**
The dining hall was alive with light and sound. Chandeliers glittered overhead, their crystals refracting the warm glow of enchanted flames. A long banquet table stretched through the center of the hall, laden with silver platters of steaming meats, golden breads, and delicate confections. The Blackthorn family banners hung proudly along the walls, their intricate embroidery gleaming in the light.
Duke Harrison stood at the head of the table, his commanding presence silencing the murmurs of the gathered family. To his right, Eric and Fredrick sat straight-backed, their eyes glinting with anticipation. On his left, Lady Luckia smiled serenely, her fingers curling around the stem of her wine goblet. Phillipa, as always, sat toward the edge of the gathering, her expression calm but her hands clasped tightly in her lap.
Speed, seated further down the table, felt the weight of the room pressing down on him. He had been included, but he knew his place—far from the center of attention.
"My sons," the Duke began, his deep voice resonating through the hall, "the time has come for each of you to take your next step in serving this family and our legacy. As Blackthorns, it is your duty to uphold the honor of our name and to protect this land from the darkness that seeks to consume it."
Eric and Fredrick exchanged glances, smug smiles tugging at the corners of their mouths.
"I am proud to announce," the Duke continued, "that Eric and Fredrick will be attending St. Flatheremere Magic School. There, you will hone your magical abilities and prepare to become the hunters and leaders this family requires."
Polite applause rippled around the room, and Eric raised his goblet, grinning broadly. "To the future of Blackthorn!" he declared, earning a round of cheers from the others.
The Duke's gaze swept across the room, lingering briefly on Speed before moving on. His expression remained impassive. "As for the rest," he said, his tone measured, "each of you has a role to play in supporting this family, whether through magic or other means. You will all have your part to contribute."
Speed's chest tightened. The words were carefully chosen, but the omission was glaring. There was no mention of a school for him—no acknowledgment of his efforts or potential. He clenched his fists under the table, a bitter taste rising in his throat.
"As a gesture of celebration," the Duke concluded, "we will hold a party in honor of Eric and Fredrick's achievements. May this be the first of many milestones in their journey to greatness."
The room erupted in applause, but Speed couldn't bring himself to join. His heart felt heavy, a mix of anger, disappointment, and the sting of exclusion. From her seat, Phillipa glanced at him, her hazel eyes filled with quiet empathy.
As the applause died down, Speed lowered his gaze, gripping the edges of the table to steady himself. He had learned long ago not to let his emotions show too clearly, but tonight, it was a harder battle than usual.
The grand ballroom of Blackthorn Castle was awash in light and opulence. Enchanted chandeliers cast a soft, golden glow over the polished marble floors, while the walls shimmered with the reflections of ornate mirrors and gilded carvings. Long tables were laden with delicacies—sugared fruits, steaming pastries, and roasted meats that filled the air with their tantalizing aroma. Crystal goblets clinked as wine flowed freely, and laughter rippled through the crowd of finely dressed guests.
This was a night to celebrate Eric and Fredrick, the Duke's prized sons, as they prepared to take their place among the elite students of St. Flatheremere. The attendees—lords, ladies, and mages of considerable rank—buzzed with excitement, exchanging tales of magical exploits and promises of future greatness.
Speed lingered near the edge of the room, his dark cloak a stark contrast to the vibrant silks and embroidered robes of the other guests. He had dressed as best he could, but his simple attire seemed almost laughable in this sea of extravagance. He clutched a goblet of watered-down wine, his shoulders hunched as he tried to melt into the background.
Near the center of the room, Eric and Fredrick held court, surrounded by admirers who hung on their every word. Their matching blue cloaks, embroidered with the Blackthorn crest, shimmered like ice under the glow of the chandeliers.
"You should have seen the spell I mastered last week," Eric boasted, his voice carrying easily over the crowd. "Father said it was the cleanest ice lance he's ever seen. Right, Fredrick?"
Fredrick smirked, raising his goblet in mock acknowledgment. "Clean enough to skewer a frost stag, I'd wager. Not that I'd waste my time on something so... trivial."
The words, though not directed at him, felt like daggers to Speed. He gritted his teeth, his grip tightening on the goblet. He had worked tirelessly for that kill, yet here it was being dismissed as nothing more than sport for the unremarkable.
"Speaking of frost stags," Eric continued, his smirk widening, "did anyone see our dear brother dragging one into the courtyard like a hunter fresh from the village? Truly inspiring, wasn't it?"
Laughter erupted from their circle, and Speed felt his cheeks burn with humiliation. He took a step back, willing the ground to swallow him whole.
"You have to give him credit," Fredrick said, his tone mockingly thoughtful. "At least he's trying to be useful. Without magic, that's all he can do, really."
Another round of laughter followed, and Luckia, seated elegantly nearby, chuckled lightly. "Now, boys," she said with a coy smile, "it's unbecoming to mock those who can't help their circumstances. Some of us must shine brighter to compensate for others."
The words stung more than any spell could have. Speed's gaze darted to his mother, Phillipa, who stood near a window, her face a mask of composure. Her hazel eyes met his briefly, and though she said nothing, her silent support gave him a sliver of strength.
Taking a deep breath, Speed placed his goblet on a nearby table and stepped toward the exit. The weight of the mocking laughter followed him, a reminder of how far he still had to climb. But beneath the humiliation, a spark of determination began to flicker. They might laugh at him now, but he vowed they would not laugh forever.
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