Age 0-1: The Learning Years

  The first year of Alec's new life passed in a haze of frustration and wonder. His adult mind, trapped in an infant's body, raged against the limitations of his form while simultaneously marveling at the new world he found himself in. Every day brought fresh discoveries about this realm called Aethermoor, about the Kingdom of Valethia, and about the curious family into which he'd been born.

  The Gothsend manor sat in the heart of Roderick's viscounty like a watchful stone giant. Built from local granite that had weathered to a warm gray, its walls were thick enough to withstand both winter storms and, if necessary, siege. Three stories tall with a fourth level comprised of towers and battlements, it was a fortress that had evolved into a home over generations.

  Alec spent his days being carried through these ancient halls by Mila or his mother, absorbing everything with the intensity of a scholar. The great hall stretched nearly the length of the manor's main floor, its vaulted ceiling supported by carved oak beams that depicted scenes of Gothsend victories. Tapestries hung between tall windows, their colors still vibrant despite their age—battle scenes, hunts, and one peculiar hanging that showed a figure with mismatched eyes standing beneath a star-filled sky.

  "That's the first Gothsend lord," Elenora had explained once, noticing his infant gaze fixed on the tapestry. "Marcus Gothsend, who earned these lands three centuries ago. They say he had eyes like yours—a gift from the gods themselves."

  Roderick had merely grunted at this tale, but Alec had filed the information away. Family legends often held kernels of truth, and his unusual eyes were clearly not unprecedented in the Gothsend line.

  Winter in the valley was harsh but beautiful. Snow piled against the manor's walls like white ramparts, and the wind howled through the peaks with voices that almost sounded like singing. Inside, the fires burned constantly, fed by servants who moved through the halls with practiced quiet. The smell of burning oak became as familiar as breathing, mixing with the scents of cooking food, beeswax candles, and the faint underlying odor of old stone that held centuries of history.

  Alec learned the rhythm of noble life through observation. Dawn brought the servants stirring to life—kitchen maids banking fires and starting the day's bread, stable boys trudging through snow to tend the horses, and guards changing shifts with quiet efficiency. Roderick would be up before sunrise, breaking his fast in the solar while reviewing reports from his reeves and bailiffs. Elenora rose later, spending her mornings in correspondence and household management before joining her husband for the midday meal.

  Evenings were spent in the solar, the manor's most comfortable room. Here, a great hearth dominated one wall while tall windows looked out over the snow-covered gardens. Elenora would work her embroidery while Roderick read letters or estate documents. Sometimes, when the winter storms were particularly fierce, minstrels or traveling merchants would shelter at the manor, paying for their board with news from the outside world.

  It was during one of these winter evenings that Alec first heard mention of troubles brewing beyond their valley.

  "More ravens from the capital," Roderick had said, settling into his chair with a dark expression. The magic stones in the solar's lamps pulsed with warm amber light as he activated them with a touch, illuminating the letter in his hands that bore the royal seal—a golden dragon coiled around a crown. "His Majesty grows increasingly... assertive in his taxation demands."

  Elenora's needle paused in its work. "The war in the eastern duchies requires funds," she said carefully.

  "The war in the eastern duchies requires many things," Roderick replied. "Funds, men, and apparently the patience of every lord in the realm. Duke Aldric's rebellion grows bolder by the month."

  Alec, propped in his mother's lap while she worked, absorbed every word. Even as an infant, he understood that the distant rumblings of war would eventually reach even this peaceful valley.

  Age 1-2: First Steps into Understanding

  As Alec grew from helpless infant to toddling child, his frustrations multiplied alongside his understanding. Walking came easily enough—his adult mind knowing exactly what muscles to control even as his infant body struggled to obey. Speaking proved more challenging, not from any physical limitation but from the peculiar social rules governing noble children.

  "Mama," had been his first clear word, spoken at eleven months—slightly early but not suspiciously so. "Papa" followed a month later, and Roderick had smiled with genuine warmth at hearing it.

