a moment.
Memories of the Hotveil family flooded his mind.
Years of humiliation.
Relentless bullying from his stepbrothers.
Their contempt for him simply because he possessed neither of the family's hereditary magic—Earth Magic nor Metal Magic.
Despite ruling Takoba Province with overwhelming authority, they had never once accepted him as one of their own.
Aaron stared silently at the moonlit sky.
His face remained pale and empty.
Then he suddenly remembered...
The box.
Opening his bag, he pulled out the strange metal container and examined it carefully from every angle.
Oddly enough...
It had no lock.
He slowly lifted the lid.
Inside was a thick pool of dark red liquid.
His heartbeat quickened.
Carefully, he reached inside.
His fingers brushed against something soft.
He grabbed it...
And pulled.
A human head emerged from the box.
Only then did Aaron realize the red liquid was blood.
His eyes locked onto the face.
It looked...
Familiar.
The moment recognition struck him, terror consumed his entire body.