The joyous sounds filled the air, spilling from left to right and into every corner of the grand mansion belonging to the Castigir family.
It was a celebration for the successful awakening of the twins—or rather, for one of them.
For the other, there was nothing to celebrate. While nobles raised their goblets of ale, drinking to their hearts' content, while men and women mingled with laughter, gnawed hungrily at delicacies, and shared war stories, one person was nowhere to be found. The grand hall roared with music, clinking glasses, and shouts of praise for the King and his talented daughter, yet Arthur's presence was absent.
After the ceremony of awakening, Arthur had become little more than a hollow shell. He drifted through the day in silence, unmoving, withdrawn, his spirit crushed. By the time night fell and the grand party erupted with wild chaos—a storm of music, feasting, and drunken nobility—he finally saw his chance to slip away unnoticed.
And surprisingly, no one followed him.
It was as though his absence was of no consequence to anyone in the hall.
Especially to his father.
Arthur sighed, slipping his hands into his pockets, his footsteps echoing softly as he walked along the parapet of the mansion. The night air brushed against his face, cool and refreshing, a stark contrast to the suffocating heat of the party. From this height, he could see beyond the towering walls of the Castigir estate, out past the gardens, the rolling fields, and the small village nearby.
And there, far in the distance, a thick forest stretched across the horizon, looming silently. Its dark silhouette was ominous, mysterious, and terrifying all at once. Yet somehow, in its stillness, Arthur found solace.
Here, gazing beyond the boundaries of his gilded prison, he could breathe again. He could think again.
Arthur exhaled slowly, his thoughts swirling. What would become of him now? If the priest's words were true, he might die young, withering away from Mana depletion. Or perhaps he would lose his powers entirely and live as nothing more than a regular human, enslaved to his sister's throne.
'If I'm to choose,' he thought bitterly, 'which is better? The sense of a short life filled with adventure… or slavery in a long, ordinary one?'
The answer revealed itself the moment he voiced it, even just in his head. He wanted to live—desperately—but not as a slave.
Arthur chuckled under his breath, though the sound carried no joy. It was a hollow laugh, sharp and bitter.
'This must be my punishment… the crimes of an author coming back to torment me—'
But before he could sink deeper into his thoughts, the quiet tap of heels broke the stillness. The faint sound grew louder, drawing closer behind him.
Arthur stiffened. Slowly, he turned his head, his blank expression masking the turmoil within him.
"Mother?"
It was indeed her. Lady Castigir stood there, the moonlight casting a gentle glow across her features. A faint smile touched her lips, and she spread her arms, inviting him into an embrace.
But Arthur didn't move. He only stared at her.
"What's wrong, my son?" she asked softly.
Arthur frowned, turning his gaze back toward the distant forest.
'Of all the things she could ask… why ask me that? Isn't it boldly written in the air that I am a failure?'
Lady Castigir furrowed her brows, watching her son in silence for a moment.
'He looks far more mature than a child his age should. I expected him to be here in tears, broken and fragile. But instead… he looks as though he's already carried years of burdens.'
Quietly, she stepped forward until she stood beside him, her gaze following his toward the looming forest. For a moment, the silence stretched between them, filled only by the faint hum of the distant celebration behind them.
"Let me tell you something, my son," she said at last.
Arthur didn't hesitate. "Speak."
Her voice dropped, firm and cold, though the weight of her words struck like thunder. "What if I told you… that everything said at the awakening was planned by me, and none of it was true?"
Arthur's head snapped toward her, his eyes wide. "I don't follow."
"The priest was paid by me," Lady Castigir said calmly, her tone unshaken. "You are not fated to die early—at least not by natural death. And you will not lose your Mana."
Arthur's heart pounded. A strange mix of relief and confusion warred inside him, threatening to break free all at once.
"Then why?" His voice trembled with emotion. "Why make me seem as though I'll be weak for the rest of my life? Why humiliate me before everyone? Why?"
Lady Castigir's lips curved into a faint smile. "Because, Arthur, my family bears the same dark Mana as you. I too possess it. So does your eldest brother. And now… so do you."
Arthur's breath caught.
"Our Mana cores are incredibly powerful, capable of feats few in this world could even begin to fathom. But such power comes with a cost—an oath binding us. None of us can ever ascend the throne. That is why your father branded you a slave to your sister."
Arthur blinked, the weight of her words settling over him like a shroud. "You're saying… I can't claim the throne? I don't understand. Even if that's true, why must I be made a slave to her?"
Lady Castigir sighed deeply, her eyes momentarily clouded. She knew explaining this to Arthur would not be easy, especially to a child whose mind worked sharper than most men grown.
"DarWan," she whispered, her tone carrying reverence and sorrow alike, "that is our true name. We are among the strongest of all magic users, Arthur. But because of the destruction our power brings, because of the curse that marks us, we are forbidden from ruling. By oath and by curse, we serve. I have served your father, and by chance, he married me. Now, you must serve your sister. Protect her. Guard the throne. And above all—keep the secrets of your abilities to yourself."
Arthur's heart twisted at her words.
'Slaves… even with such power, we are cursed to servitude. One of the most powerful names on this planet, bound in chains. How cruel…'
"And there is one more thing you must know, my son."
Lady Castigir reached out, her hand resting gently atop his head. She patted him softly, her touch warm but trembling, her voice low and heavy with emotion. The tears gathering in her eyes glistened faintly under the pale moonlight, though Arthur could not see them clearly. Yet her voice betrayed the sorrow she carried.
"There will come a time in your life when you must make hard decisions. Do not make the right ones for everyone else… but for yourself. That, Arthur, is what it means to be a true DarWan."
With that, she turned and began to walk away, her steps fading into the shadows of the corridor.
Arthur remained on the parapet, his eyes fixed on the dark forest beyond, her words echoing endlessly in his mind.
'A true DarWan?'
The question lingered, heavy, piercing, and without answer.
***Author's note***
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