  By his second birthday, Alec could speak in short sentences, though he carefully modulated his vocabulary to seem appropriately childish. Noble children were expected to be bright, but they were also expected to be children. Too much intelligence too early would raise uncomfortable questions.

  His second winter brought darker news from outside the valley. The rebellion led by Duke Aldric had spread like wildfire through the eastern duchies, drawing in minor lords who had grievances against the crown. More concerning were the reports of strange accidents and mysterious deaths among the king's supporters.

  "They say Duke Aldric has taken Millhaven," Elenora murmured to Mila one evening, believing Alec too young to understand. "The garrison surrendered without a fight. Apparently half of them had relatives in the duke's forces."

  Mila made the sign of prayer, fingers moving in the old gesture—forehead to lips, lips to heart. "This war sets brother against brother. May the gods bring swift resolution."

  Alec, playing with wooden blocks on the solar floor, accepted the news as another piece of the puzzle. Magic existed openly in this world—he'd seen numerous examples in his short life. His mother could activate the manor's magic stone lamps with a touch and a whispered word, while his father's sword held enchanted steel that glowed faintly when drawn. Several of the household staff performed minor magics as part of their daily duties, carefully rationing the mana stored in the manor's collection of refined monster stones.

  The lighting throughout Gothsend manor came from stones harvested from magical beasts and refined by alchemists into mana batteries. The higher-quality stones in the great hall and solar could draw ambient mana from the environment to slowly recharge themselves, though even these needed occasional renewal by someone with magical ability. The lesser stones lighting the kitchens and servants' quarters required regular recharging, a task that fell to Elenora or occasionally Roderick when his duties permitted.

  Elenora had explained once that roughly a quarter of all people could wield magic through chants, runes, and sigils, drawing on the mana that flowed through all living things. Another portion—perhaps one in six—channeled that same energy into martial pursuits, enhancing their strength, speed, or accuracy with weapons. The truly gifted, like his parents, could do both.

  "The stones are expensive," she'd told him during one of his lessons. "A single lamp stone costs what a farmer might make in a year. That's why most commoners still use candles and torches, unless they're wealthy merchants who can afford such luxuries."

  His education came primarily from his mother and the manor's small but well-stocked library. Elenora had been raised at court before her marriage, and she brought that sophisticated education to bear on her son's upbringing. She taught him his letters using illuminated manuscripts, pointing out the pictures while sounding out words.

  "This is the Chronicle of Kings," she explained one afternoon, an ancient tome spread before them. "It tells the story of every ruler of Valethia since the kingdom's founding."

  Alec stared at the painted figures—kings in armor, queens in flowing gowns, battles depicted in meticulous detail. One figure caught his attention—a man with a golden crown and eyes of different colors, one dark, one light.

  "Who is that?" he asked, pointing with a chubby finger.

  Elenora followed his gaze and sucked in a sharp breath. "That's... that's King Aldren the Starseeker. He ruled two hundred years ago. They say he could see the future in the movements of the stars."

  King Aldren. The same name as the Gothsend ancestor who'd supposedly shared Alec's unusual eyes. The coincidence felt too precise to ignore.

  Age 2-3: The Magic Stirs

  Alec's third year brought his first true encounter with magic.

  It started with small things—toys that moved when he looked at them with particular intensity, candles that seemed to burn brighter when he was in the room, moments when he could have sworn he heard whispers on the wind that no one else noticed.

  The first clear manifestation came during a temper tantrum.

  He'd been in the nursery with Mila, frustrated by his continued physical limitations and the careful way he had to monitor every word. When she'd denied his request to visit the library ("Young masters need their rest"), something inside him had snapped.

  "I want to go!" he'd shouted, and every magic stone lamp in the room had suddenly blazed with light so bright it was nearly blinding.

  Mila had shrieked, stumbling backward as the stones flared with intensity far beyond their normal capacity, casting harsh shadows that danced wildly across the walls. The stones dimmed back to normal levels almost immediately, but the moment had been unmistakable.

