"Mira calls out as she knocks on the door."
The soft rhythm of her knuckles echoed faintly through the dimly lit room. Golden sunlight filtered through half-drawn curtains, dust motes drifting lazily in the warm morning air.
"Hector," her voice rang out, patient yet firm. "You awake yet?"
From beneath a fortress of blankets, a muffled groan answered her. Then came his voice—gruff, half-asleep, but laced with dry sarcasm.
"Who has the nerve to wake me up this morning? Is he or she trying to start a war against humanity?"
The door creaked open, revealing Mira's bright hazel eyes and playful smirk. "Maybe you should try telling Dad that directly," she said. "I don't mind helping you out though."
Hector rolled over, burying his face in his pillow before sighing dramatically, as though surrendering to a cosmic force beyond his control.
"Fine, fine, I'm coming. But if I die of boredom, you're to blame."
Mira chuckled, stepping inside and tugging open the curtains. Light poured into the room, golden and sharp.
"You say that every morning," she teased. "And yet, here you are—still alive, still complaining."
"Unfortunate, isn't it?" he replied, stretching lazily, his dark hair in a messy disarray. His tone was half-grumble, half-performance. "What could it be this time? The last time he called us this early, he made us sit through a two-hour lecture about family honor. My ears are still traumatized."
---
The Auren'del Estate
The morning chill faded as they stepped out of Hector's room and into the grand corridor of the Auren'del Estate. The manor sat on the outskirts of Verrindale Village, a quiet settlement nestled within the northern hills of the Kingdom of Elaine.
The estate itself was vast—an architectural masterpiece of crimson roofs and silver-lined spires. Enchanted vines wove across its walls, blooming with faintly glowing petals that shimmered under sunlight. Streams of warm mana trickled invisibly through the air, feeding the household's protective wards. Even the soil beneath their feet had once been blessed by ancient flame—an enchantment said to keep the grounds fertile and ever warm, even through winter's frost.
To the villagers, the Auren'dels were living legends—nobles bound to the northern border, protectors of the flame that symbolized their ancient covenant with the kingdom. To Hector, however, they were simply his family—loud, proud, occasionally overbearing, but undeniably alive.
He recalled a conversation he once had with his mother, where she showed him the family tree inscribed in golden ink upon parchment.
At the top stood Lord Alaric Auren'del, Patriarch of the Main House—renowned for his flame that burned with divine blue, said to mirror the purity of his soul. Beneath him branched two lines:
Lord Theren Auren'del, his grandfather's younger brother, from whom Hector's own family descended.
And from Theren's bloodline came two sons: Caelan and Elias Auren'del.
Lord Caelan, Hector's uncle, now held the title of Head of the Northern Branch, a man known for his mastery of controlled flame and his calm leadership.
Elias Auren'del, Hector's father, served as his right hand—an advisor and strategist whose fire magic was less about destruction and more about precision and balance.
Then came the siblings: Selene, the eldest—calm, composed, and terrifying when angered; Theron, the eldest son, whose boisterous energy filled any room he entered; Hector, ever the reluctant prodigy; and Mira, the youngest, all light and laughter.
"Well, I haven't met anyone from the main family," Hector muttered as they walked down the long, marble-floored hall, sunlight spilling through towering stained-glass windows. "No cousins, no uncles, no aunts… well, except for Unc—"
He stopped mid-sentence as a powerful voice boomed from across the courtyard.
"Hector. Mira. Over here."
---
The siblings hurried outside, boots tapping against the cobblestone path.
In the training courtyard stood Elias Auren'del, his presence commanding yet composed. His hair, silver with faint red undertones, shimmered beneath the morning light. The faint distortion around him was unmistakable—mana so dense it bent the air itself, rising like heat from an invisible fire.
"Today," he began, voice deep and calm, "you will both learn the foundation of our family's magic—the Auren'del Flame."
Mira's eyes brightened instantly. Hector's slouched posture stiffened, his earlier boredom dissolving into alert curiosity.
"Finally," he murmured under his breath, "what good is this second life if I don't use magic?"
