The Burning Crib
Smoke stung my infant eyes as flames devoured the nursery drapes. Through the crackling roar, I heard retreating footsteps and a hissed whisper:
"Burn, abomination."
Isolde's work. My tiny fists clenched. At seven months old, I couldn't walk, couldn't scream for help—but I could feel my Omni-Core pulsing in panic.
The silver rattle Seraphina gave me grew painfully hot in my grip.
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First True Magic
I remembered dying.
Remembered golden magic bursting from my corpse.
Now I forced that power through undeveloped veins—not to stop the fire, but to steal its heat.
Flames froze mid-air, their orange tongues turning ghostly blue as energy poured into me. The temperature plummeted. Frost spiderwebbed across my crib.
Then—
CRASH!
The door splintered open. There stood Seraphina, her nightgown singed, violet eye wide. Behind her, guards gaped at the impossible scene:
A giggling baby surrounded by frozen fire.
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The Cover-Up
"Dark magic!" A guard crossed himself.
Seraphina moved faster than I'd ever seen. Her palm struck the man's neck in a precise chop.
"You saw nothing," she purred as he collapsed. The other guards stiffened when she drew a dagger from her sleeve. "Or shall I refresh your memories?"
Within minutes:
- The frozen fire was smashed to explain the "cold"
- The unconscious guard "drank too much"
- My crib was replaced
Only when we were alone did Seraphina lift me up, her hands shaking.
"Idiot," she hissed. But her eye gleamed with... pride?
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The Sword's First Whisper
That night, Seraphina smuggled me to the royal armory.
"Since you insist on nearly dying," she muttered, placing my hand on a blackened greatsword hung as a trophy.
The moment I touched it:
"...Finally. A wielder who stinks of death."
The voice scraped like rusted metal through my skull.
Seraphina smirked. "Say hello to your new teacher, little brother."
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