  "Sweet Serenne preserve us," she'd whispered. "You didn't... you couldn't have..."

  Alec had burst into tears—partly from shock, partly as a careful performance of confused innocence. But behind the tears, his mind raced. Magic. He could do magic. And if he wasn't careful, it would get him and his family into serious trouble.

  That night, he'd lain awake in his small bed, staring at the ceiling and wondering what else he might be capable of. In the darkness, he'd whispered experimental words, reaching out with instincts he didn't fully understand. A faint glow had emanated from his fingertips, visible only to him.

  Over the following months, he'd learned to control it, practicing only in the deepest hours of night when the manor slept. Small magics—creating lights, moving objects, once even coaxing a flower to bloom out of season. Each success brought a thrill of power and a spike of terror at what discovery might mean.

  Age 3-4: A Sister's Promise

  The summer of Alec's fourth year brought news that changed everything: Elenora was with child again.

  The announcement came during the midday meal, delivered with careful formality in the great hall. Roderick's expression had brightened with genuine pleasure, though his smile held the slight reserve that marked most of his emotional expressions. He'd raised his cup with proper ceremony, his voice carrying real warmth beneath its formal tone.

  "To the continued prosperity of House Gothsend," Roderick had said, and Alec could see the pride in his father's eyes even as he maintained his customary dignified composure.

  "And to the health of mother and child," added Elenora, her hand resting on her still-flat belly.

  Alec had felt a complex mix of emotions. Part of him looked forward to a sibling—someone who might share this strange new life, even if they wouldn't share his memories. But another part worried about divided attention, about whether a new child might reveal secrets better left hidden.

  As Elenora's pregnancy progressed, the manor took on a different rhythm. She spent more time resting, letting Alec read to her from books that were perhaps too advanced for a four-year-old but which she indulged because "my clever boy has such a fine mind."

  It was during one of these reading sessions that Alec learned more about the growing war.

  "The eastern duchies have declared for Duke Aldric," Elenora explained, folding a letter from her sister who lived in the capital. "They've named him the Rightful King and denounced His Majesty as a usurper."

  "Will the war come here?" Alec asked, injecting just the right note of childhood worry into his voice.

  "Your father won't let any harm come to us," she assured him, but her hand moved protectively to her belly. "House Gothsend has always been loyal to the crown."

  What she didn't say, but what Alec inferred from overheard conversations, was that Roderick had already begun preparing for the worst. More men-at-arms had been recruited from the local villages. The manor's defenses were being quietly strengthened. And most telling of all, Ravens flew between the manor and the capital with increasing frequency, bearing messages sealed with both royal and ducal stamps.

  The war was coming closer, like a storm Alec could feel in his bones.

  Age 4-5: The Sister Arrives

  Elenora's labor began on a cold spring morning when the last snows still crowned the peaks surrounding their valley. This time, Alec was old enough to understand what was happening, though he was kept well away from the birthing chamber.

  He spent the day pacing the solar like a cat, listening to the sounds that filtered through the manor's thick walls. Roderick was even more laconic than usual, spending most of the day in his study going through correspondence with grim determination.

  "Is Mama going to be alright?" Alec had asked when his father emerged briefly to check on him.

  Roderick had paused, studying his son with those watchful brown eyes. "Your mother is strong," he'd said finally. "She'll be fine. And soon you'll have a baby sister to protect."

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  Sister. Somehow, Roderick already knew. Perhaps Elenora had shared some intuition, or perhaps the midwife had ways of telling. Either way, Alec felt a surge of anticipation mixed with protectiveness for someone he hadn't even met yet.

  The birth cry, when it finally came as the sun was setting, was lusty and strong. Alec had been dozing in his chair when it echoed through the halls, jolting him awake. Within minutes, Mila appeared, beaming.

  "A daughter, young master! A beautiful, healthy daughter!"

  When Alec was finally allowed into the chamber—after the midwife had cleaned everything and Elenora had been made "presentable"—he approached the bed with careful steps. His mother looked exhausted but radiant, cradling a tiny bundle that seemed impossibly small.

