“Yaaarrgh” He yelled, activating his shadow wings and hovering over the ground in the backyard of the familial mansion. He was beaming.

“You see kiddo, this spell here is the hardest art to perform in our family, inherited from the Great himself, Nemerus Balmung.”

“And I, just, DID IT! Mwahahahaha,”

That man floating in the sky, and laughing like a crackpot, was my father. Despite him — being a noble — he had the rough manners and speech of a military man.

“This is so cool,” I said, marvel clear in my eyes, “Teach me! Teach me!”

“Whoa, whoa, sonnie, you are going way too fast,” he answered grinning, before gently landing.

“Though I like the enthusiasm, first you need to show me your magic,”

He paused, his face darkening before he went back to his

grinning face and added, “I thought about it and it still makes

no sense that you, my son, my first son at that would be

magicless.”

It wasn’t a secret — no one was too sure why — but in mage families, the strongest tended to be the firstborn child.

There was the obvious variable that they were older than their brothers and thus had more time to build their core and master it. However, if it was only that, it wouldn’t be such a visible trend.

After all, considering how liberal mages tended to be with the use of elixirs, any such minute differences of a few years would be bridged quickly.

Every once in a while, there would be an outlier.

They’d be born last, and somehow possess cores comparable if not better than their siblings.

One such outlier was Jaygraal the Sage of Snowy Fields.

He was known for his terrifying ice magic: an evolution of water magic only accessible to the most highly skilled water mages; that rendered him both versatile and dangerously lethal. A good rival of dad, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

Still, these exceptions were exactly that, exceptions.

Exceptions supposed to confirm the accepted rule. The rule according to which I should have had every odds to succeed.

Me, a firstborn being a broken vessel while having the best odds of success, made little sense. And thus dad still tried to make me absorb magic.

“Now sit, I don’t know what’s funky with your core, but we’ll do something ‘bout it.”

I sat obediently.

The ground was cold due to the morning dew, but having my bum a little wet for getting my core fixed was more than worth it.

“Good, good, now breathe and close your eyes. No matter what happens, don’t open them.”

“Hmmm, sure,” I mouthed while closing my eyes.

“Also, it’s gonna hurt,” He added snickering.

“What?” My eyes tightened.

As he put his hand on my chest and tried to circulate mana in my body, my whole body tensed up.

“Argh...” I said through clenched teeth

“Good, good, look at this dark mana flowing in; I knew you had it in you,” He said gleefully.

“The pain will stop soon, now try to keep the mana coming after I remove my hand”

“Remember how I circulated my mana in your channels”

“O.... kay.... gmghg,” I said, my teeth clenching even harder.

“And here we, go!” He said as he removed his hands from my chest.

“Oooh, it feels good, it feels good, dad is it working?” I said, glee in my voice. Mostly because the pain was gone.

In the absence of an answer, I knew something had gone wrong but kept my eyes closed, maybe it was just in my head. Maybe he was just observing.

I convinced myself of that and waited.

Soon, unable to run away any longer, I opened my eyes and turned my head toward him.

Slowly.

As I feared.

A look of disappointment on his face.

‘Oh,’ I said inwardly ‘it doesn’t look good.’

After a moment of silence, as if he had finally noticed me, he spoke.

“How do I say that?” He paused, looking for words, “Seeing you draw this high-quality dark mana, it seems your affinity isn’t half bad, it might even trump mine as much as I hate to say it”

“R- really, so did it work?” I asked, suddenly hopeful again.

“Well, that’s the thing. It stopped as soon as I removed my hand.”

“Your affinity by itself is useless if you can’t draw mana.” He said, seeming in deep thought — in his usual eye closed, head low, hands behind the back pose.

He then looked at me again and with a half-convinced smile said, “Arh, don’t worry about it, this is only the first session, I will find something”

#

After the revelation that I was a broken vessel, my dad started treating me more coldly. He still smiled at me whenever he looked at me, and actually spent all of his off time with me, but while before this time was filled with pure fun and banter, he now seemed obsessed with one thing and one thing only.

Fixing my core; making me release even a speck of magic by myself.

As time passed, weeks became months and after the first such session had followed hundreds; it was clear that my dad who had been until now so adamant in this pursuit, had cooled down, calling me less and less.

Mom’s pregnancy was progressing, and I had an innate feeling that if I wasn’t fine by the day he was there, I would definitely be replaced.

