The silence in the hall wasn't the comfortable kind.
It wrapped around the throat and squeezed, making it painfully clear where one stood in the pecking order. And right now, Rylen stood at the very bottom.
Alone.
Seven figures sat above him on elevated seats that might as well have been thrones. His family. House Vaelor, one of the premier mage bloodlines of the realm.
They didn't look at him like a son. Not even like a disappointment. That would have required believing he'd ever had potential. Their gazes passed over him instead—cold, clinical—like he was a defect that should have been corrected long ago.
The air pressed against his skin, sharp and metallic. Mage radiation. A constant presence in this place. Something that would slowly kill a normal human.
The mages didn't even notice it.
Rylen kept his back straight anyway.
He was eighteen years old.
In this house, that alone was an offense.
"Rylen."
His father's voice cut through the silence. Lord Vaelor Stormweave spoke calmly, without heat or hesitation. He wasn't weighing a decision. He was announcing a conclusion.
"You have reached adulthood."
Rylen dipped his head once. A nod, not a bow. He'd stopped bowing years ago.
His siblings watched like spectators at a dull execution.
Aurelion, the firstborn, lounged in his seat with effortless ease. His gaze was distant, unfocused. Rylen barely registered in his attention.
Three sisters sat to the left, elegant and composed. One leaned toward another and whispered something. A faint smile passed between them.
The remaining brothers were present only in form—faces he recognized but barely knew.
Only one gaze carried weight.
Kaelith.
The third-born leaned forward, contempt plain on his face. He didn't bother hiding it.
A stain.
"Eighteen years," Kaelith said. "Eighteen years of resources, tutors, and effort. All of it wasted."
No one contradicted him.
Rylen met his eyes calmly. He'd learned long ago that reactions were entertainment, and he refused to give them any.
"Your aptitude tests are complete," Lord Vaelor continued. "Repeated. Verified."
A crystal panel flared briefly behind him.
Then went dark.
Empty.
No glow. No resonance.
Mage talent: nonexistent.
"As expected," one of his sisters murmured.
Silence followed.
In this family, silence meant agreement.
"An apprentice who cannot ascend is worse than a mortal," Kaelith said. "At least mortals don't pretend they belong."
Rylen didn't clench his fists. Didn't tighten his jaw. He'd practiced this kind of stillness for years.
His mother finally looked at him.
Lady Seris Vaelor's expression held no cruelty. Just distance. A tired detachment worn smooth by centuries of ambition.
"There is no future for you here," she said.
Not accusation. Not regret.
Fact.
Rylen exhaled slowly.
"So this is exile," he said.
Not a question.
Kaelith smiled. "Exile is mercy."
Lord Vaelor didn't disagree.
"You will be sent beyond the borders," his father said. "To the human-dominated plane. Low mana. High instability. Constant conflict."
A dumping ground.
Rylen absorbed the words and nodded once.
"I understand."
That seemed to surprise them.
Lord Vaelor studied him more closely now, as if searching for something—fear, resentment, desperation.
He found none.
"Do you have anything to say?" his father asked.
Rylen considered it.
Another life flickered briefly in his mind. Another house. Another judgment. Different world. Same verdict.
"No," he said. "I have nothing to say."
Kaelith scoffed. "Empty to the end."
Then Aurelion moved.
The firstborn rose, and the room stilled instantly.
"Wait," Aurelion said.
Kaelith frowned. "Why?"
"I know what's been decided."
Aurelion descended the steps, mana pressure rolling off him in controlled waves. Rylen felt it press against his chest, sharp and suffocating, yet perfectly restrained.
Aurelion stopped a few steps away.
"You won't survive as you are," he said quietly.
No mockery. No cruelty.
Just certainty.
"In mage lands, power is inherited," Aurelion continued. "It flows through bloodlines. Among humans, it's different."
He leaned closer.
"Among humans, power is taken."
"Do not seek justice," he said. "Do not seek approval. Seek growth. Everything else is noise."
Rylen met his gaze.
"And if I don't?"
Aurelion's lips curved faintly. "Then you'll die. Quickly. And no one will remember you."
He stepped back.
That was all.
Lord Vaelor raised his hand.
"You will take nothing that belongs to this house," he said. "From this moment on, you have no claim to the Vaelor name."
Rylen bowed once. Formal. Shallow. Correct.
Then he turned and walked away.
No one called after him.
The doors closed behind him with a sound like distant thunder.
---
The border was abrupt.
Mage territory ended as if cut away. Beyond it lay dust, stone, and thin, empty air.
Human land.
The escort released him without a word and vanished immediately.
Rylen stood alone.
No pressure. No suffocating presence.
Just wind.
He adjusted the simple clothes he'd been given and started walking.
Days blurred together. Refugee camps. Armed patrols. Suspicion everywhere.
No one asked where he came from.
Only what he was.
A beggar.
At the edge of a small, war-torn kingdom, a notice was posted.
MANDATORY CONSCRIPTION UNDER IMMIGRATION LAW
Rylen read it once, then folded it and slipped it into his pocket.
That night, beneath unfamiliar stars, a familiar thought surfaced.
Beyond normal.
Not comfort. Not belonging.
To exist beyond limits imposed on him.
Tomorrow, he would become a soldier.
And sooner or later—
Someone would die.
.