  "Come meet your sister," Elenora whispered, her voice hoarse from effort.

  Alec climbed onto the bed with help from Mila, peering down at the red, wrinkled face that emerged from the swaddling. As he watched, tiny eyes opened and fixed on his face. They were a clear gray-blue, normal and beautiful.

  "What's her name?" he asked.

  "Clarisse," Elenora said, smiling. "Lady Clarisse Gothsend. She'll need her big brother to look after her."

  Alec reached out a careful finger, which tiny Clarisse immediately grasped with surprising strength. In that moment, he felt something settle in his chest—a fierce protectiveness that he'd never experienced before, not even in his previous life.

  "I'll protect her," he promised solemnly, and Elenora's smile deepened.

  "I know you will, my brave boy."

  Roderick entered a moment later, and his expression softened genuinely as he looked at his daughter, then at his son and wife. He leaned down to kiss both wife and child with obvious affection.

  "She's perfect," he murmured, and for the first time in months, he sounded completely at peace.

  The Gothsend Grandparents

  Two weeks after Clarisse's birth, when the spring air had warmed enough for comfortable travel, another set of visitors arrived at the manor. This time it was Roderick's parents—Viscount Gareth Gothsend the Elder and his wife, Lady Miriam Gothsend.

  The elder Gothsends came with a modest retinue. A simple carriage bore the Gothsend arms, followed by only four guards. But despite the modest procession, there was no mistaking the authority that emanated from Alec's paternal grandfather.

  Viscount Gareth Gothsend the Elder was a man in his early seventies, with steel-gray hair and the same brown eyes that had passed to his son Roderick. Where Roderick was built like a fortress—broad and immovable—his father carried himself like a seasoned blade—lean, sharp, and deceptively dangerous despite his age. His left arm bore evidence of old wounds, and he walked with a slight limp that spoke of battles long past.

  Lady Miriam, by contrast, was a woman of gentle warmth. Probably nearing seventy herself, she had soft silver hair always perfectly arranged and kind blue eyes that seemed to see everything. Her hands, though aged, were steady and graceful as she embraced her grandchildren.

  "So this is little Alec," Viscount Gareth the Elder said, studying Alec with the same intensity his son often displayed. "Six years old and already showing the look of a lord. Your letters spoke true, Roderick."

  "And those eyes," Lady Miriam breathed, cupping Alec's face gently in her hands. "Just like the old stories. Marcus the Starwatcher had such eyes, if the family histories are to be believed."

  Alec felt a chill of recognition. Another reference to his unusual eyes being connected to family history. How many Gothsends had carried this trait?

  "Grandfather Gareth," Alec said carefully, using the formal address he'd been coached on. "Grandmother Miriam. Welcome to our home."

  The old viscount chuckled, a sound like distant thunder. "Well-mannered, at least. Come here, boy."

  Alec approached, and his grandfather knelt—a motion that clearly cost him some effort given his old injuries. Up close, Alec could see scars crossing the man's weathered hands and neck.

  "A warrior's marks," Viscount Gareth noted, catching Alec's stare. "Earned in service to the crown during the border wars with the demon lands, forty years past. Each scar a lesson learned, a enemy defeated, or a friend saved."

  "Does it hurt?" Alec asked with genuine curiosity.

  "Every morning when I wake," the old man admitted with a grin. "But it reminds me I'm still alive to feel it. Remember that, boy—scars are proof you survived what tried to kill you."

  Lady Miriam clicked her tongue disapprovingly. "Gareth, you'll frighten the child with such talk."

  "Nonsense. The boy needs to understand the world isn't all comfortable manors and full bellies. War is coming, Miriam. Better he knows what that means now than learn it the hard way later."

  The elder Gothsends had come for the same reason as most noble families during these uncertain times—to visit family and escape the increasingly dangerous political situation near the capital. But their perspectives on the rebellion were markedly military-focused.

