He did not feel the weight of what he had received on a battlefield. He felt it in a corridor.
The manor was loud that day. Servants rushed back and forth, their voices colliding in restless urgency. News had arrived from the eastern border—bandits, monsters, a situation requiring immediate intervention. From his father's study came voices that rose, cut off, then began again.
He stood outside the door. Small hands clenched at his sides.
No one noticed him.
They never did.
"…send the third son," someone inside said.
"He's strong enough," another voice agreed. "The second can provide magical support."
His father spoke last, calm and final.
"Send the third. He has presence."
Presence.
The word echoed in the child's mind.
He closed his eyes—and saw.
Not the future. Not fate.
Only the wrong place.
His third brother was brave—too brave. He stepped forward when he should hold back, pressed ahead when restraint was required. In battle, that kind of courage did not become an advantage. It became a burden.
If he went alone, he would die.
The conclusion was cold. Precise. Undeniable.
The child inhaled and stepped into the room.
The voices stopped.
For a moment, no one spoke. His father frowned.
"What are you doing here?"
"I'm not going," the child said quietly.
A few people laughed. Someone sighed.
"We aren't sending you," his father replied. "Obviously."
"That's not what I mean."
Silence returned.
The child lifted his head.
"My third brother cannot lead," he said. "He's standing exactly where the enemy wants him to be."
His father's gaze hardened. "You're speaking about things you don't understand."
The child nodded. "That's true."
Then he continued.
"But if you send him to the front, he'll draw everything onto himself. The second brother's spells will arrive too late. The formation will collapse before the battle even begins."
This was not prophecy.
Nor a divine whisper.
It was simply sight.
One of the advisors scoffed. "And what do you suggest? We send you instead?"
The child shook his head immediately. "No."
That answer surprised them.
"The second brother should be in front," he went on. "His magic controls distance. The third should remain behind—he must not initiate. He should respond, not provoke."
"And why," his father asked, "should we listen to you?"
The child hesitated.
For a moment, he considered saying, A god chose me.
Instead, he spoke the truth.
"Because if I'm wrong, I have nothing to lose."
The room fell silent.
No one thanked him.
No one apologized.
But the order was changed.
The report arrived three days later.
The encounter had been brief. The bandits lost their formation almost immediately under controlled pressure. The second son dominated the field. The third held the rear, taking no unnecessary risks.
The third son survived.
And no one said aloud why.
But the child knew.
Power decided who could fight.
Position decided who would win.