The Greenwood Estate sprawled under a vast navy curtain of night, nestled within its dense forests and towering hills. The stillness was interrupted only by the rustling whispers of wind brushing through the trees and against the fortress's stone walls. At the heart of the territory stood the ancient Pine Castle, its weathered silhouette barely illuminated by the faint glow of scattered magical lamps. Yet, their feeble light did little to pierce the heavy shroud of darkness.
In the castle's shadowed backyard, a thirteen-year-old boy named Allen Greenwood leaned against an aged pine tree, his eyes fixed on the star-speckled sky above. He was slight of build, clad in simple, dark attire, with a silver family crest pinned to his chest—the emblem of the Greenwood lineage. It was a token of his position as heir, though that title now hung by a thread.
Three years ago, at the age of ten, Allen underwent the family's much-anticipated "Youthful Awakening Ceremony," a pivotal event designed to unearth a noble's magical aptitude. For most, it was a moment of triumph and pride, yet his results were nothing short of disastrous.
"Completely unable to sense magic."
Those words echoed in his mind like a curse. Despite repeated tests by three different magicians, the outcome was unanimous: Allen's soul showed nearly no resonance with magical elements. A devastating verdict for a boy born into a world where magic was the lifeblood of society.
On the continent of Ashelan, magic shaped civilizations, governing the realms of humans, elves, dwarves, beastfolk, and dragonkin alike. Humanity, in particular, structured its magical hierarchy into levels from 1 to 100:
1–10: Basic apprentices, capable of casting simple, low-tier spells.
11–20: The standard for noble scions; many achieved this by their late teens.
21–30: A sign of significant talent; reaching this level before thirty hinted at immense potential.
31 and above: Reserved for the extraordinary, the legends fiercely sought by kingdoms and powers alike.
To retain influence and safeguard their legacy, noble families relied on heirs who could achieve at least Level 20 by age eighteen. But Allen, who'd failed his Awakening Ceremony three years prior, faced an insurmountable climb to reach that benchmark in five short years. His failure branded him a "disgrace," a "harbinger of misfortune," among his family and beyond.
The slurs and scorn directed at him weren't what stung most. Allen had already lived a harsher life in his previous existence—a nameless orphan in an uncaring world. What broke his heart was watching his father, Leon Greenwood, bear the brunt of humiliation and political pressure, shielding his son from the storm.
The quiet of the night shattered as light footsteps approached. Mor, a faithful servant, appeared and bowed slightly. "Young Master, the Baron requests your presence in the study."
Allen nodded, following Mor along the castle's garden paths and into the gray stone corridors. They soon reached the heavy oak door on the second floor, behind which his father's voice called, "Come in."
Inside, Leon Greenwood sat behind a desk cluttered with unfinished paperwork. His broad shoulders, once the embodiment of strength, now slumped with the weight of countless responsibilities. A formidable magician in his prime, Leon had reached Level 35 before his thirtieth birthday, yet years of family strife had sapped much of his former vigor.
"Father," Allen greeted, bowing his head.
Leon motioned for his son to sit, his gaze unwavering. "Allen, the family council is restless again. They demand that if you cannot reach Level 20 by eighteen, you must forfeit your claim as heir."
Allen clenched his fists, unable to respond. His magical aptitude—or lack thereof—was no secret. He knew the council's demands were far from unreasonable in their eyes.
Leon continued, his tone tinged with weariness. "The council isn't wrong to worry. Our family's legacy cannot rest on an unawakened heir. And… the broken engagement has only made things worse."
The mention of his failed betrothal sent a pang through Allen's chest. Three years ago, on the very day following his failed ceremony, the royal family publicly annulled their arrangement with the Greenwoods, citing "a lack of compatibility." To outsiders, it was an unceremonious rejection of a so-called failure.
Allen himself didn't mourn the broken engagement. His modern sensibilities balked at the political machinations behind noble marriages. Yet, for his father and their family, the annulment was a humiliating blow.
"It's my fault," Allen muttered. "You've carried this burden because of me."
Leon's stern expression softened for a moment. "It's not entirely your fault. But understand this: if you don't find a way to awaken, they'll force me to name another successor."
"Is there any way to stop them?" Allen asked, his voice steady but laced with desperation.
Leon sighed. "I'll stall for as long as I can. But you must show progress. Even a glimmer of hope could buy us time."
Allen nodded, determination flickering in his eyes. For three years, they had consulted healers, alchemists, and magicians, all of whom concluded the same: Allen's soul was an anomaly, its connection to his body too tenuous for magic to flow. Perhaps, he mused grimly, it was a byproduct of being a soul from another world.
Leon's voice grew quieter, almost reflective. "I've always wondered if your mother's disappearance has something to do with this. She was studying soul magic before she left, and your condition worsened soon after."
"Mother…" Allen whispered. His memories of her were faint, her face a distant shadow in his mind. She had vanished when he was only five years old, leaving no trace.
Leon leaned back, his eyes clouded. "Some say she became entangled in the affairs of powerful magical factions. Others whisper of forbidden experiments. If she were here, perhaps she could've helped us understand what's happening to you."
"I'll do everything I can to uncover the truth," Allen promised, though his thoughts swirled with uncertainty. Was his condition a result of her experiments? Did she know more than anyone had suspected?
Leon sighed heavily, placing a hand on Allen's shoulder. "Your determination is enough for now. Keep searching for answers."
As Allen left the study, his father's words lingered. Returning to his room, he lit a candle and opened a weathered notebook. Its pages detailed magic theories and concepts he had painstakingly gathered, despite his inability to cast even the simplest spell.
One passage caught his eye:
"Soul-body resonance determines one's capacity for magic. A poor match results in energy dissipation or complete failure to harness power."
He stared at the words, thoughts racing. If his problem lay in this resonance, could it be fixed? His mother's work, the alchemists' treatments—all avenues seemed closed. Yet something deep inside him refused to give up.
"Let them mock us now," he murmured to himself, gripping the edge of his desk. "I'll make them regret it."
As the candle burned low, he finally retreated to his bed. Outside, the starry sky stretched endlessly, its faint glimmers a mirror of his uncertain future. Still, beneath that vast expanse, a single spark had been kindled in the young boy's heart. Whatever lay ahead, Allen Greenwood would fight to rewrite his fate.
Let them regret it, he thought, his eyes closing as exhaustion finally claimed him.