Elias sat at the edge of his bed, staring at the flickering flame of the single candle in his room. Dinner had gone as it always did. Marcus and Seraphina were praised for their achievements, assigned their tasks, while Father's icy gaze passed over him as if he didn't exist. The moment slipped by without so much as a word. The echo of Marcus's boastful words still rang in his ears, his brother already outlining his plans for the southern border, eagerly taking up the mantle of protecting the family's interests. Elias, on the other hand, had once again been forgotten.
Good. Better to be invisible than to attract Father's attention.
Elias shifted slightly on the bed, the silence of his room pressing in on him, thick and suffocating. He couldn't escape it, the way the quiet gnawed at him. He absently brushed his hand against the hidden compartment beneath his bed, feeling the solid edges of the forbidden texts concealed within. Tucked away from prying eyes, yet constantly weighing on his mind, they called to him. The pull was undeniable now. He could no longer pretend he wasn't interested, could no longer push away the part of him that craved what those ancient pages offered.
He stood abruptly, his body tense, and moved to the small window, peering out at the sprawling estate. The dark silhouettes of the family's land stretched out under the pale light of the moon. Shadows danced in the courtyard below, long and sharp, cast by the faint glow of distant torches. No one was out this late. Everyone was asleep, their dreams undoubtedly filled with thoughts of duty and glory. No one bothered him at this hour. They never did. He was an afterthought in this household.
Invisible. Forgotten. But that's how it should be, Elias thought, though the bitterness in his chest told him otherwise.
His thoughts inevitably drifted to his father—William Von Schwarzenwald. The man was a titan in both reputation and presence, colder than the deepest winter, and more ruthless than any enemy. Elias clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. His father had made it clear from a young age: in this family, you had to earn your place. Elias... he hadn't earned anything. Not yet.
They think I'm weak, he mused, eyes narrowing. They think I'm nothing.
He glanced over his shoulder at the bed, at the hidden compartment beneath it. They didn't know what he had been doing. They didn't know what he had become—or what he was becoming. He could feel it, even if it was faint now. A new power stirred within him, just beneath the surface, waiting to be fully realized.
Elias turned from the window, his decision already made. He knelt by the bed and carefully slid open the hidden compartment. The forbidden book sat there, its cover worn from centuries of age, its pages yellowed and fragile. The ancient text was filled with rituals, spells, and dark knowledge that no one in his family would dare touch. But Elias wasn't like them. He had no choice but to seek power in ways they would never understand.
With careful hands, he opened the book. The brittle pages crinkled as he flipped to the ritual he had been studying for days. This was it—the next step, the risk he needed to take if he ever wanted to be more than the forgotten third child. His eyes scanned the familiar runes, the symbols etched into his mind after nights spent memorizing them.
But he couldn't be hasty. He had to be cautious. The last thing he wanted was to draw his father's attention. William Von Schwarzenwald was no fool. He always seemed to know more than he let on, his gaze piercing and unforgiving. If his father even suspected Elias of tampering with forbidden magic, it would be over. His father had no tolerance for weakness, no patience for failure, and this—this dark magic—would be seen as both.
Elias moved methodically, clearing a space on the stone floor, his heart beating faster as he prepared the ritual. The ingredients he needed were laid out carefully in front of him. He had practiced this in his head countless times. There would be no mistakes. Not this time. He was growing more confident with each ritual, though each success brought him closer to a line he wasn't sure he could cross.
He drew the runes on the floor, each stroke of the chalk slow and deliberate. His hands trembled slightly, but not out of fear—no, this was excitement. He could feel the power in the air, subtle and faint, but there, waiting for him. The blood from the previous failed attempts had long been washed away, but the memories of them lingered. This time, however, he wouldn't fail.
He sat cross-legged in the center of the circle, taking a deep breath. His heartbeat slowed as he focused, his mind steady. With the small dagger he kept hidden under his mattress, Elias pricked his finger, watching the drop of blood form at the tip. It fell onto the center of the runic circle, the lines immediately responding, a faint shimmer running along their lengths. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but the magic was awakening.
He began to chant. His voice was low, barely above a whisper, cautious not to let the sound escape his room. The ancient words slipped off his tongue like they had always belonged to him, passed down through generations of forgotten practitioners. The temperature in the room dropped noticeably as the dark magic stirred, reacting to his call. Shadows shifted unnaturally in the corners of the room, twisting and contorting as if alive.
The air grew thick, oppressive. Elias felt a chill crawl up his spine, and for a fleeting moment, doubt crept in. His father had always warned him about the dangers of meddling with powers beyond his understanding. But his father knew nothing of the depths Elias was willing to sink to. Power came at a cost—one that Elias had already accepted.
The energy surged through him, faint at first, but unmistakable. His pulse quickened, excitement mingling with the cold grip of fear. The runes glowed softly, a dark light that barely illuminated the room, yet it was enough. He could feel the magic responding to him, far stronger than in his previous attempts. The ritual was working.
He finished the chant, the last of the ancient words slipping from his lips like smoke dissolving into the air. The runes flickered, then dimmed. The oppressive weight in the air lifted, leaving the room silent once more. Elias sat there for a long moment, absorbing the sensation coursing through his veins. The power was there—subtle, but growing. He could feel it thrumming beneath his skin, pulsing with an energy that was foreign yet exhilarating.
It wasn't overwhelming. Not yet. But it was progress.
They'll see one day, Elias thought, his eyes drifting to the mirror on the far wall. He stood slowly, his body feeling different, though outwardly, nothing had changed. His reflection stared back at him, his features as calm and composed as they had always been. But beneath the surface, a darkness simmered—a potential that no one else could see. Not yet.
He cleaned up the remnants of the ritual, wiping away the runes and disposing of the bloodied dagger. Every movement was calculated, precise. He couldn't afford any mistakes, couldn't leave behind any evidence of what he had been doing. He knew the risks. His father's gaze was always watching, even when he wasn't present. Elias could never be too careful.
When the room was once again pristine, Elias extinguished the candle, plunging the space into darkness. He lay back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, his thoughts racing. There was so much more to learn, so much more to unlock. But he would have to be patient. His father's eyes were everywhere, and one wrong step would be disastrous.
For now, he was safe. For now, he would continue his experiments in secret, growing stronger with each passing day. The power he sought was within reach—it was only a matter of time before he mastered it.
One day, they would all see what he was truly capable of.
One day, even Father would have no choice but to acknowledge him.
But that day was still far off, and until then, Elias would wait. In the shadows. In the silence. Hidden, but never forgotten.