Chapter 1: The Outcast's Resolve

The grand halls of the Ainsworth estate were filled with muted whispers, their grandeur starkly contrasting the suffocating tension that hung in the air. Gold-adorned walls bore paintings of past patriarchs, each face etched with the legacy of a family that had stood atop the magical hierarchy for centuries. At the center of it all stood Cedric Ainsworth, a pale shadow amidst the resplendent opulence, his head held high despite the weight of the judgment he was about to receive.

"You have brought shame upon the Ainsworth name," declared Elder Ferdinand, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. His wizened face betrayed no hint of sympathy, only cold disdain. "An Ainsworth incapable of magic is no Ainsworth at all."

Cedric clenched his fists at his sides. He had heard those words whispered since the day of his first failed magic trial. He could still remember the bitter humiliation of standing in front of his peers, struggling to conjure even a flicker of light while they summoned storms and flames with ease. Yet, hearing the words spoken aloud, in front of the entire family, still felt like a dagger to his chest.

"Father," Cedric began, his voice steady but tinged with desperation, "give me time. I'll find another way—"

Julius Ainsworth, his father, sat silently on the head chair, his expression unreadable. Eveline, Cedric's mother, looked away, her hands trembling as she gripped her gown. The family feud had been a quiet storm, brewing for years, and Cedric was caught in its wake.

"You've had enough time," Julius said finally, his tone as cold as ice. "The council has spoken, and I will not defy tradition for a son who cannot meet the expectations of our bloodline."

The words struck harder than Cedric had expected. His father, who had once held him high on his shoulders and promised him the world, had now reduced him to a mere disappointment. The finality of it all was suffocating.

"From this day forth," Elder Ferdinand continued, raising his hand, "Cedric Ainsworth is stripped of his name, his title, and his inheritance. He is to leave Ainsworth territory at once and never return."

The decree was met with silence, save for the faint gasps of the younger members of the family. Cedric's legs felt like they might give way, but he forced himself to remain standing. He would not give them the satisfaction of seeing him broken.

As the guards moved forward to escort him out, Cedric turned, his gaze sweeping over the assembled family. His eyes lingered on his fiancée, Lydia, who stood at the far end of the room. Her once gentle smile was now a sneer, her arms crossed as if she couldn't wait to see him gone.

"So this is it," Cedric said, his voice low but firm. "You cast me out because I don't fit the mold you've set. But I'll return. Not as Cedric Ainsworth, but as someone who proves that magic isn't the only path to greatness."

Ferdinand scoffed. "Empty words from a boy who couldn't summon a spark."

Cedric didn't reply. He turned and walked out of the hall, each step echoing loudly in the heavy silence. As he stepped into the cold night, the gates of the Ainsworth estate closed behind him with a final, resounding thud.

---

The small, dingy room Cedric found himself in later that night was a far cry from the luxury he had once taken for granted. The wooden walls were thin, the bed barely held together, and the only source of light was a flickering oil lamp. But Cedric didn't care. He stared at the crude workbench he had managed to scrape together, his mind racing with possibilities.

"You don't need magic," he muttered to himself, his voice resolute. "You just need a way to fight it."

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Cedric tensed, unsure who would visit him here. He opened the door to find Gareth, his childhood friend and the son of a viscount. Gareth's broad grin and disheveled hair were a welcome sight.

"Well, aren't you a sorry sight," Gareth said, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. He set a bag down on the table with a heavy thud. "I figured you'd need supplies. Bread, some tools, and a few blueprints I stole from my father's library."

Cedric raised an eyebrow. "Blueprints?"

Gareth shrugged. "You said you wanted to fight magic. Figured I'd help you build something to do it."

Cedric's lips curled into a small, rare smile. "Thanks, Gareth."

"Don't thank me yet," Gareth said, pulling up a rickety chair. "This isn't going to be easy. You're trying to go against centuries of tradition with nothing but scrap metal and spite."

"Maybe," Cedric said, sitting down at the workbench and opening the bag. His eyes glinted with determination as he unrolled one of the blueprints. "But if magic won't have me, I'll make my own way. One bolt at a time."

For the first time in months, Cedric felt a flicker of hope. The road ahead would be grueling, but he wasn't walking it alone. And if he succeeded, he would prove to the Ainsworths—and the world—that greatness wasn't reserved for the gifted.