The curtains were drawn, candle lit low. Lucian sat in his bed, jaw clenched and heart pounding. Dozens of aged letters lay before him, branded with a peculiar family crest.
A wax seal, untouched and pristine — crimson, pressed with a symbol he had never seen before. It wasn't the crest of House . No.
It was something far older.
A sunburst — radiant and sharp — encircled by a crescent moon carved in flowing curves, almost like a crown of dusk swallowing day. Elegant, severe, and regal all at once.
Lucian blinked.
For a moment, the candlelight flickered against the wax, and the crest seemed to shimmer, like it was watching him back.
"This… isn't from here."
He didn't know which family his mother was from, but the craftsmanship whispered of old blood. High blood. Not the sort of thing you slapped on party invites. It commanded silence.
Lucian's gut twisted with unease… and a strange, reluctant awe.
He swallowed and opened a letter.
But all the letters were blank… at least at first.
He slowly brought the candle closer to the letter, its light catching the invisible ink on the parchment. Golden lines ripple across the page, forming letters. One after another, sentences emerged. He picked the shortest one to read first.
My dearest star,
If you are reading this, then it means you're alive… and that gives me breath. I am sorry — for the silence, for the pain, for the weight you were never meant to carry. The people around you will lie. Even your body may feel like it betrays you. But I have always believed in you. And I always will.
Trust no one but your soul. There are chains on your mana — I felt it the moment they sealed it. I know how to break it. The spell will be enclosed in one of the letters I will soon send. I would highlight it for easier location.
With all the light I can give,
— Seraphyne.
Lucian's hands trembled slightly. He had been right. She had probably sealed his mana to get all the property for herself, his aunt. He was even willing to bet that she had a hand in his dad's sickness.
His eyes scanned the papers, noticed one letter written on blue paper,
"That should be what mum was talking about"
And reached for it — this one was longer, more arcane in structure. His eyes caught a diagram at the bottom: a magic circle woven from his mother's signature glyphs.
He read;
…I do not know when you will read this, or if you will have the strength to. The seal on your mana is a parasitic weave — it bends your pathways inward, locking your core in slumber. To break it, invoke the runes in your mindscape and cast the spell.
If you still wear the pendant I left you, the mana crystal inside is tuned to you. Crack it, and it will yield a single burst of mana. Enough to cast the spell... just once.
He slowly reached for the pendant around his neck and fingered it for a while, a feeling of nostalgia hitting him. His mother had given it to him on his eleventh birthday. The only thing he had left of her, excluding Maren of course. Not that she was an object though.
But before he could act—
A knock. Sharp. Urgent.
Maren entered looking panicked.
"Lucian! You have to go — now. Alder told his mother. She's furious. Said someone broke into her study. She knows. She knows it was you."
Lucian's face paled
"Curse it all!", he screamed mentally.
Moving on instinct, he shoved the blue letter into his pocket, ripped the pendant off, and bolted to the window.
Before he jumped though, he turned to Maren and gave her his signature playboy smile - pretty enough to charm any lady - and joked.
"Why the long face Mar? Worst case scenario, I'll just get a scolding or light beating. Or maybe starved for some hours from that vomit brew they call food . Don't worry. I'll be back!"
Meanwhile, he cursed internally.
"Being hunted in my own home," he muttered darkly. "Good job, gods!". If they were alive, he knew they'll probably be laughing at him. And how do gods die anyway?
Maren had opened her mouth to answer, but he had turned.
He leaped out into the garden below. Right behind three guards. Before they had time to process what was even happening, Lucian was on the run.
"Stop! Thief!"
"Shut up!"
Lucian yelled as he sprinted into the woods at the east side of the manor. Heart racing. Blood pounding. But he did not stop.
"They took everything. My name. My mother. My magic.
Now they'll have to take me by force."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The wind whipped past Lucian's ears, his lungs burning with each breath, boots pounding through the moss-covered floor of the estate woods.
