Long before the whispers of weakness followed Lucian Ravencrest through the halls of the palace… there had been quieter days.
Days when the towering fortress of Ravencrest felt less like a throne built upon expectations and more like a home.
Ravencrest Palace stood high upon a dark hill, overlooking the kingdom's capital city, Veancar. From its height, almost the entire city could be seen stretching across the land below. Tall towers pierced through the clouds like black spears, while massive stone walls surrounded the palace grounds like the arms of an ancient guardian protecting its people from dangers beyond the kingdom.
At the very top of the palace, the great banner of the Ravencrest family, carved with silver engravings, waved constantly in the cold mountain wind. From that height, countless cities and towns could be seen scattered across the vast lands of the kingdom.
The Ravencrest family had always been known as a dark family.
Yet despite the palace's intimidating presence, the gardens surrounding it were strangely peaceful.
This was the place where Lucian, despite being known as a useless prince, managed to find small pieces of happiness. He spent most of his time here. Since Lucian could neither use magic nor practice swordsmanship like the other nobles, books had become his only escape. The library was the one place where he could forget the whispers of the palace and lose himself in a different world, far away from the laughter and judgment of others.
There was also another small reason that made this place brighter for him—his seven-year-old little sister, Lyra Ravencrest. Lyra had followed her brother everywhere since she was very young. Whatever Lucian did, she wanted to do the same. It was because of him that she had fallen in love with magic. When she was only four years old, Lucian had once told her a story about ancient magic, and from that day on her curiosity had never faded.
Lucian often told her stories, explained magical theories, and even taught her several languages from the books he read. Lyra was incredibly talented, and she listened to every word with shining curiosity. Sometimes she sat on Lucian's shoulders, sometimes in his lap, staring at him with wide eyes while he spoke, absorbing everything he said as if each word was a treasure.
Lyra had inherited their mother's features—silver hair that shone softly like moonlight and bright silver eyes that sparkled with life. Her hair danced gently in the wind as she sat on Lucian's shoulders while he walked slowly through the palace gardens. Leaning forward slightly, Lyra rested her chin on the top of her brother's head, watching the world from her favorite place.
"Brother," she asked curiously, "tell me another magic story."
Lucian chuckled quietly.
"You've already heard three stories from me today."
"That was before lunch," she protested.
Lucian stopped near a fountain shaped like a coiled serpent. Gently, he lifted Lyra down from his shoulders and held her in his arms in front of him. Lyra immediately wrapped her small arms around her brother's neck and looked at him with bright, curious eyes. She already knew what was coming.
Her brother was about to tell another story.
Lucian pretended to think deeply.
"Hm… let's see…"
He pointed toward the floating lanterns drifting above the garden trees.
"Do you know why those lanterns float?"
His sister shook her head quickly.
"No."
"They are bound with wind spirits," Lucian explained. "Tiny magical creatures that live inside the air itself."
Her eyes widened.
"Really?"
Lucian nodded confidently.
"When magicians create enchantments, they don't force magic to obey them. They make friends with the spirits that already exist."
The girl looked up at the drifting lanterns again with fascination.
"Then… can I make friends with them too?"
Lucian smiled.
"Of course you can."
He placed her gently on the stone edge of the fountain and pulled a small book from inside his coat.
The book was thick—far too complicated for a child her age—but Lucian opened it anyway.
"This symbol," he said, pointing to a curved rune drawn across the page. " flow. It represents how magical energy moves through the world."
The girl carefully traced the rune with her small finger.
"Flow…"
Lucien watched patiently as Lyra tried to speak the unfamiliar words written in the book.
"Ma…gi…cal… re…so…nance…"
Her voice stumbled through the complicated terms.
Lucian laughed softly.
"Close enough."
Most children her age were still struggling to read simple texts.
But Lucian was already teaching her magical theory.
Because he believed something very simple.
If he could not use magic…
Then at least he could understand it.
And if he understood it…
He could teach it to someone who mattered.
The girl suddenly threw her arms around him.
"You're the best brother!"
Lucian froze in surprise for a moment before smiling.
Around them, palace maids watched quietly from a distance.
Some of them exchanged soft glances.
The kingdom might whisper about the powerless prince…
But moments like these revealed a very different side of him.
Lucian was patient.
Kind.
Gentle with those he cared about.
And when he was with his little sister, the weight of the entire world seemed to disappear from his shoulders.
He did not hear the whispers.
He did not see the disappointed looks of nobles.
He did not care about magic tests or bloodline expectations.
When he was with her…
Lucian Ravencrest could forget that he was the weakest prince in the most powerful dark family on the continent.
