Chapter One: Ashes of Legacy
In a crumbling estate on the outskirts of the capital, a young boy—barely nineteen—hoisted a bucket from the well, arms straining under its weight. His coal-black hair clung to his brow with sweat, and his golden eyes, striking even in exhaustion, stared blankly into the water below. Despite the coarse, worn clothes he wore, there was a quiet grace to his posture—something regal, even now.
He poured the water into a basin and sighed. As his fingers worked through the routine motions, his mind drifted to a time long buried. He could still remember the days when he walked marble halls beneath crystal chandeliers—back when the name Thorne still held power in the Empire. Back when he had parents.
Aurelian...
The whisper always came in his dreams. A burning palace. A voice from smoke and flame. And that name—his name—echoing like a prophecy.
He flinched as the bucket slipped, splashing cold water onto his feet.
"You trying to flood the place, rat?" a voice barked.
Aurelian looked up, expression tightening. It was Garvek, the overseer. Burly, red-faced, and always eager to discipline. He approached with heavy steps and a scowl.
"No, Overseer," Aurelian said calmly, lowering his gaze. "It won't happen again."
"You're damn right it won't." Garvek sneered. "Keep dawdling and I'll have you scrub the stables next."
Aurelian offered no reply. He simply lifted the bucket again, ignoring the dull ache in his arms. The last time he'd talked back, Garvek had whipped him so badly it took weeks to recover. If he'd had magic, maybe he could've healed faster. Maybe he wouldn't be here at all.
He carried the water inside to fill the master's bath, carefully pouring it into the tub. Thankfully, the master wasn't home today. If he had been, Aurelian knew he'd be insulted for the water's temperature, the speed, the scent—anything. It was always something.
When he returned to the courtyard, intent on resting for a few stolen minutes in his corner of the servant quarters, two older servants blocked his path. Their names didn't matter—they never introduced themselves. He only knew them by their cruel grins and constant harassment.
"Look who's finished playing housemaid," one of them said with a smirk.
The other stepped forward. "Still pretending you're better than the rest of us, Royal boy?"
Aurelian clenched his jaw. "What do you want?"
"Oh, just a little fun," the first man said, cracking his knuckles. "You look too clean. Thought we'd help."
He knew what was coming. He'd endured it before—shoves, insults, a fist to the ribs if he was unlucky. They hated how he carried himself, hated the way he didn't beg or grovel. They hated the ghost of nobility that hadn't left him, even now.
But this time, something inside him flared.
As the first servant reached for him, Aurelian stepped back—not out of fear, but instinct. His golden eyes locked with the man's.
"I'm tired," he said quietly, voice edged with something unfamiliar even to himself. "Not today."
The two men exchanged surprised looks. For a moment, just a flicker, they hesitated. Then Garvek's voice boomed across the courtyard.
"Thorne! I swear, if I hear one more word—"
The servants snickered and backed off.
"Next time," one of them muttered. "Don't think you're safe."
Aurelian turned away without answering, heading back to the shadows of his quarters. He sat down slowly, fingers trembling—not from fear, but from holding himself back. His breath was ragged. Something had stirred inside him. He could feel it humming faintly beneath his skin.
Magic? No… it couldn't be. I have none. I never have.
He looked under his straw mattress where a small wooden box was hidden. Inside, wrapped in aged velvet, lay the old grimoire. The only thing he still possessed from his family.
He ran his fingers across its surface.
One day, he swore silently. One day, he would unlock its secrets. One day, they would regret leaving him alive.