‘Am I irreparably broken?’, I drifted in my thoughts, the grassy smell from the backyard filling my nostrils.

‘No- no way!’ I thought as I lay on my back.

‘What can I do? What can I do? What can I do?’ I thought, trying my best to rein in my anxiety.

The most proficient light mages, Godmothers, and Godfathers had been repeatedly summoned at our manor at a great cost, their magic rumored to raise the dead, utterly useless.

A plethora of elixirs and weird decoctions from ancestral magical books were fed to me — yet again at a great cost — father sparing no money and ingredients if there was even a 1% chance of it working; except stress and guilt, no effects.

Multiple sessions upon sessions of training for the sake of opening my mana pathways, with the hope that if enough mana flowed through my body, with enough stimulation, the faulty core would with time fix itself.

This hope — the only thing left — was dashed after a few months of persistent efforts when father realized there wasn’t even a smidgen of change.

What can I do!?

I thought, laying in the garden, waiting to be summoned. Racking my brains for a solution, wondering what exactly was wrong with me. Why was I born with that curse?

What was for sure was that staying there moping would be pointless.

Then what the hell could I do?

There has to be something that can be done.

‘I’ll look for it. I have to! I can’t give up yet.

Please, father, wait for me. ‘

Unable to stay there, wasting my day in bed any longer, I ran to father’s office.

In front of it, a man was standing, checking that no one uninvited loiters around.

I asked him for permission to talk to father.

There was one room in that mansion where I could maybe find answers, the family archive; if there was something to be found, it had to be there. But you could only get there with the seal of the current Balmung head, in other words, dad.

“Hello young Duke, how can I help you?” The man standing guard said, his tone stern and monotone. Through his internal energy, I could see he was nothing impressive, still much better than me.

“I have to talk to father.”

“Then I am sorry to say, but I have received no order to let you in, you’ll have to wait.”

“But”

“No ‘but’ young master, as I said you’ll have to wait”

“Hmph”, I moaned, sulking.

‘He doesn’t get it, does he? I don’t have any time to waste. Every second counts.’ I thought to myself.

“Hmph,” I said puffing my chest and cheeks in anger and annoyance, “Alright.”

If he wouldn’t let me in, I’d figure something, somehow.

I circled the manor and as I approached the back door; I left and went outside towards the courtyard. Then from there, I looked for the window of father’s office.

“There.. yes that one.”

There were no trees close to the window making the endeavor of getting in nigh impossible.

‘I just need to talk to him.’

I started looking around the garden for rocks; rocks that could be thrown. I knew I’d get in trouble for that, but I couldn’t waste time. If I could just hit the window and get him to open it to see what was happening, I’d explain the rest after.

After having found a good selection of throw-able rocks, I placed myself at a distance at which I could easily target the window.

Once placed, I roused myself and envisioned the trajectory that my projectile would take in the air.

‘Yes, it’s perfect! Alright, this will work!’ I thought.

Then, as that was settled, I grabbed the first rock of the stack and launched it toward the window with all my strength.

‘Yes."

“yes.”

“noo..”

“aaargh!” I groaned.

While the rock started its ascension according to the expected trajectory soon, it fell off due to a lack of inertia, hitting the wall with a dull *plop*.

‘Screw that one! Another one!’

Same result.

‘Another one!’

Same result.

[…]

‘Ah-another one!’ I said panting, ‘it will work this time!’

Yet again, the rock fell off its path, hitting the wall instead. And as I went to pick another rock for yet another blind faith attempt, I realized that the pile of rocks had dwindled to nothingness.

‘Yea.. this won’t work,’ I was forced to realize before looking for an alternative plan.

‘Instead of mindlessly throwing rocks hoping that one of them will somehow reach farther, is there something I can do to increase the power of my throws?’

‘Oh, what about this!?’

I wasn’t sure how properly I’d be able to make it, but I knew it was possible. After all, wasn’t that one of the warrior disciplines dad kept making his man practice?

The hammer throw?

That was it, that was it! I ran around the area looking for the rocks I had just thrown and scrutinized them.

‘Not this one’ Too small,

‘Not this one’ Too square,

‘Not this either’ Too flat,

[…]

‘None of them works’

‘Aaaaaand this,’ I thought, picking a random rock that had caught my eye then. ‘this doesn’t work either’

I thought, throwing the innocent rock away in annoyance.