  Viscount Gareth focused on practical realities during their family dinners.

  "Duke Aldric has perhaps fifteen thousand men under arms," he reported bluntly, carving his meat with efficient precision. "Maybe twenty if he's convinced more of the eastern lords to join him. But they're spread across too much territory, trying to hold every city they've taken."

  "What of the King's forces?" Roderick asked.

  "Concentrated around the capital, mostly. Twenty-five thousand loyal troops, but His Majesty doesn't seem inclined to take the field personally." The old viscount's expression suggested what he thought of that decision. "Wars aren't won by sitting in comfortable councils."

  Lady Miriam interrupted gently. "Gareth fought in three separate conflicts during his service. He has... strong opinions about military leadership."

  "I have correct opinions," Viscount Gareth corrected firmly. "A king who won't lead his men into battle isn't a king worth following. But that's not our concern anymore, is it? We've done our service to the realm."

  Alec noticed how his grandfather's gaze lingered on baby Clarisse as he spoke. There was a fierce protectiveness there that reminded him of his own feelings toward his sister.

  "The rebellion won't reach our valley," Roderick said, though it sounded more like a hope than a certainty.

  "It'll reach everywhere eventually," Viscount Gareth replied grimly. "Civil wars have a way of spreading like fire through dry grass. The question isn't whether it'll come here—it's whether we'll be ready when it does."

  Over the course of their week-long stay, Alec learned much about his father's side of the family. The Gothsends were an old military family, with a tradition of service stretching back centuries. They'd earned their lands through sword and shield, defending the realm's borders against various threats.

  "Your great-great-grandfather rode with King Aldwin the Second when he pushed back the demon incursions," Lady Miriam told Alec during one of their long afternoons together. "Lost his right eye in the Battle of Thornwood, but saved the king's life. That's how House Gothsend earned its current holdings."

  She showed him a family tree worked into an elaborate tapestry, pointing out names and dates going back ten generations. Alec memorized every detail, understanding that knowing one's lineage was crucial for a noble.

  But it was his grandfather who provided the most practical education.

  "You're too young for real sword training," Viscount Gareth said, watching Alec play with wooden knights in the courtyard. "But you're not too young to understand tactics and strategy. Come here, boy."

  He drew lines in the dirt with a stick, representing armies and terrain. For the next hour, he explained basic military concepts—how cavalry charged, why high ground mattered, the importance of supply lines. Alec absorbed it all eagerly, his adult mind appreciating the tactical knowledge.

  "You have a head for this," the old viscount observed. "Good. Noble blood means responsibility, Alec. Someday you'll need to protect not just your family, but your people. Understanding war is part of understanding leadership."

  The visit wasn't just about military education, though. Lady Miriam taught Alec proper court etiquette, correcting his penmanship and showing him how to address various ranks of nobility. She was patient but exacting, clearly having been raised to high standards herself.

  "Presentation matters as much as substance," she explained. "A lord who cannot conduct himself properly in court is a lord who cannot represent his people effectively."

  But perhaps the most valuable lessons came from simply watching the family dynamics. Viscount Gareth and Roderick clearly respected each other deeply, but they were cut from the same cloth—reserved, practical, focused on duty. Lady Miriam provided the warmth that balanced her husband's stern demeanor, much as Elenora did for Roderick.

  "They've raised good children," Lady Miriam told Elenora privately, not knowing Alec was listening from the next room. "Roderick has grown into the man I hoped he'd become. And young Alec... there's something special about that boy."

  "He's bright," Elenora agreed carefully.

  "It's more than that," Lady Miriam mused. "He watches everything, understands more than he should at his age. And those eyes... they see things others miss."

  On their final evening, Viscount Gareth took Alec aside for a private conversation in his father's study.

  "Your father tells me you're quick to learn," he said, settling heavily into a chair. "That's good. You'll need to be quicker than most."

  "Why, Grandfather?"

  "Because you're marked as different, boy. Those eyes of yours—they're not just unusual, they're a sign. In the old days, men with such coloring were said to be touched by fate itself."

