15 years earlier
"The world around us exploded. The house—the safety we had always known—shuddered and cracked under the weight of the assault. I could still hear my mother's voice, though it seemed distant now, barely reaching me through the deafening noise. Then, the shield shattered, and time itself fractured. A blinding flash of light swallowed us whole, a roar of magic that could not be stopped. In an instant, everything that had once been familiar vanished, and we were cast into nothingness. The last thing I saw before the world twisted away was my mother's eyes—wide, full of fear, and filled with love. And then—nothing."
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Before the Attack
It was a calm Saturday morning, the kind that felt eternal in its peace. Sunlight spilled through the tall, arched windows of the Zakharov estate, painting the walls in warm hues. Laughter echoed through the living room as Orin and Amara chased each other, their giggles ringing out like music.
"Got you!" Amara squealed, grabbing Orin's arm.
"No fair! You used magic!" Orin huffed, his small hands forming fists.
"I did not!" Amara shot back, crossing her arms. A soft light flickered around her fingers, betraying her lie.
Zorion, sitting cross-legged on the rug, smirked. "She totally did." He waved his hand, conjuring a harmless illusion of a butterfly that fluttered past Orin. "Here, catch this instead."
Orin's eyes widened as he chased the butterfly, forgetting his earlier frustration. Amara rolled her eyes but smiled, joining in.
Across the room, Bastiel leaned against the doorway, a book open in his hands. His lips quirked into a rare smile as he watched his younger siblings play. Ayla sat beside him on the floor, nose buried in her own book, her green eyes shining with curiosity.
"What are you reading this time?" Bastiel asked, his voice soft.
"Spells," Ayla replied, not looking up. "But they're... complicated."
"You'll figure them out," Bastiel said, ruffling her hair. "You're the smartest of us all."
In the study, Draegon stood with their father, his small hands hovering over a wooden table covered in spellbooks and runes. Their father, tall and imposing with his wavy blond hair and mismatched red and blue eyes, watched him intently.
"Your gestures are too stiff," the father said, placing a firm but gentle hand over Draegon's. "Magic is as much about intent as it is precision. Feel the power flow through you."
Draegon frowned, his forehead creasing in concentration. "What if I mess up?"
His father smiled, a warmth in his eyes that softened his sharp features. "Then you try again. No Zakharov ever stops at failure, Draegon. Remember that."
Draegon nodded, his confidence bolstered. He glanced at his father. "Do you think I'll ever be as strong as you?"
His father paused, placing both hands on Draegon's shoulders. "One day, you'll be stronger. And when that day comes, I know you'll use your strength to protect this family."
In the next room, the siblings' mother hummed a soft tune as she prepared tea, her graceful movements almost magical in their own right. She turned her head slightly, catching a glimpse of the living room chaos with a fond smile.
"Be careful, Orin," she called out. "Don't trip!"
"I won't, Mama!" Orin shouted back, running full speed, narrowly missing a corner of the couch.
As the siblings laughed, Draegon entered the room with their father, who glanced at his wife. Their eyes met briefly, and an unspoken exchange passed between them. His expression darkened, just for a moment, before he turned to the children.
"Everyone," he said, his deep voice commanding but gentle, "come here for a moment."
"What is it, Papa?" Ayla asked, setting her book aside.
"Just come," their mother added, her tone firmer now. The lightheartedness in her voice was gone, replaced by something heavy.
The siblings gathered in the kitchen, confusion written across their faces. Orin clung to Amara's hand, and Nerys shifted uneasily. Draegon exchanged a glance with Bastiel, who stood at the back, his jaw tightening.
Their father knelt before them, his large frame somehow still imposing even as he tried to shrink to their level. He looked at each of them, his mismatched eyes filled with something none of them could quite place—love, fear, pride.
"Listen to me carefully," he began. His voice was steady, but there was a tremor beneath it. "Your mother and I... we love you more than anything. Never forget that."
"Why are you saying that?" Nerys asked, her voice trembling.
Their mother knelt beside him, brushing a hand through Nerys's hair. "Because you're strong, my darling. All of you are." She turned to Ayla, who looked like she might cry. "Ayla, my sweet, don't be afraid. Just trust us, okay?"
"But what's happening?" Ayla whispered.
Before their mother could answer, a loud crack echoed through the air. The house shuddered as a black mist seeped through the cracks in the walls, coalescing into hooded figures.
The siblings screamed as the figures appeared in the middle of the room, their faces obscured. One stepped forward, his voice cold and mocking.
"Well, isn't this a touching little scene?"
Their father's hand shot out, conjuring a barrier that encased the children. He turned to his wife. "Start the spell," he said, his voice tight.
She nodded, ushering the children toward the far corner of the room. Her hands began to glow as she whispered an incantation under her breath.
"What's happening?" Ayla cried, clutching Nerys's arm.
"It's okay," their mother said, her voice trembling but kind. "Trust me, Ayla. Trust me."
Their father stood between the coven and the barrier, his mismatched eyes blazing with power. "You won't touch them," he growled.
The hooded man laughed. "Oh, but we will. The Zakharov power belongs to us now."
Bastiel watched in horror as his father began to duel the coven, his movements sharp and precise. Sparks of magic lit up the room, the clash of power deafening.
"Bastiel," his mother said urgently, pressing a small pouch into his hands. "Take this. Keep it safe."
"What's in it?" he asked, his voice shaking.
"Everything you'll need," she replied, her smile bittersweet. "Promise me you'll protect them."
Before he could respond, a scream tore through the air. Bastiel's head whipped around just in time to see a hooded man's blade plunge into his mother's chest.
"No!" he screamed, his voice breaking.
The man turned to Bastiel, lowering his hood to reveal a twisted smile. "Don't worry, boy. You'll be next."
Bastiel froze, his heart pounding as his mother crumpled to the floor. Her blood pooled beneath her, staining the wooden boards.
"Go!" his father shouted, his voice filled with rage and desperation. "Activate the spell!"
The room exploded in light as his mother's final incantation took hold, tearing them away from the chaos.