The air in the garden crackled with energy, a faint haze of smoke drifting lazily above the scorched earth. Cedric stood at its center, a smug grin plastered across his face, his hands still tingling from the surge of magic.
"Run, run, little dog!" Cedric hollered, hurling another fireball. It roared as it soared through the air, its heat rippling like waves.
Rest darted behind a stone fountain, the fireball exploding against the edge with a burst of heat and light. Bits of charred stone rained down around him, stinging his skin. His chest heaved as he crouched, sweat mixing with dirt on his face.
"Hahaha! What's the matter? Too slow?" Cedric taunted, his voice gleeful and shrill. "Don't stop now, or you'll regret it!"
From his hiding spot, Rest suppressed a groan. His half-brother had been at it all morning, tossing spells with reckless abandon. It wasn't practice—it was a game, one Cedric never seemed to tire of.
"Please, Cedric," Rest called out, his voice deliberately shaky. "Have mercy! I'm sorry!"
But mercy wasn't a word Cedric knew. He laughed harder, conjuring another spell, this one sparking with electricity. "You should be sorry, but it won't save you! Let's see how you handle this! [Thunderball]!"
The ball of lightning crackled and sizzled as it launched toward Rest. He threw himself flat just as the spell hit the fountain, the explosion sending a jolt through his body even from a distance. A moment later, Cedric rounded the fountain, his face flushed with exhilaration.
"Got you now!" he declared, releasing another spell at point-blank range. The lightning struck Rest square in the back, sending a searing jolt through him. He collapsed to the ground, motionless, his breathing shallow.
Cedric leaned over him, prodding his side with a polished boot. "What's the matter? Done already? Pathetic. Just like your filthy mother." He spat on the ground beside Rest and smirked. "Don't forget to clean up the mess before you crawl back to your stable, trash."
With that, he turned on his heel and strode off, humming a cheerful tune as though the destruction in the garden were nothing more than an amusing morning activity.
Rest waited until Cedric's footsteps faded entirely before opening his eyes. With a groan, he pushed himself up and took a deep breath, brushing dirt and ash from his threadbare clothes.
"Finally," he muttered. "The tyrant's gone."
He stretched, wincing slightly as his muscles protested. The damage wasn't nearly as bad as it had looked—he'd been careful to shield himself with a thin layer of magical energy, enough to absorb the brunt of Cedric's attacks. To Cedric, it had probably seemed like a clean hit.
"[Healing Touch]," Rest whispered, and warmth spread through his body, mending the burns and bruises. With another spell, he cleaned the dirt and grime from his skin and clothes. The magic came to him as naturally as breathing, its flow effortless.
A small smirk tugged at his lips as he summoned a crackling ball of electricity to his palm. "[Thunderball]," he said quietly, studying the way the spell coiled and sparked. It was identical to Cedric's, though Rest's version was larger and more stable.
"Thanks for the lesson, dear brother," he murmured, dispelling the energy.
This was the silver lining to Cedric's cruelty. Rest's natural talent for magic was unparalleled—he could replicate any spell he witnessed, often improving upon it. While Cedric saw him as little more than a punching bag, Rest saw every encounter as an opportunity to grow stronger.
The Eberun family mansion loomed behind him, its polished stone facade glinting in the sunlight. To most, it was a symbol of wealth and status, but to Rest, it was a prison. He had no love for the family within its walls.
His father, Lucas Eberun, was a court magician, renowned throughout the kingdom for his skill. That talent had passed to Cedric, who had also inherited Lucas's arrogance and cruelty. The man's disdain for Rest had been evident from the start. Lucas had taken him in only because it was politically expedient—a father abandoning his illegitimate child would have been a scandal too great to risk.
Liza, Lucas's wife, was no better. She treated Rest with open hostility, her bitterness stemming from her husband's infidelity. Cedric, meanwhile, had learned from both of them, absorbing their worst traits like a sponge.
Rest straightened, brushing ash from his hands. He had no desire to be part of their world, but for now, he had no choice. He was only twelve, a minor in the kingdom's eyes, and thus unable to leave or seek independence. He had three more years before he came of age—three long years of enduring their contempt.
"For now," he muttered, clenching his fists, "I'll endure. But one day…"
His gaze hardened as he surveyed the charred garden, the fountain still smoking from Cedric's spell.
"One day, I'll rise above them all. Lucas, Cedric, Liza—they'll regret every moment they underestimated me."
Rest began tidying the garden, his movements methodical. He picked up debris, raked the scorched earth, and scrubbed the fountain until it gleamed once more. It was tedious work, but he approached it with quiet determination.
Every insult, every blow, every spell hurled at him was fuel for the fire burning within. He would bide his time, honing his magic and waiting for the moment he could break free.
By the time he finished, the sun was high in the sky, and the garden looked pristine once again. Rest wiped his brow and leaned on his rake, gazing at the mansion.
"They see me as nothing more than dirt beneath their feet," he said softly. "But dirt can become the foundation of something far greater."
With a final glance at the garden, he turned and made his way back to the stable. His sanctuary. His starting point.
For now, he would endure. But his time would come.