  Alec felt a chill run down his spine. "Touched how?"

  "That remains to be seen," Viscount Gareth replied cryptically. "But mark my words—you'll live through interesting times. The realm is changing, war is coming, and men like you... men marked by fate... they either rise to greatness or fall to ruin. There's rarely a middle ground."

  He leaned forward, his weathered face serious. "Your father is a good man, but he's cautious. Sometimes caution serves a lord well. Other times, bold action is what's needed. Learn to know the difference, Alec. Learn to know when to hold back and when to strike."

  "Yes, Grandfather."

  "And protect your sister," he added, glancing toward where Clarisse slept in her cradle nearby. "Family is everything. Power, land, gold—they all come and go. But family... that's what you fight for when everything else fails."

  The morning of their departure was emotional. Lady Miriam wept as she kissed both grandchildren goodbye, extracting promises from Elenora to send regular letters. Viscount Gareth clasped Roderick's arm in the warrior's farewell.

  "Stay strong, son," he said. "Protect what matters. And remember—sometimes the best way to avoid a war is to be so obviously ready for one that your enemies think twice."

  As their carriage rolled away down the valley road, Alec felt a sense of completion. He'd now understood more of his heritage, and gained valuable insights into the political and military situation facing the kingdom.

  But he also felt the weight of expectation settling on his young shoulders. From both sets of grandparents, the message was clear: great things were expected of him, whether he wanted them or not.

  Standing in the courtyard with his parents, watching the dust cloud of the departing carriage, Alec made another silent vow. He would live up to those expectations. He would protect his family, serve his people, and navigate the dangerous times ahead.

  The peaceful years of his childhood were clearly numbered. Soon, the lessons in strategy and statecraft he'd learned would be put to the test.

  War was coming, and the Gothsend family would be ready.

  Age 5-6: War Comes Home

  The rebellion that had simmered in the eastern duchies finally boiled over into full civil war during the winter of Alec's sixth year. The news came in fragments—ravens bearing increasingly desperate messages from the capital, merchants arriving with wild stories of battles and atrocities, refugees appearing at the manor's gates with hollow eyes and desperate tales.

  "They say Prince Marcus led a charge against Duke Aldric's forces at Millbrook," one refugee reported over a meal in the great hall. "Broke his cavalry against their shield wall. Hundreds dead, and the prince himself gravely wounded - barely alive when they carried him from the field."

  Alec had seen how Elenora had paled at this news. Prince Marcus had been the king's second son, known for his skill at arms and his attempts to negotiate a peaceful solution to the crisis. His wounding and the defeat at Millbrook meant the war had moved beyond any hope of peaceful resolution.

  The new reality settled over the manor like a heavy blanket. Guards walked the walls more frequently. The gates, once left open during daylight, now remained barred except for known visitors. Training sessions in the courtyard became more intense, with Roderick himself sometimes joining to drill with sword and shield.

  "Will Uncle Gareth be fighting?" Alec asked one evening as the family sat by the fire. Lyanna, now a year old, gurgled happily in her mother's arms while Alec worked on his letters.

  "Your uncle serves the crown with honor," Roderick replied carefully. "Count Gareth commands the northern army, defending the realm's borders."

  What he didn't say was that those borders were being pushed steadily inward. The rebels had captured two major cities and were threatening a third. Worse, rumors persisted of strange magics being employed by both sides—plagues that struck without warning, storms that seemed targeted, and warriors who fought with inhuman strength.

  It was during one of the worst spring storms that Alec's magic truly manifested for the first time in front of his parents.

  A raven had arrived bearing news of another defeat, and Roderick had been stalking through the manor like a caged wolf. Lyanna had been fussy all day, crying no matter what Elenora or Mila tried, and the continuous wailing had worn everyone's nerves thin.

  "Can't someone make her stop?" Roderick had finally snapped, his usual stoic control cracking.

