Morning had risen over Edelstadt, the capital of the kingdom.
The rooftops were still covered in dew, and light filtered softly through the stained-glass windows of a large house on the eastern side of the noble quarter.
Ashen opened his eyes.
He was no longer in the street. Nor in a cage.
He was lying in a warm bed, beneath a thick blanket. It took him several seconds to remember what had happened.
The mage.
The meeting.
Then, nothing.
A gentle voice echoed from behind the door:
— Ashen? Are you awake?
He jumped, pulled from his thoughts. The door opened slowly, and a man in his fifties entered, wearing a blue robe embroidered with golden threads. His gaze was kind, benevolent. His name was Caldor.
— Did you sleep well? he asked.
Ashen nodded, wary. He sat up, his hands trembling.
— I... I don't understand why you helped me.
Caldor smiled.
— Because you seemed alone. And tired. And because no child should be begging in the streets of Edelstadt.
He handed him a new tunic and boots.
— Come. I'll show you the house.
Caldor gave him a tour of the place. Polished wooden stairs, overflowing bookshelves, smoking potions in hanging flasks. Ashen walked like a thief, looking everywhere without daring to touch anything.
They passed three teenagers in a hallway. Two boys and a girl, clearly well-born.
— Who's that? asked one, chin held high.
— Another street rat? sneered the girl.
Ashen lowered his gaze. He knew that tone. Too well.
— He is under my protection, Caldor said sharply. I suggest you treat him with respect.
The three youths walked away without another word, but their looks said enough.
In a circular room, Caldor invited him to sit in front of a black stone placed on a marble pedestal.
— This is a soulstone, he explained. It detects latent magical energy. Place your hand on it.
Ashen remained still. His gaze hardened.
— ...It's useless, he said.
— Why?
Ashen hesitated. Then, for the first time in years, he told the truth:
— Because I don't have magic. No power. Nothing.
That's why they cast me out of my family.
A useless son. A shame. I grew up without ever seeing the slightest spark.
Not a breeze, not a drop. Just... emptiness.
He turned his head, expecting mockery, reproach. But Caldor said nothing. He merely watched him.
— And yet, the mage murmured, when I saw you in that street, there was something. An aura. A tension. A pain so strong... it warped the air around you.
Ashen clenched his fists.
— That's not magic. It's hatred.
Silence.
Then Caldor stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder.
— Sometimes... that's enough to ignite a flame.
Days passed. Ashen slowly grew used to this new life.
He ate three times a day. Slept in a bed. Studied the basics of magic, even if he didn't believe in it yet. Caldor never forced anything. He didn't ask questions about the past.
One evening, as they dined alone, Ashen asked:
— Why do you treat me like this? As if I were... normal.
Caldor replied without hesitation:
— Because you could be my son. And if I had a son, I'd want him to have a chance, even if he's broken.
Ashen lowered his head. His throat tightened. He said nothing.
He had never had a father. Not a real one.
— I want to learn, he murmured.
Caldor smiled.
— Then you shall learn.