As the ceremony stretched into the evening, Liam stood among the gathered nobles and family, enduring the endless cycle of greetings, congratulations, and carefully veiled platitudes. His responses were calm and courteous, though the weight of the day pressed heavily on his young shoulders, a silent burden he bore with practiced composure.
Then it hit him—a sudden, searing headache that seemed to bloom behind his eyes and radiate through his skull. The pain was sharp and unrelenting, unlike anything he had ever felt before. He fought to keep his composure, forcing his expression to remain neutral even as the world around him seemed to blur slightly.
"Are you all right, Master Liam?" his butler, Edwin, murmured discreetly, leaning in close enough that only Liam could hear.
"I'm fine," Liam whispered, though his voice was tight. "Just tired."
Edwin's brow furrowed, but he nodded. "Shall I prepare your chambers for some rest?"
Liam gave a slight nod before turning to those around him. "If you'll excuse me," he said softly, his tone courteous but firm. "I think the excitement of the day has taken its toll. Thank you all for your kind words."
The nobles offered polite farewells, and Liam exchanged a few more words with his brothers and sisters before stepping away from the crowd, Edwin quietly guiding him toward the exit.
From the dais, Archmage Caelus watched Liam's departure with a furrowed brow. His piercing gaze lingered on the young prince, his expression thoughtful but tinged with concern.
Beside him, King Elijah's sharp eyes also tracked his youngest son's exit. His posture remained regal, but a faint tension in the set of his jaw betrayed his unease. He spoke quietly to Caelus without turning his gaze away.
"It's happening, isn't it?" Elijah said, his voice low but firm, tinged with a faint edge of regret.
Caelus inclined his head slightly. "Yes, Your Majesty. His mana pulse during the assessment confirmed it. Irregular, unstable, and faint. Whatever lies dormant within him… it is beginning to stir."
Elijah exhaled slowly, his expression hardening. "I had hoped it would remain dormant for longer. Perhaps even fade entirely."
Caelus hesitated before speaking again, his tone cautious yet urgent. "Your Majesty, this is unlike anything I've encountered in all my years. His pulse is faint—dangerously so. If left unchecked, it may dwindle further, and he…" The cleric paused, as if reluctant to say the words. "He may lose what little connection to mana he has entirely. He could become mortal."
The king turned fully to Caelus now, his gaze sharp and unyielding. "He doesn't know, and he must not know—not until we are certain of what this truly is. I will not burden him with this prematurely."
Caelus bowed his head in acknowledgment, though his expression remained grim. "As you command, Your Majesty. But if I may counsel you, we cannot delay preparation indefinitely. Whatever stirs within him, it will not wait for us to understand it on our terms. Time is not on our side."
Elijah's gaze softened briefly, just for a moment, before his expression turned resolute. "This remains between us, Caelus. Until I say otherwise, no one else is to know."
"As you wish, Your Majesty," Caelus replied, his tone heavy with reluctant agreement.
The king's eyes shifted back to the doors through which Liam had disappeared. Though his outward demeanor remained composed, his mind churned with thoughts of uncertainty and foreboding. Whatever lay ahead for his youngest son, Elijah silently vowed, he would ensure Liam was prepared for it—no matter the cost.
Liam and Edwin hurried through the corridors of Ironhelm Castle, the maids rushing alongside them with worried glances. Liam walked briskly, one hand pressed subtly against his temple as if to steady himself. Edwin followed close behind, his face etched with concern.
"Master Liam," Edwin ventured cautiously, his voice low yet insistent. "This isn't just fatigue, is it? Please, tell me—"
"I'll be fine," Liam interrupted, his tone clipped but steady. "A light sleep will ease it."
Edwin frowned but said nothing more, recognizing the finality in the young prince's voice. As they reached Liam's chambers, the prince dismissed the maids with a curt nod, pushing the doors open and stepping inside.
Edwin followed, watching as Liam strode across the room and reached for the thick wooden plank leaning against the wall. "Master Liam," the butler began, his tone filled with both confusion and worry. "What are you doing?"
"I want no one disturbing me," Liam replied flatly, lifting the plank.
Edwin stepped closer, his voice softening. "I understand your need for rest, but this… this isn't necessary. You shouldn't—"
"Nothing will happen to me, Edwin," Liam said, his voice calm but firm. "I just need time alone. That's all."
He paused, glancing at the heavy plank in his hands. It's not as if they'd approve anti-magic locks for my doors just so I can laze around inside, he thought bitterly. The royal stewards would dismiss such a request outright, and it would only bring unwanted attention. This crude method was his only option.
The butler hesitated, torn between obedience and concern, but eventually sighed and stepped back. "Very well, Master Liam. I'll have someone stationed outside should you need anything."
Liam turned to Edwin, giving a faint nod. "Goodnight, Edwin," he said quietly.
Without waiting for a response, he closed the heavy doors and secured them with the wooden plank, sliding it into place with deliberate precision.
The butler bowed slightly, lingering for a moment before leaving the room. As the heavy doors shut and the sound of footsteps faded, silence engulfed the chamber.
Liam's expression shifted the moment he was alone. The calm façade he had maintained throughout the day melted away, replaced by a determined focus. Taking a deep breath, he extended his hands, his fingers weaving through the air in precise, practiced movements.
The first spell he cast was Levitation . A soft hum filled the air as his body lifted several feet off the ground, suspended as though gravity had momentarily lost its hold. His feet left the polished stone floor, and he hovered midair, isolated from every surface in the room.