I had pre-selected the last batch of rocks for being easy to throw, so it wasn’t surprising that none of them were big enough to constitute a throwing mass for a hammer, but I was sure that among them there would be something more... grip-able.

Sadly, the one rock I had in mind when grabbed didn’t feel comfortable

‘Well, let’s search,’ I sighed.

Yet again, rousing myself for the task at hand.

A good 20 minutes later, I had finally obtained my two grails: a more elongated, but still light rock that would make the perfect handle; as well, as a slightly bigger one, which looked like an almost perfect sphere.

Here we go!

‘So now I need something to tie them together....’

‘Plants? No that’d be too brittle. Then roots? No that too, plus mom would kill me.’

‘Then..’

‘then..’

‘no...’

‘hair?’

‘No no no no...’

For as far as I remembered, I had never been shaved and as a result, my hair was really long.

Reaching my waist-kind-of long.

Since our affinity with dark mana was foretold by the color of our hair, it was unthinkable to even consider cutting it. Unless one had been defeated in battle.

But quickly, I started scolding myself. ‘What counts more your hair, or your core?’

‘My core. But,’ I doubted.

‘Do what you have to do.’’

‘No..’’

‘Then do you want to stay a disappointment?’’

‘No!’

‘You don’t have a choice’ I slowly convinced myself.

I stared blankly at the horizon before coming to terms with the decision.

‘Hair can always regrow, right? I have to talk to dad right now. I can’t waste time.’

I breathed in, and when I was ready, I ran inside. And straight toward the kitchen, I headed.

Quick.

Quick.

Quick.

Every second counts!

As I arrived there, the cooks seemed to be cooking as the head chief shouted orders. In a big and somehow pristine kitchen, they were toiling to prepare the meals for tonight.

“Heave-ho”

“Heave-ho”

They sang in unison, their battle cries filling the room, and offering me the confidence that they wouldn’t see me.

‘Knives where are the knives!’ I thought to myself.

“YOUNG DUKE!” The head chief said in surprise and discomfiture, “What are you doing here!?”

Somehow, noticing me in all that noise.

“I came for a knife, sir?” I blurted, before stopping to consider it.

“You came for a what?” He replied, perplexed.

“I need a knife to cut my hair,” I said matter-of-factedly.

He didn’t take it quite as matter-of-factedly. “Cut your what..? Young Duke, are you perhaps sick?”

“Oooooh,” He said as he pretended to fall unconscious, fanning himself with his hands.

“I can’t begin to imagine what would happen to the one foolish enough to allow you to do that”

“You’re a BALMUNG, do you realize that!?”

“Your hair is your honor! Sorry, Young Duke, I can’t allow that.”

“I do not care about honor. What I need right now is power!” I told him.

“I understand the -“

I threw myself on the ground to beg. I didn’t even look at him. I truly couldn’t care less about honor. In retrospect, if dad had known of me begging, I would probably have gotten into bigger problems than for simply cutting my hair.

But, all I wanted was to solve that problem as soon as possible.

“Please, sir..”

“...”

“Sorry... but,” he said

‘I didn’t let him finish, my brain immediately settling on something else.

‘Wait... I am in a kitchen, right?’

“I understand... then... can I borrow some of that thread you used to wrap the baked Ostraff?” I said, lifting my head enthusiastically, happy to realize I didn’t have to cut my hair anymore.

“Cooking twine?” he replied “For sure, but first please stand up. It’ll seriously get me in trouble if anyone happened to see this.”

“Oh, yes,” I said, jumping to my feet.

"Thanks a million!” I said — beaming — before running as fast as I could to the outside.

With this, my hammer could be made.

Once outside, it didn’t take too long to attach the rocks together.

It didn’t need to be unbreakable, it just needed to resist long enough to be thrown and reach the window.

So once that was done, I placed myself.

‘Sooo.. how did they throw it again?’

I thought as I walked myself through my memories.

‘Yes. it’s coming back.‘

‘It looked something like that.’

I practiced a couple of times.

Shadowing their movements as closely as possible.

Shadowing their movements until it felt somewhat natural,

and once there, I shadowed some more.

Swings,

Transfer,

Spins,

Release.

Only once the movement started to feel like second nature did I grab the hammer.

‘Here goes nothing.’

I put myself at the optimal spot for a throw and then started spinning.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

AND

THROW!

