The words hung in the air like a gentle spell, soothing yet laced with unspoken tension. Mother's hand was warm in mine, her grip surprisingly firm for someone in her condition. I could feel the faint pulse of life beneath her palm—the unborn sibling who would change everything if things went wrong today. In the original Lydan's memories, this pregnancy had been difficult: complications, healers from the capital summoned more than once. The duchy whispered that the gods might finally grant House Voss another child after years of barren hope following my birth.
I squeezed her hand back, forcing a smile that I hoped looked like a confident ten-year-old's rather than an impostor's.
"I'm not worried, Mother. Whatever happens, I'll make you proud."
Her eyes softened further, and she brushed a lock of my black-and-white hair from my forehead.
"You already do, my sweet boy. Just remember: the crystal measures potential, not worth. Many great men and women awakened with modest affinities and still carved their names into history through effort and will."
I nodded, but inside my mind was racing. Modest affinities. That phrase echoed uncomfortably.
"Forgive the interruption, my lady, but the duke requests the young master in the grand hall. The awakener's carriage has been sighted on the mountain road. She will arrive within the hour."
Mother sighed, releasing my hand.
"Go, then. And Lydan…" She hesitated, then pulled me into a careful embrace, mindful of her belly. "Be brave. Be yourself."
I hugged her back, breathing in the faint scent of lavender and medicinal herbs that clung to her robes.
"I will."
The walk to the grand hall felt longer than it should have. Voss Keep was a fortress disguised as a palace—corridors wide enough for knights in full armor to pass two abreast, lit by floating orbs of soft white light—permanent enchantments that cost more mana crystals than most villages saw in a lifetime. Servants bowed as I passed, their eyes curious but respectful. Whispers followed me like shadows.
The heir's awakening was a big event. Not just for the family, but for the entire Northern March. The duke's power rested on military might and magical prowess. If the sole heir proved weak, rival houses would circle like wolves scenting blood. Alliances might falter. Vassal lords might grow bold.
The grand hall was already filling when I arrived. Long tables had been pushed against the walls, leaving the center open. A dais at the far end held three high-backed chairs: Father's in the center, carved with wolves and mist; Mother's to the right, currently empty; and a smaller one to the left—mine. Banners bearing the silver wolf hung from the rafters, stirring slightly in a draft I couldn't feel.
Duke Eldric Voss stood at the foot of the dais, speaking in low tones with his steward and several armored knights—his personal guard. He was even more imposing in person than in memory: tall, broad-shouldered, his silver-streaked black hair tied back severely. His armor today was ceremonial—polished steel etched with protective runes that glowed faintly blue—but it still looked like it had seen real battle. When he turned, those ice-blue eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my child's body want to shrink.
"Lydan." His voice was deep, resonant, the kind that commanded battlefields. "Come."
I approached, bowing as protocol demanded.
"Father."
He studied me for a long moment, then placed a gauntleted hand on my shoulder—surprisingly gentle despite the metal.
"Today you step into your future. House Voss has stood for four centuries because we do not flinch from what we are. Whatever the crystal reveals, you will face it with dignity. Understood?"
"Yes, Father."
He nodded once, then guided me up to the dais. I took my seat, small legs dangling slightly, and surveyed the hall. Nobles and high-ranking retainers filled the space—barons and baronesses from across the duchy, knight captains, guild masters, even a few foreign dignitaries from neighboring kingdoms. All here to witness whether the Voss line would remain strong.
Time crawled. Musicians played softly in one corner—harps and flutes weaving melodies that sounded vaguely Celtic. Servants circulated with silver trays of wine and delicate pastries. I declined everything; my stomach was tied in knots.
Finally trumpets sounded from the courtyard. The great doors swung open, and the awakener entered.
She was not what I'd expected. I'd pictured some ancient crone or stern mage in flowing robes. Instead, she was looked young—mid-twenties at most—with striking crimson hair bound in an intricate braid and eyes like polished emeralds. Her robes were the deep purple of the Royal Mage Academy, embroidered with golden sigils that shifted when you tried to focus on them. Flanking her were two guards in academy livery and an acolyte carrying a velvet-draped object—the crystal orb.
The hall fell silent as she approached the dais. She bowed to Father—deep, but not subservient—then smiled warmly at me.
"Duke Voss, Young Master Lydan. I am Archmage Elara Veyne, third circle of the Royal Academy, sent by His Majesty to conduct the awakening." Her voice was clear, musical. "It is an honor to serve House Voss."
Father inclined his head.
"The honor is ours, Archmage. We are prepared."
A low table had been placed in the center of the hall. The acolyte uncovered the orb: a perfect sphere of clear crystal the size of a melon, resting on a stand of black stone veined with silver. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
Elara turned to me.
"Young Master, if you would join me?"
My legs felt like lead as I descended the steps. The entire hall watched. I could feel their anticipation, their judgment. Father's eyes bored into my back. Somewhere behind me, Mother had quietly entered and taken her seat—I hadn't noticed until now.
I stood before the orb. Elara placed her hands on either side of it, not touching, and began to chant softly in the old tongue. Runes flared to life along the stand, and the orb began to glow with inner light—first soft white, then cycling through colors: blue, red, green, gold.
"Place your hands upon the orb, Lydan Voss," Elara said gently. "Let your mana flow naturally. Do not force it."
I raised my small hands and rested them on the cool surface.
For a moment—nothing.
Then it hit.
A surge, like lightning racing through my veins. The tingling I'd felt earlier in my chest exploded outward, rushing to my fingertips. The orb blazed with light so bright I had to squint. Colors whirlpooled inside it—deep indigo shot through with silver, threads of white and black twisting like storm clouds. The temperature in the hall dropped noticeably; frost began to creep across the table's surface.
Gasps echoed around me.
Elara's composed mask cracked for the first time. Her eyes widened.
"Impossible…"
The orb's light intensified until it was almost painful, then shattered into a thousand motes that swirled around me like snowflakes before dissolving. In the sudden silence, the ranking sigils appeared above the orb—glowing letters in the ancient script.
Dual affinity. Ice and Shadow. Rare enough to cause murmurs.
But the potential rank…
Imperial.
The highest measurable tier. Only a handful in each generation across the entire continent.
The hall erupted.
Some nobles surged to their feet in applause. Others looked stunned. A few exchanged dark glances—rival houses already recalculating.
Father's face was unreadable, but his eyes gleamed with fierce pride. Mother pressed a hand to her mouth, tears shining.
Elara recovered first, bowing deeply to me.
"Young Master Lydan Voss… the kingdom will speak your name for centuries."
I stood frozen, the echo of power still thrumming in my blood.
Sovereign tier. Dual affinity.
But something felt… off.
And then it changed.
The world seemed to warp around me.
The murmurs echoed in my ears:
"The young master of house Voss has common talent!"
"It turns out his talent was nothing worth mentioning."
"Young Master Lydan, congratulations on your awakening."
Elara's voice cut through my thoughts.
The archmage's tone was a bit more formal than before. My thoughts immediately wandered to my parents on the side.
My father's jaw was slightly clenched,
and my mother looked sad—but she wasn't looking at me.