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Almost 5 years later
1st Person POV (Michael Kira)
From the balcony of the highest tower in our estate, the entire capital looked like a toy set. I'd lean on the cold stone railing, my small hands barely fitting around it, and watch the tiny people move through the streets below. They were like ants in a colony, each with a purpose, a destination. But were they happy?
It's a question that always circles back in my mind. Why can't everyone just be happy? It seems like it should be simple. But then I'd see a royal carriage push a commoner's cart off the road, or hear the guards yelling at a hungry kid trying to steal an apple. People hurt each other, all the time, for reasons I can't understand. And if they hurt each other in the city, what did that mean for the war? My father spoke of it often, the endless, grinding war with the Diamond Kingdom. Why did entire kingdoms of people decide to fight and kill each other? It felt like a waste. A big, sad waste.
A sharp cracking sound pulled me from my thoughts. I looked down. The stone railing under my hands was splintered, a web of fissures spreading from my grip. I sighed, relaxing my fingers. This strength was a problem.
I checked my other hand. Nestled in my palm was a simple, fragile chicken egg. It was perfectly unharmed. For the past year, I've been carrying one around everywhere I go. It's a reminder. A tool for practice. Don't break the egg. Don't crack the railing. Don't hurt anyone.
I've always been too strong. Ever since I could remember, my body grew faster, and my muscles were denser than any other kid's. It's why I stopped trying to play with the other noble children. A simple game of tag could end with me accidentally pushing someone hard enough to break a bone. They would cry, their parents would get angry, and I would just feel… dangerous. So, I learned to be careful. I learned to control every movement, to measure every ounce of force. Most of the time, I had it under control now. The egg was proof of that.
My physical strength was one problem. My mana was another.
I was two years old when we found out. My caretaker, a kind woman named Elara, was helping me in the garden. A ten-year-old cousin of mine, a real piece of work with a perpetually upturned nose, came over. He looked at Elara, a commoner, as if she were something he'd scraped off his boot. He made some remark about her hands being dirty, that she shouldn't be allowed to touch a Kira. He humiliated her, ordered her around, and enjoyed the fear in her eyes.
I didn't understand all the words, but I understood the feeling. He was being cruel, and it made something hot and angry boil up inside my chest. I didn't mean for anything to happen, but the air around me suddenly felt heavy, thick like water. My cousin, who had been sneering a moment before, suddenly gasped and slammed into the ground as if a giant, invisible hand had shoved him down. He couldn't get up. He was just pinned there, sputtering, while a faint golden light started to radiate from my body.
That was the day my family discovered I had Radiance Magic, something they said was a purer, stronger form of light magic. For me, it was just another thing I had to learn to keep under control, another power that could hurt people if I wasn't careful.
Then, suddenly, a pair of warm arms wrapped around me, lifting me off the ground and into a tight, familiar hug that smelled like sunshine and lavender.
"WHAT IS MY LITTLE SUNSHINE DOING UP HERE ALL ALONE?"
I leaned back into her embrace without needing to look. Mother.
My mother, Lady Seraphiel Kira, was a different kind of noble. Where my father and uncle were all pride, politics, and ambition, she was pure warmth. She had this way of making everyone, from the King himself to the lowest-ranking kitchen servant, feel like they were the most important person in the world. She moved with a gentle grace, and her smile could calm a raging storm, or at least, it always calmed the storms inside of me. Her magic was called Celestial Magic. I'd seen it once or twice. When she used her power, beautiful wings made of pure light would appear on her back. It was all healing and protection. It was just like her.
My mother, was the picture of gentle nobility. Her hair was the same shade of gold as mine, though perhaps a shade paler, falling in soft waves past her shoulders. She often kept it pulled back in a simple, elegant braid that seemed more for practicality than for show. Her eyes were the color of a clear summer sky, and they held an honest warmth that made you feel completely safe.
"Just thinking, Mother," I said, my voice muffled by her shoulder.
She set me down but kept her hands on my shoulders, her kind eyes searching my face. "You think too much for a five-year-old, Mich. Would you like to come with me to the church? The children at the orphanage are always so happy to see you."
I agreed immediately. Going anywhere with her was better than staying cooped up in my estate.
The journey through the kingdom was always an experience. Riding in the carriage, I watched the world go by. The common realm was loud and messy, but it felt alive in a way the sterile noble realm didn't. As we passed, people would stop what they were doing. They would see the Kira family crest on the carriage, and their first reaction was usually caution. But then they would see my mother's face in the window, and everything would change. They'd smile, they'd wave, they'd call out her name. "Lady Seraphiel! A good day to you!" She was one of the few nobles who treated them not like trash, but like fellow citizens of the kingdom. She earned their respect, and it was clear they loved her for it.
