Born As The Second Coming Of Overcored Mage
They call this world Tellus a land where magic and mortals walk the same streets, share the same sky. But it wasn't always peace. Hell, it was anything but.
Long ago, people feared magic. Called it heresy. Hunted those who used it like wild animals. Magicians burned at the stake, their screams swallowed by prayer and fire. Sound familiar? Earth did the same. But here? Magic was everywhere. So when one church decided to burn the Wizard King’s wife alive?
Yeah… that was the last mistake humanity ever made.
The world broke that night. The sky bled flame. The earth cracked open beneath the fury of a grieving King. Magicians, once scattered and in hiding, rose up. And when they did?
Humanity lost.
No army stood a chance against the wrath of mages who could turn oceans to steam and mountains to sand. The Wizard King didn’t just win he ended resistance. And when he finally passed, his five children took his empire and split it into what we now call the Six Towers each ruled by a legacy of power: White, Black, Blue, Red, Green, and Purple.
Centuries passed. War became legend. Peace was forced into being. Even the elves, dwarves, and spirits came out of hiding to live under that fragile truce. A treaty was born no war between magic and the magicless. Coexist or vanish.
And yet… old hatred dies hard. Magism, they call it now. That lingering divide between the gifted and the ungifted. The echoes of that fire, still burning in cold stares and quiet judgment.
But this story?
This story isn't about that war.
It’s about me.
I was born choking. Couldn’t breathe, couldn’t cry. Not because I was weak but because I was overflowing. My mana core? Overcored. Too much magic in a body too small to handle it. My own power was tearing me apart before I even had a name.
The doctors said I wouldn’t last the month.
My parents of course did what most parents would do.
After all, they didn't have me because of an arranged marriage for a powerful heir. My mother, Rosalie Licht, is the Master Mage of the White Tower, a saint in all but title. My father, Ebenholz Darkven, rules the Black Tower, a necromancer who commands death like it’s a language. Two of the most powerful mages alive, raised on centuries of rivalry. But they loved each other anyway. Somehow.
Their love gave me life and nearly killed me too.
I’ve spent every day of my seven years surviving. Seven years of healing spells, mana regulation rituals, emergency procedures just to keep my heart from bursting. Seven years of watching my sister train not for glory, but to protect me.
Yeah, I’m spoiled. I know it.
Born into power, wealth, legacy and still treated like I’m made of glass. But I’m not complaining. I’ve seen what real suffering looks like. I've just… had my own kind.
My name is Vant Licht Darkven.
I’m the son of light and shadow. Born with more magic than my body can bear. And if my destiny is to be destroyed by the very power in my blood?
Then I’ll face it with my eyes wide open.