Next, Liam turned his gaze toward the tall windows that framed his chamber. With a sharp gesture, he cast Telekinesis, and the glass panes slammed shut with an audible thud. The heavy curtains, drawn to the sides, whipped into place as if commanded by unseen hands, casting the room in dim, muted light.
Without a moment's hesitation, he conjured Barrier. A dome of pale blue light expanded outward from his body, enveloping him in a protective sphere. The barrier shimmered faintly, its edges pulsing with mana, ensuring that no sound or trace of his magic would escape the room.
Finally, liam whispered an incantation, in a very ancient tongue long forgotten, as he cast the fourth spell. Shadows twisted around his fingers, cold and menacing. The darkness coalesced into an unearthly, writhing mass.
The dark tendrils surged outward, slashing through a faint, glowing restraint spell that flickered briefly in the air. The restraint shattered like fragile glass, dissipating into nothingness.
This was no ordinary spell; it was a dark spell—a lost art, outlawed and concealed deep within the annals of magical history. The practice of dark magic was not merely frowned upon; it was regarded as a grave taboo, punishable by death in most kingdoms. Such spells manipulated the very essence of mana, disregarding the natural order and, at times, even bending the caster's own being to their will.
Liam's invocation was even more chilling— because it was actually an Anti-Spell, slicing the restraint magic he had meticulously placed on himself the previous night.
Dark spells were not merely spells—they were tools of destruction and defiance, often born from desperation or rebellion. The fact that Liam wielded not one, but two such incantations with mastery was not just improbable; it was terrifying.
He knew what it meant. Knowledge of dark magic required secrecy, for it was a magic of whispers and shadows, practiced far from prying eyes. To wield it openly was to invite judgment, exile, or worse. But more than the fear of discovery, Liam understood the danger inherent in the magic itself. A misstep could unravel his very being.
Liam isolated himself to laze around, a habit born from his weakness and lack of mana talent. He didn't want anyone to see his limitations—the son of King Elijah, the so-called genius who never used incantations, reduced to relying on the most basic of spells.
To the outside world, he appeared aloof and indifferent, indulging in idleness while the rest of the castle busied itself with duties and training. None dared disturb him; his chambers, sealed by sturdy gates, were a sanctuary of his own making. For Liam, this isolation wasn't just a shield from others—it was a sanctuary where he could escape the weight of expectations and the harsh truth of his shortcomings.
But within the sealed, enchanted room, Prince Liam of the present day was no failure. Here, he was something far more dangerous, though even he could not fully comprehend what that was. His isolation for the first time was favourable for him.
Even the first three spells—Levitation, Telekinesis, and Barrier—were basic cast but a triple cast without incantation— It demonstrated control but also power—a hallmark of those who had ascended to the Expert realm, a stage that no thirteen-year-old in the entire continent of Nvaar had ever comprehended.
The restraint spell, cast the previous night as a desperate measure to suppress the storm raging within him, was now undone.
As soon as the restraint unraveled, his mana pulse, which had been near negligible for years, surged violently. It was as if a dam had been shattered, and the flow of mana rushed through his veins unchecked, wild and uncontrollable. Liam gasped, clutching his chest as waves of raw energy coursed through him, making his skin prickle and his muscles convulse.
His vision blurred, the room seeming to spin as searing pain exploded in his head and chest. The sheer force of the mana left him breathless, his body trembling under the weight of its resurgence. It felt as though his very essence was being torn apart and rebuilt at the same time, each surge of power a double-edged blade cutting him from within.
Clenching his teeth, he curled into himself, sweat pouring down his brow as the room became a blur of distorted colors. The barrier and levitation spells held firm, isolating him from the outside world, but the storm within raged uncontrollably. His breaths came in ragged gasps, each one a battle to stay conscious as the relentless flood of mana continued to rise.
Hours passed in this torturous state, the once-bright afternoon sun dipping below the horizon as Liam's mana pulse climbed to unbearable levels. His body strained to contain it, every fiber of his being crying out in agony. Yet, as the night deepened, the surge began to slow, the storm gradually losing its ferocity.
The mana pulse, though still erratic, began to ebb, each spike of pain diminishing incrementally. The sharp, tearing agony was replaced by a dull, throbbing ache that seeped into his bones. Liam lay suspended in his levitation spell, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths.
By the time the first rays of sunlight pierced through the cracks of his heavily shut windows, the worst was over. The mana within him, though still unstable, had settled to a level that was no longer overwhelming.
It was midnight. Liam's eyes still remained closed, his body suspended in a trance. His breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling with a steady rhythm, as if he were asleep. Yet within the depths of his mind, something stirred—a vision, vivid and unrelenting.
A jagged mountain loomed before him, its towering peaks shrouded in swirling mists. The air around it seemed alive, Light danced across its slopes, forming shapes he couldn't comprehend but felt compelled to understand. At its summit, hidden within the clouds, a faint glow pulsed, beckoning him like a distant heartbeat.
The mountain called to him. It wasn't just a sight but a sensation, deep and primal, reverberating through the very core of his being. His Mana Flame flickered within his chest, reacting to the pulse as though it recognized something familiar, something ancient.
Liam's fingers twitched, his head tilting slightly toward the unseen vision. His body remained still, yet his mind was adrift, carried closer to the mountain with every fleeting moment.
In the darkness of his chamber, the faint glow of mana surrounded him, soft tendrils of light curling around his form as though protecting him. His lips moved, barely forming the words that echoed from the depths of his trance.
"Soryn's Crown," he murmured, his voice distant and hollow.