I sat beneath the old oak, letting the morning wind wash over me. My body ached a little this one-year-old frame wasn't built for discipline but I welcomed the ache. It reminded me I was still trying. Still moving forward.
As I caught my breath, my thoughts wandered to my mother.
Where might she be now? Still locked away in that lonely corner of the manor, surrounded by whispers and pity? Knowing her, she was probably thinking of me, too worrying, yearning.
The sunlight spilled through the branches, and I clenched my tiny fists. "Just a little longer," I murmured to myself. "I'll find a way to reach you."
"That's good enough for today," Cassandra's voice came from behind.
I turned, breathing out slowly, and smiled. "Thank you."
She stepped closer, her hands on her hips, that faint smirk she always had tugging at her lips. But I barely noticed my gaze had fallen to my open palm.
"I still can't understand," I said quietly. "Why I can't produce divine energy yet."
"Be patient, young master," she said. "You'll find it in due time."
Patience. I'd been hearing that word for nearly two years now. Growing up since that day the naming ceremony hadn't been easy. The moment I was declared divineless, everything changed.
The servants stopped speaking to me unless Cassandra was present. My siblings… well, they were worse. Every chance they got, they'd remind me what I lacked as if I could ever forget.
If not for Cassandra, I might've been worse. She'd always step in before things went too far. Always stood between me and them, even when it earned her scorn. I learned later she wasn't just a maid. She was an Aura Blade Knight a warrior who could wield aura, the condensed essence of divine energy infused into the body. The kind of power that could shatter mountains.
I'd been stunned. A woman capable of reducing entire battalions to ash was assigned to… babysit me. In time, I began to understand just how absurd that really was.
The world had its hierarchy of knights: Those who could barely wield divine energy were Master Knights.
Those who refined it through combat became Divine Knights.
Those who merged divine energy with their very flesh to produce aura beings of destruction were the Aura Blade Knights. Cassandra's class. Within that class there were sub-divisions too favored lines and specialties, because the gods tended to grant blessings to those they liked, and those blessings shaped whole branches of technique and reputation.
And above them?
The Grand Knights, who had perfected aura itself.
But there was still one realm beyond all of them. A title so rare it bordered on myth.
The Mythic Knights.
Only seven were said to exist in the entire world.
My father the Sword Saint, the Duke of Ardenos was one of them. They were not just strong they were a nation's deterrent. In our world, a Mythic Knight was the equivalent of a country's nuclear arsenal: a single one could end a war, topple kingdoms, or erase armies. Only seven were said to exist across the whole realm. The empire boasted four of them; my father sat at the very top.
I let out a short, humorless chuckle. A Mythic Knight for a father, and a divineless son for an heir. What a monster he must seem to everyone else and what a joke the gods thought the whole thing was.
As Cassandra and I walked back toward the manor, she continued explaining the intricacies of divine energy how mastering it wasn't something done overnight, or even in a few years. It took decades of patience, discipline, and sheer willpower. Even knights, she said, only learned to wield it efficiently after years of bleeding and breaking their bodies for it.
"Knights use divine energy to strengthen their blades and themselves," she said, hands folded behind her back. "But they're not the only ones who walk the path of divinity."
That caught my attention.
"There are others?" I asked.
She nodded. "Divinity Mages."
I tilted my head. "Mages? Like spellcasters?"
"Divinity Mages use divine energy not to enhance their bodies, but to shape the world around them. They manifest their thoughts their will directly into spells. Fire that scorches armies, storms that tear apart fortresses, magic that bends reality itself.
My breath hitched a little. That kind of power… was far beyond anything I'd imagined. "So they use divine energy to create miracles," I muttered.
"Exactly," Cassandra replied. "Their control must be absolute. A single wrong thought, a moment's hesitation, and the energy turns on them. That's why knights and mages rarely walk the same road. Knights focus on form, discipline, and endurance. Mages on clarity, faith, and imagination."
I nodded slowly, trying to imagine both paths. Sword or spell. Flesh or will. The world was far broader than I'd assumed.
"There's one family in particular," Cassandra continued, her tone lowering slightly. "The Aegis family of the elven kingdom of Resia. They are said to be the strongest line of Divinity Mages in Aetherion. The only ones who can stand on equal ground with House Ardent."
I raised an eyebrow. "Elves, huh?"
She smiled faintly. "Yes. The Aegis family has guarded Resia for centuries. It's said their ancestor, blessed directly by the goddess of wisdom, once sealed a rift to hell with a single incantation."
I let out a small breath. A family that could rival us. Maybe even my father. I couldn't help but smirk. "Then maybe not everyone bows to Ardent power after all."
Cassandra laughed softly. "Careful, young master. If anyone else heard you say that, they'd think you've gone mad."
Cassandra talked as we walked about divine energy, about the world, about knights and mages and everything I still didn't understand. I listened, not because I wanted to learn, but because I wanted to hear her voice.
Somewhere along the way, she'd stopped being just my maid. I didn't know when it happened maybe the day she scolded Dorathal, or the day she brought me that book but I knew it now.
She could've left. Any sane person would have. The whispers, the ridicule, the isolation… it was all hers to escape. The house would've replaced her the next morning without a blink.
But she didn't leave.
She stayed.
And because she stayed, I learned. About this world. About its gods. About its cruel little rules. Because of her, I started to see what strength really meant here. I owed her for that — more than I could ever repay.
But, like everything good in this world, I should've known it wouldn't last.
I never forgot what the gods said before they cast me here. Their promise of punishment, their laughter echoing as my soul fell. It haunted me in quiet moments, the way lightning hides behind calm clouds.
I knew they done finished with me. And I was right. Because on my second birthday, I learned just how far the gods were willing to go.
On the eve of my second birthday, Cassandra came to me with a troubled look.
"My brother is sick," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "I need to attend to him immediately." I could see the hesitation in her eyes that familiar pull between duty and blood.
"Then go," I told her simply. "He's your family. I'll be fine."
She bit her lip, unsure. "But-....."
"I'll manage," I said with a small smile, the kind I'd learned calmed her down. "You've taught me enough to keep myself out of trouble."
Her eyes softened. "Still," she murmured, "I can't leave you completely alone. I've assigned Gail to watch over you. She'll take care of you until I return."
Gail. I remembered her faintly a quiet maid with freckles scattered across her nose and a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Cassandra left that night, her silhouette fading into the cold glow of the manor's torches.
And just like that, it was back to silence again.
I followed the same routine she'd left me: the morning jogs through the manor's east courtyard, the meditation sessions under the willow tree, the evening breathing exercises before bed. Cassandra's absence felt heavier than I expected.
But that was life, wasn't it?
If this world had taught me anything so far, it was that nothing stayed kind for long. If you wanted something peace, strength, safety you had to fight for it. Because if you didn't… people wouldn't hesitate to take it from you.
I'd learned that lesson before in another life, in another world. And somehow, it felt even truer here.
The air in the manor felt different when Cassandra was gone. The halls, usually warm with her quiet humming and the scent of tea, now breathed only silence. The servants' eyes lingered on me longer than usual. Conversations stopped when I passed. Whispers carried my name like a curse that shouldn't be spoken too loud.
It was strange, really. The older I grew, the more I realized how easily kindness could rot. How fast warmth could turn to indifference.
How the gods above whoever they were seemed to take pleasure in watching it all unfold.
That night, as I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was shifting again something subtle, just beneath the surface of the world.
A weight in the air.
A murmur in the dark.
As if the world itself was waiting for me to break. And deep down, I already knew.
Something was coming. And when it did, everything I understood about this life about me, would change forever.