The orphanage was a modest stone building attached to the main church. The second our carriage stopped, the doors burst open and a flood of children came running out, all yelling her name. They swarmed her, and she laughed, hugging as many as she could at once.
A few of the older kids came over to me. I was kind, but quiet. I didn't know how to play like they did, wild and carefree. We talked for a bit, and I listened to their stories. We all had lunch together, a simple but hearty stew that the head nun had prepared. Before we left, I saw Mother slip a heavy pouch of coins to the nun, who accepted it with tears in her eyes.
Watching her with them, so effortlessly kind and generous, made the admiration I had for her swell in my chest. She was everything I thought a noble, a human, should be.
The journey back started just as peacefully. Then, our carriage rounded a corner and came to a stop. Up ahead, a small crowd had gathered, blocking the street. In the center of it was a scene that made my stomach tighten.
A man, clearly a commoner from his simple clothes, was on his knees in the muddy street. Behind him, his wife was clutching their small daughter, her face pale with terror. The man was banging his head on the ground, over and over, apologizing frantically to a smug-looking man in expensive silk robes. A noble.
The story was easy to piece together from the whispers of the crowd. The little girl had been running, happy and laughing, and had accidentally bumped into the noble, causing him to step into a puddle. A tiny mistake. But for a commoner, a tiny mistake involving a noble could be a death sentence.
"My sincerest apologies, my lord! It won't happen again! Please, forgive her!" the father begged.
The noble looked down his nose at him, a sneer on his face. "Forgive her? Your brat ruined my imported leather boots. You will pay for the damages." He named a sum that was probably more than the family made in a year.
The father's face went white. He offered the few coins he had, but the noble just laughed. Then, his eyes slid over to the man's wife, and a creepy, predatory smile spread across his face.
"However," the noble said slowly, "if you cannot pay with coin... You can pay with service. Your wife can come work for me. As my personal maid."
Everyone knew what that meant. The father's desperate begging turned frantic.
I looked over at my mother. The warm, joyful woman I knew was gone. The smile was gone. The gentle light in her eyes was gone. In her place was someone I had never seen before. Her posture was ramrod straight, her expression was cold as ice, and her mana, which usually felt like a warm blanket, now felt like a razor's edge. It was the presence of a commander on a battlefield. It was the absolute, unyielding authority of the Founding Captain of the Golden Dawn.
She turned to me, her voice now a low, calm murmur that sent a shiver down my spine. "Mich, stay in the carriage. I will be right back."
She stepped out and began to walk toward the scene. The crowd parted for her like water before a ship's bow. The noble was still talking, enjoying the family's terror, when my mother reached him. He didn't even seem to notice her until it was too late.
"You will serve me well, I'm sure--" he was saying to the wife when a flash of golden light sliced through the air.
FWISH
The noble's arm, the one he had been pointing with, fell to the ground with a wet thud. He stared at it for a second, then at the stump of his shoulder, before he let out a piercing shriek of pain. A blade made of pure, golden light hovered in the air next to my mother's head.
The noble clutched his bleeding shoulder, his face contorted in agony and rage. "You! Who do you think--" He finally got a good look at her, and the recognition froze him mid-rant. "Lady Seraphiel!" He was still arrogant, even in his pain. "You can't do this! I'll take this to the Magic Knight Council! You can't just attack a fellow noble for disciplining these... these ants!"
My mother let out a soft, sweet giggle. It was the most terrifying sound I had ever heard.
"Is that so?" she said, her voice dripping with mock innocence. "And what if I were to tell the council that I caught you passing information to a spy from the Diamond Kingdom? I wonder who they would believe."
The noble's remaining color drained from his face. "You... you can't do that! That's a lie!" he stammered.
My mother took a step closer, her smile never reaching her cold eyes. "Who is going to question me?"
The noble's mouth opened and closed. There was no answer. He was beaten. Completely. He fell to his knees, apologized to the family he had been terrorizing, and threw a heavy bag of coins at them before scrambling away, clutching his wound.
Mother's cold aura vanished as quickly as it had appeared. The warmth returned to her eyes as she knelt and healed the father's scraped forehead and the mother's frayed nerves. The little girl, no longer crying, looked up at my mother with wide, worshipful eyes. "When I grow up," she whispered, "I'm going to be just like you."
Mother smiled, a real smile this time, and gently patted the girl's head. "Then be strong, and be kind."
Watching her, I felt that fire of justice I'd felt in the garden years ago ignite inside me once more. But this time, it wasn't just anger. It was admiration. It was a goal. Power wasn't just for hurting or for locking away. It could be used to protect. It could be a shield for the weak.
My mother was the kindest person I knew. And at that moment, I realized she was also the strongest.
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