*"Streya we have to- why do you have that thing in your hands,"* asked a boy, who looked to be a few years older than Streya.

*"He's not a thing, he's our brother,"* argued another boy, this one was the youngest out of the three, and had a peculiar hair color.

Where all the other kids had jet black hair, he had black hair that shaded red at the ends.

*"What else should I call him? He came here at a time when we don't even have enough food to eat twice a day and to make it worse he can't even use magic," snorted the eldest boy.

"Neither can we, Gray. If he's a thing, then what are we?" asked Streya, a sort of sad hopeless smile across her face.

"We're helping, Streya. And we don't have to worry too much. Soon the little peep squeak will go off to the magic academy and become a Grand Magus and we won't have to continue living this way," Gray replied, hugging his sister.

"But this thing is just going to make things harder," he whispered to himself, staring daggers at his baby brother.

'The way this guy looks at me, sometimes it makes me wonder if we are actually siblings, or if he was adopted,' thought Arya as he stared back at Gray.

***

A few more months passed, and Arya had gradually learned the basics of their language.

He was now able to say a few broken sentences, much to the surprise of his parents.

His mother often hailed him as a genius on par with Armin- his older brother-. However, this only made Gray resent him more.

'How can she compare that thing to Armin? How can we rely on him when we compare him to something so useless,' he would often think at the mention of Arya being a genius.

You see, Gray loved his family. As the eldest son, he put a lot of unnecessary responsibility on himself.

He would often think about things such as where they would get their food tonight, or if their parents were healthy.

He constantly felt as if he owed his parents something. Although he was just a baby at the time, he was told of the disappointed look on his father's face when the village midwife announced that he didn't have a gift for magic.

As if to make up for it, he worked two times as hard as he normally would.

When he heard that Streya would be born, he prayed that she would be born with an affinity for magic. That perhaps someday she would work hard enough to earn a proper life for their family.

However, his prayers were all for naught. Streya was born magicless as well.

For a few months, he blamed both Streya and himself for not being mages, but soon came to change his mind about her. As her older brother, he had a sort of protective instinct around her.

Years down the line and Armin was to be born. He didn't expect much from him, having already resolved to save the family himself. However much to his surprise, Armin was born a mage, and apparently a talented one at that.

As he watched his father jump for joy, he couldn't help but feel inferior to his little brother. That's not to say he hated Armin, no, quite the contrary, to him Armin was their savior.

He would constantly blame himself for not being good enough, for wasting resources that could've been used to start Armin's education, for being a useless child.

However, now that Arya was born, he had someone to imprint his anger on. Someone to take away the inferiority complex he once had off his mind.

And no one could blame him, from the point of view of a struggling child, an extra mouth to feed who couldn't even lift his own weight was as useless as they came.

"Mom, magic," said Arya in a clumsy manner.

Although he knew the words, he couldn't escape sounding like a baby.

"You want to learn magic, Arya?" asked his mother in a sweet tone, a slightly sad smile on her face as she looked at Arya.

"Uh-huh," he nodded in affirmation.

He had tried casting spells in his free time, but there seemed to be more to it because his spells would never activate.

"Give up, you magicless runt," scoffed Gray as he carried a few buckets of water into the kitchen.

"Gray!" his mother scolded, looking at him sternly.

"What? I'm only being honest, the faster the pipsqueak learns that he's useless, the quicker he can help in doing something usefu-"

His mother didn't let him finish. Her old warn-out sandal went flying towards him, smacking him across the face.

"I-I'm so sorry Gr-"

But before she could finish her sentence, Gray went running out of the room, tears streaming down his face.

'I didn't mean to. It's just that I don't like it when you talk about him like that,' she thought to herself.

"What does Gray mean?" asked Arya.

He already had the faint idea that he must be referring to him being unable to use magic. But to him, it sounded so absurd that one could tell whether someone would be unable to use magic when they were merely a baby.

"He meant nothing by it, dear. He's just cranky, that's all," she replied, picking Arya off the ground.

"You hungry?"

"N-No," he screamed.

Breastfeeding off his mother had been a very unpleasant experience. Every time he thought about it he felt guilty for doing it, even though he knew it had to be done.

"So no magic?" asked Arya in his babyish voice.

"Hmm, how about this. Why don't you ask your brother Armin to teach you? He recently learned a spell and might be happy to teach you," she smiled, carrying Arya off into the bedroom.

***

'I never had a father before, but are they always this quiet?' wondered Arya as he watched his father fix some of his old tools in silence.

Neel was a massive man, one would even mistake him for a bodybuilder. At 1.98 meters, he looked more suited to be a knight, however, circumstances prevented him from finding suitable jobs.

"Neel, you can't honestly be considering this. Arya was just born, and now you want to leave?" asked Arya's mother as she walked into the room.

"All the more reason darling. With an extra mouth feed, we won't be able to make do with the money I earn right now," he said, standing up to hug his worried wife.

'I wonder if this is how my mother would've been if she had a caring husband. Maybe she wouldn't have had to do the work she did. Maybe she wouldn't have died that way,' pondered Arya as he sat on the floor watching his parents embrace.

"So when are you leaving?" his mother asked, her face buried in his massive chest.

"In a week," he replied.

****