  "She's just a baby," Elenora had replied, exhaustion making her voice sharp. "She can't help—"

  Lyanna's cries suddenly escalated to full screams, the kind that felt like needles in the ears. Alec, standing nearby, had felt something inside him respond to the sound—not just his protective instincts, but something deeper. Magic rose in him like a tide, and without thinking, he'd reached out with it.

  "Shh," he'd whispered, and his voice had carried something beyond human comfort.

  The manor had fallen silent.

  Not just Lyanna—though she had indeed stopped crying and was now looking at Alec with wide, fascinated eyes—but everything. The wind stopped howling outside. The fire stopped crackling. Even the servants in the halls seemed to pause mid-step.

  Alec had immediately realized his mistake. The silence was too complete, too unnatural. He'd pushed too much power into the gesture, affecting not just his sister but everything around them.

  His parents stared at him with expressions he couldn't read—shock, certainly, wonder, and perhaps a touch of concern about such power manifesting so young.

  "Alec," Elenora breathed. "What did you just do?"

  The spell—for lack of a better word—broke. Sound rushed back into the world like a dam bursting. Wind howled, fire crackled, and from somewhere in the kitchens came the sound of dropped crockery as servants resumed their interrupted tasks.

  "I... I just wanted her to feel better," Alec said, and it wasn't entirely a lie. "I didn't mean to..."

  Roderick and Elenora exchanged a look heavy with meaning.

  "Come here, son," Roderick said quietly.

  Alec approached cautiously. His father knelt to eye level, studying Alec's mismatched eyes with new intensity.

  "How long have you been able to do things like that?" Roderick asked.

  There was no point in lying anymore. "Since I was little. Small things, mostly. I tried to hide it."

  "Magic runs in noble families sometimes," Elenora said carefully. "Though usually not manifesting so young, or so strongly."

  "Or so precisely," Roderick added. "That wasn't wild magic, Alec. That was controlled, directed. Someone's been teaching you."

  "No one taught me," Alec protested. "I just... I can feel it. Like reaching out with my hand, but different."

  His parents exchanged another look, this one reflecting shared understanding about the need for discretion.

  "We'll need to be very careful," Elenora said finally. "Magic in one so young, especially during wartime... it could be seen as dangerous. Or useful."

  Roderick nodded grimly. "For now, this stays within the family. No magic in front of the servants, no matter how small. And certainly not in front of any visitors."

  "Yes, sir," Alec agreed quickly.

  "We'll begin your proper education soon," Roderick continued. "Letters and numbers, but also swordplay and the duties of lordship. If you're to have power, you'll need to understand responsibility."

  As if summoned by the mention of education, a new sound reached them from outside—the clatter of hooves on stone, approaching fast. A moment later, one of the guards called out:

  "Rider approaching! He bears the dragon banner!"

  A royal messenger. At this time of night, in this weather, it could only mean urgent news.

  Roderick rose, his hand instinctively moving to the sword at his hip. "Stay with your mother and sister," he told Alec. "Whatever news this brings, we'll face it together."

  As they waited for the messenger to be brought in, Alec felt the weight of his new reality settling around him. War was coming to their valley. His magic had been revealed. And somewhere beyond the storm-lashed peaks, the kingdom continued its slow slide toward chaos.

  But here, in this warm room with his family around him, Alec made a silent vow. Whatever came, whatever the cost, he would protect them. He had the power to do it now—he just had to be smart enough to use it right.

  The great doors opened, admitting a mud-splattered messenger who bore news that would change their lives forever. But that was a story for another day. For now, Alec simply held his sister a little closer and prepared for whatever storm was about to break over House Gothsend.

  As the messenger knelt before Roderick, rain dripping from his cloak onto the ancient stones, Alec caught sight of the royal seal that marked the message. A golden dragon coiled around a crown, wings spread in warning.

  The real war was about to begin. And Alec Gothsend, with magic in his blood and memories of another world in his mind, was ready to meet it.

  The first six years of his new life were ending. The true test of who he could become was about to begin.