The wind howled through the narrow pass as Cedric trudged onward, Blackthorn Keep disappearing into the distance behind him. His cloak flapped in the wind, and every step felt heavier than the last, the weight of his father's words still fresh in his mind. Exiled. Stripped of his name and home.
His magic, the one thing that should have defined him, had failed him in front of everyone. Creation magic. It sounded powerful, but what had it amounted to? Trinkets. Useless objects that couldn't protect him, couldn't win battles, couldn't even impress his family. What use was creation if it couldn't shape the world the way they wanted?
Cedric stopped at the edge of a cliff, looking out over the vast, unknown wilderness before him. The sun was setting, casting a golden light over the hills and forests stretching far into the horizon. He was far from the comforts of the keep now, alone in a world that had no place for him.
His fingers twitched instinctively, and in his palm appeared another small object—a silver coin this time, perfectly detailed, but just as fleeting. It shimmered for a moment, then dissolved into nothingness, leaving only the cold air between his fingers.
Cedric stared at his hand, frustration gnawing at him. What was the point of this power? If his family was right, if his gift was truly useless, then how was he supposed to survive out here? How was he supposed to prove them wrong?
He clenched his fist, his jaw tightening. No. He wouldn't let their judgment define him. Somewhere inside him, Cedric knew there was more to his magic—something greater. He had to believe it. He had to find it. He wasn't just going to survive this exile. He was going to show them all that they were wrong.
With a deep breath, he turned from the cliff's edge and set off down the path, heading deeper into the wilderness. The world was vast, and though he had no map and no destination, he knew that this was only the beginning.