Branches snapped against his shoulders. Thorns kissed his arms. But he did not stop.
He could not.
Behind him, armored footsteps clashed with the rhythm of pursuit. Three guards, shouting his name like it was a curse.
"Come on then!" Lucian called over his shoulder, weaving past a tree. "Chasing the son of the house owner? Bold move, lads. My father's going to be very cross when he hears of this!"
Silence for a moment—then one of them yelled back, voice dripping with venom.
"That vegetable doesn't even know he's alive!"
The words pierced deeper than a sword. Lucian flinched.
But then, a sharp grin cut across his face, breath still ragged.
"Tch. Alright, I'll give you that one," he muttered. "It's a good line."
He vaulted over a fallen log and slipped into the cover of leaves, scrambling up the branches of a gnarled old tree. He crouched high above as the guards thundered into the clearing below.
From his perch, he watched them argue, unaware he was right above.
"You sure we can do this?" one whispered. "He is the heir—"
"She said kill him." The lead guard's voice was cold. "We pin it on desperation. Say the blockage broke him. Made him turn to thievery. Makes the family look like the victim, not a scandal."
Lucian's hands clenched around the bark. Blood drained from his face. Then it hit him.
Kill me. They're going to kill me. I'm just 16, by the gods!
He reached into his pocket and pulled the letter — the one with the spell.
The dying rays from the setting sun revealed it again, and with shaking hands, he scanned the incantation. A Sealbreak Sigil, nested in sub complex Invocation structure. Designed by his mother. Elegant, brutal, precise.
He traced every character with his eyes.
Memorized.
But the branch creaked.
A snap.
"Above!"
Lucian leapt.
They cursed and drew their blades as he hit the ground running again, heart hammering. His legs were failing him now. His breaths were shallow, uneven. His vision blurred.
He stumbled.
Fell.
And the guards surrounded him like wolves.
Steel gleamed. One lifted his blade. The other two flanked him.
"Nothing personal, kid," one of them said.
Lucian didn't respond.
Instead, he smirked.
From his pocket, he pulled out the necklace — a vibrant, remarkable stone set into a silver chain. A gift from his mother. Something he had always worn, never questioned.
He brought it to his lips, breathing slow and deep.
The mana inside the crystal began to stir — inert ambient energy, raw with no form. But Lucian's will? That was honed from years of fury, grief, and genius gone unfulfilled.
He opened his mouth, took a breath — and bit into the mana crystal.
A shudder ran through his body. Then he felt it. Raw and wild mana bounced around in his body, but he subdued it with his will. Channelling into the runic array he had made in his mind, he whispered the chant.
"...[Sigillum Frangit] Sealbreaker "
The words were quiet — but the result was all but silent.
The seal that had shackled his magic for six long years cracked like shattering glass. And then—
BOOM.
A wave of raw energy surged outward like a dam breaking beneath overwhelming pressure.
Lucian's dark curls fluttered in the updraft, his grey eyes lighting up with a silver sheen that cut through the woods like moonlight. Magic roared through his veins — wild, aching, and alive. That oh -so -familiar power buried within him years ago... it felt addictive. He suppressed a desire to laugh like a mad man.
The guards staggered back, blades raised, eyes wide.
"What in the abyss is—?!"
Lucian didn't answer. He didn't need to.
He lifted his palm.
No circle. No chant.
Just will.
A pure, shaped blast of mana — Mana Bolt— slammed into the first guard. The man flew backward with a cry, armor scraping against bark as he hit a tree.
Lucian's fingers twitched.
Another bolt.
Then another.
All three men were down before they realized they were under attack.
And Lucian, eyes flickering like dying starlight, let his hand fall.
"Nothing personal," he rasped. "Just pissed."
Then his knees gave out.
He collapsed, body too weak to bear the weight of his reborn power. The last thing he saw before the dark swallowed him—
Was a figure in the trees, cloaked in shadow, a sword resting lazily at his side, and a curious, unreadable smile on his lips.
Watching.
Waiting.