“YAAAAAAAAAAAA!” I yelled, trying to prime myself. I looked at the trajectory and it flew well, well farther than everything else I had thrown before.

More than that, it reached the window.

“YES!”

Then it broke it.

“uh-oh..” I said as a droplet of sweat slid down my cheek.

“...”

“I am dead...”

Aura started to leak into the garden, as a mass of mana inside the room started swelling.

It was father, and he was angry!

##

Nathanael Balmung was peacefully doing paperwork in his office. Many things were running circles in his mind, among which was the frustrating situation of his sons — his first born and the one that had yet to be.

Nothing had worked.

Nothing had worked.

Nothing had worked at all.

Not even a smidgen of progress had been made, and clearly, his thoughts about his progeny were getting darker and darker.

‘What good would such a weak son be amongst the Balmungs’

Which was why, when that projectile broke his window, he was more than ready to kill the one who had been foolish enough to add annoyance on top of his already full plate of confusion and despair.

“WHO IS THE FOOL WH- ” He said as he started rousing his mana and releasing his battle aura, he wasn’t even a tad bit worried. Fully confident that anyone who had dared attack him would die shortly by his hands, he was, however, thoroughly annoyed.

“Oh, you-” His annoyance soon turned into confusion.

“A rock..? a hammer? Pretty shabby, but that’s definitely a hammer. Who?”

As he approached the broken window, he saw his son, worried, running around in circles. He at first thought that his son had somehow awoken to magic, but thinking about the contraption that was now laying on the floor, this thought was quickly brushed away...

His thoughts were complex, but what was for sure that somewhere in this cocktail of emotion, genuine surprise could be found.

“BOY!” He said his voice like a rumbling of thunder.

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAARH!”

###

I am dead. I am dead. I am dead. I am dead.

“BOY!”

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARH!” I yelled, as dad’s thunderous voice dragged me out of my thoughts.

“I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry!” I said, genuinely terrified. I remembered what had happened the last time I had broken dad’s tableau.

The mere thought made me shudder.

“BOY!” He repeated.

“YES!” I said under stress, tears silently flowing as I stood there waiting for my punishment.

“Calm down, it does not befit a man to cry”

‘Uh?’’ I thought before replying

“Yes.. sir!”

“Uh?” He said annoyed.

“Sorry.. yes.. dad”

He sighed as if he was already tired of this whole discussion.

Before adding,

“Come up.”

“...”, I stared for a bit, before realizing what had just been said.

“uh uh Oh YES!”

Somehow, I had still achieved my goal.

Archives, here I come!

[…]

I entered the big room of the office, the man I had met before looking at me with a weird eye as he wondered what exactly I had done to be summoned.

As I entered, I bowed and as father allowed me to sit I went to the left of the room, towards the couch he had there for just these occasions.

“Explain yourself,” He said, his tone unreadable.

“Uh-oh yes..”

I then explained to him this whole process, about how I wanted to talk to him to get access to the family archive, about the many fruitless throws, about the hammer I had made (conveniently leaving the part about me thinking of cutting my hair) and after that, I closed my eyes.

I knew that while he hadn’t exploded outside and had told me to stop crying; it didn’t mean I’d be spared.

So I closed my eyes the same way one would, knowing he was no longer in control of his fate. I expected the worse.

To my surprise, however, nothing came.

In fact, breaking the silence, a silent giggle soon erupting into a full-blown laugh filled the room.

‘Uh?’

‘What’s happening?’

‘Why is he laughing?’

Soon enough, he answered that question himself.

“Hahahahaha.. the family archives, and a hammer, at five? HAHAHAHA, this is too ridiculous! Did you really? Can you even read yet?”

‘Can I read? Yes... isn’t that normal?’

I thought before affirming, confused. “Yes, what about it?”

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA a 5-year-old that can read, oh wow oh wow oh wow thanks for the laugh this was amazing”

Shortly after, he did a double-take.

“Say it again? You can what now?”

“Yes. I can read..”

“Since when?” He asked perplexed.

“These times when you invited me in and you worked on your papers, sometimes you’d read out loud, so I think I got it from there.”

“Hahahahaha... wait, that’s not funny at all...”

“... you’re serious?”

I nodded.

He looked at me with renewed eyes. An amused grin on his face — this same warm grin I had been yearning for, for months now.

“Interesting, I guess you just made things very interesting”