And for a while…
That was enough.
Lucian suddenly remembered something important. Tomorrow, he and his sister were supposed to travel to the Village of Sylvarin.
It was a special place where children between the ages of five and fifteen gathered to demonstrate their abilities. For many noble families, it was an opportunity to bring honor to their name within the kingdom.
If a child showed exceptional talent, there was even a chance that the Elder of Sylvarin might personally praise them—or, in rare cases, choose to teach that child magic himself.
The day passed and the next day arrived. The elders' journey to the village began early in the morning.
A thin silver mist still clung to the mountains surrounding Ravencrest when the royal convoy departed from the palace gates. The massive iron doors of the fortress opened slowly with a deep grinding sound, revealing the winding road that descended from the cliffs toward the forests below.
Several black carriages bearing the silver raven crest rolled forward one after another, surrounded by mounted soldiers whose dark armor reflected the pale morning light. The rhythmic sound of horses' hooves echoed against the stone roads as the procession began its descent through the mountain pass.
Inside the first carriage, Lucian sat beside his younger sister.
The girl had pressed her face against the window almost immediately after the journey began, her bright eyes watching the world outside with endless excitement. Every passing tree, every distant hill, every small village they rode past seemed to fill her with wonder.
Lucian watched her quietly.
"Brother," she asked suddenly, turning toward him with the same curious expression she always had, "is the Elder Village really made of magic?"
Lucian leaned back slightly against the cushioned seat and folded his arms.
"Well… according to the books I've read," he replied thoughtfully, "the entire village was built by ancient magicians thousands of years ago."
Her eyes widened instantly.
"Thousands?"
Lucian nodded.
"They say even the trees there are enchanted. Some of them are older than kingdoms."
The girl gasped softly.
"Do you think there will be spirits?"
Lucian smiled faintly.
"There are always spirits where magic gathers."
Outside the carriage window, the landscape slowly began to change.
The tall gray mountains surrounding Ravencrest gradually gave way to dense forests whose towering trees stretched endlessly across the horizon. The deeper the convoy traveled into the wilderness, the stranger the forest began to feel.
The sunlight filtering through the leaves shimmered faintly in unnatural colors.
The wind carried whispers that did not quite sound like ordinary rustling branches.
Even the soldiers escorting the convoy rode more carefully now, their eyes scanning the forest with quiet caution.
Lucian noticed it immediately.
The deeper they traveled, the heavier the air seemed to become.
Not oppressive…
But alive.
As though something unseen was watching.
His sister, however, seemed completely unaffected.
If anything, she looked even more excited.
At one point during the journey she suddenly pressed both hands against the carriage window.
"Brother! Look!"
Lucian followed her gaze.
Far above the forest canopy, tiny glowing shapes drifted lazily through the air like distant stars.
Spirits.
Wind sprites.
Even from this distance their faint golden light flickered between the branches like scattered fireflies.
Lucian stared at them for a moment longer than he intended.
Strange.
Even though the spirits were close enough to see clearly… none of them drifted toward the carriage.
None of them came near him.
The convoy traveled for nearly two full days before the forest finally began to thin.
Lucian muttered to himself as he tried to make sense of the strange changes around him. He began thinking about the unusual changes he had noticed along the road.
The road that led to Sylvarin did not appear on most maps.
Beyond the northern forests of Ravencrest, where the trees grew older and the air carried a faint shimmer of unseen magic, the path slowly faded into something that looked less like a road and more like a memory carved into the earth itself. Moss-covered stones marked the way, their surfaces etched with ancient runes that glowed faintly whenever a carriage passed near them.
By the time the royal convoy reached the clearing, the sun had begun its slow descent behind the towering trees.
And there it was.
Sylvarin.
The village did not resemble any ordinary settlement. Rather than being built upon the land, it seemed to have grown out of it. Massive ancient trees curved and twisted in unnatural shapes, their trunks hollowed and shaped by magic into homes whose windows glowed softly with warm golden light. Bridges woven from living branches stretched between the upper levels of the trees, while narrow stone paths wound gently across gardens filled with plants that shimmered faintly with magical energy.
Floating lanterns drifted lazily through the air like wandering stars.
Small spirits moved between the branches like flickers of living light.
The entire place felt alive.
Not simply filled with magic—
But breathing with it.
One by one, the carriages rolled into the clearing before the village entrance.
Children stepped down first.
Noble sons and daughters from across the continent gathered there, some wearing finely embroidered robes bearing the crests of powerful families, others dressed more modestly yet still carrying the quiet confidence of those born with magical talent.
The air buzzed with excitement.
For many of them, this would be their first real encounter with the deeper mysteries of magic.
Two figures waited near the entrance to welcome them.
The first was a young woman whose long dark hair was tied loosely behind her shoulders. Her expression carried the calm confidence of someone who had spent many years among magic and spirits. She wore simple robes of forest green, their sleeves embroidered with faint runic patterns.
Beside her stood a slightly younger man whose posture was far less formal. His brown hair was a little messy, and his expression carried an easy smile as he watched the arriving children with curious amusement.
Maisie Ashwood.
And her younger brother—
Finn Ashwood.
Maisie stepped forward as the children gathered before the entrance.
"Welcome to Sylvarin," she said gently.
Her voice carried clearly across the clearing without needing to rise above the quiet wind moving through the trees.
"For those of you who have never been here before, this village exists to help young magicians understand their connection to the magical world."
Several children immediately straightened with excitement.
Finn leaned casually against a nearby tree.
"Or in simpler words," he added with a grin, "you're here to see if magic actually likes you."
A few nervous laughs spread through the group.
Maisie shot her brother a mildly disapproving glance.
"Please ignore him."
Finn shrugged.
"Just being honest."
Lucian stood near the back of the group, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his coat as he watched the scene unfold with mild interest.
Beside him stood his younger sister.
Lyra Ravencrest.
Unlike the other children, Lyra seemed almost mesmerized by the environment around her. Her silver eyes moved constantly, following the tiny lights drifting through the trees and the soft glow of enchanted plants lining the village paths.
Finn clapped his hands once.
"Alright! Before we start the proper lessons, we'll take a short walk through the village."
He gestured toward the winding path that led deeper into Sylvarin.
"As we move through the village, don't be surprised if spirits approach you. They're curious creatures."
Maisie nodded.
"Spirits respond to magical resonance. If your magical nature resonates with them, they may come closer."
The children began following the siblings along the narrow path.
Almost immediately, the magic of Sylvarin began responding.
A small wind sprite darted down from the branches and hovered near one boy's shoulder.
Another child reached out hesitantly as a glowing orb of water magic floated beside her hand.
Excited whispers spread through the group as spirits slowly gathered around several of the children.
Lucian watched the reactions with quiet curiosity.
He noticed something immediately.
Whenever a spirit drifted near him—
It hesitated.
One small fire sprite floated toward his shoulder, its flame-like body flickering gently as it approached.
For a brief moment it hovered only inches from him.
Then—
The creature recoiled suddenly.
As though startled.
It darted away and disappeared into the branches above.
Lucian blinked slowly.
"Hm."
Another spirit approached moments later.
A tiny creature made of drifting golden light.
It circled him once.
Twice.
Then fled just as quickly.
Lucian tilted his head slightly.
"Well that's rude."
Several steps ahead, Finn had also noticed.
His easy smile faded slightly as he watched the strange reactions of the spirits.
"That's… odd."
Maisie glanced back toward Lucian.
For a moment her calm expression tightened with quiet concern.
Yet Lucian himself appeared completely unconcerned.
In fact, he seemed almost amused.
Meanwhile, the magical activity around Lyra had begun attracting attention.
A gentle breeze stirred suddenly around the young girl as several wind sprites circled her excitedly. One glowing spirit even settled briefly upon her shoulder like a tiny bird made of light.
Lyra gasped softly.
"They're… warm."
Finn laughed.
"That's usually a good sign."
The children continued walking deeper into Sylvarin.
And as they did—
The magic of the village seemed to gather more strongly around one child in particular.
Lyra Ravencrest.
By the time they reached the center of the village clearing, nearly a dozen spirits had begun circling her curiously.
Finn let out a low whistle.
"Well…"
Maisie's eyes narrowed slightly as she studied the scene.
"Yes."
Before she could say anything further—
The air suddenly changed.
A deep presence filled the clearing like the slow arrival of an ancient storm.
The spirits hovering around the children stilled instantly.
Even the wind seemed to pause.
From the far side of the clearing, an elderly man approached slowly along the stone path.
His robes flowed gently behind him as he walked, their deep silver fabric embroidered with runes that shimmered faintly with every step. Long white hair fell past his shoulders, and his calm eyes held the quiet weight of someone who had spent more than a century studying the hidden laws of magic.
This was the man who guided Sylvarin.
The sixth ranked magician of the continent.
Grand Elder Vyom Presious.
His gaze moved calmly across the gathered children.
And for the briefest moment—
His eyes paused on Lucian Ravencrest.