Elias gestured, and from behind him stepped another figure—Lord Caelan Auren'del, tall, broad-shouldered, and radiating quiet confidence. The head of the Auren'del branch regarded the two children with a calm smile that somehow carried authority.
He raised his right hand.
A single flame flickered to life in his palm—not a wild blaze, but a steady, serene light. It floated perfectly centered, glowing gold at its edges and pulsing gently like a living heart.
"This flame," Caelan said, his voice even and resonant, "is not mere fire. It answers to the soul. When your heart wavers, the flame will flicker. When your resolve strengthens, it will burn brighter. Master it—and it will turn blue, the mark of purity and harmony between body, mind, and mana."
Elias folded his arms. "The Auren'del Flame isn't about destruction. It's about control. True mastery begins not in battle, but in balance."
Hector frowned, squinting at the flickering light. "But wait—how are we supposed to make fire pop out of thin air? That sounds harder than it looks."
His father chuckled softly. "It's not as mysterious as you think. The first step is sensing your mana. Every living thing, every stone, every breath of air carries mana. The world itself was born from it. Learning to feel and channel that essence is the first step. When you can sense it, you can ignite it."
"The key," Caelan added, "is your imagination. Fire listens to those who dream in heat and light."
"Alright!" Mira cheered, determination gleaming in her eyes. She immediately began mimicking her father's movements, her small hands glowing faintly.
Hector stretched his fingers, cracking his knuckles. "Let's see what this soul-fire business can do," he said, a spark of excitement lighting his otherwise lazy tone.
---
The courtyard soon shimmered with scattered sparks. Mira, focusing intently, managed to produce a small ember that hovered between her palms—a fragile flicker that refused to die out. Her face lit with triumph.
"I did it! Look, Hector!"
Hector smirked, ready to show off. He closed his eyes, drawing in a deep breath. Focus on the flow, he told himself. Mana is energy, oxygen is fuel, heat is the spark. Easy.
A faint puff of smoke rose from his fingertips. Then nothing. Then another puff. Then—
WHOOSH!
A sudden burst of fire exploded forward, nearly searing the edge of his shirt. His collar smoldered.
"Ah, great!" he coughed, waving away the smoke. "I swear the pan exploded, not me!"
Above them, from the balcony of the second floor, Theron's laughter echoed. "Looks like someone's having fun!"
Hector glared up, his face darkened with soot. "Oh, you think this is funny?"
Theron leaned over the railing with a grin. "You just burned your collar off, little brother. I'd say that's hilarious."
Mira snorted, barely suppressing her giggle. "You mean eventually, not accidentally," she said, holding her tiny flame like a trophy.
Elias only sighed, hiding a smile behind his hand. "Control is more important than power," he said as he turned to leave. "Remember that, Hector."
As the adults left, Hector blew out a deep breath, his frustration simmering. He stared at his hand, small traces of red mana still dancing around his fingers.
"Well," he muttered, "I pretty much get the whole thing. Fire needs oxygen and fuel to burn, and mana's like the cheat code that helps manipulate those elements. There—we have flame."
He grinned proudly to himself. "All this blundering is just acting. I don't want too much attention or responsibility. I'm a man who hates responsibility."
Mira blinked at him in disbelief. "That's… not something to be proud of, you know."
He only shrugged, eyes glinting with quiet amusement.
---
When the training ended, the twins walked through the gardens, the afternoon breeze brushing through red tulips and charmed lilies that glowed faintly at dusk. The estate's enchantments hummed gently—a soft, eternal heartbeat of flame.
Hector looked around and smiled faintly. I never thought I'd fit this perfectly in a new family, in a new world.
In his old life, things had been gray—monotone routines, endless work, a world that measured worth by exhaustion.
Everyone did their own thing, he thought. Nobody cared. No warmth. No spark.
But here—his parents cared. His siblings teased and laughed. The world pulsed with magic. The air felt alive.
I can't slack off as much as I want, he admitted inwardly. But maybe… that's not such a bad thing.
He smiled, eyes reflecting the sunset. Goodbye, old workaholic me.
---
Night descended upon the Auren'del Estate like a curtain of velvet. The servants extinguished their lanterns one by one, leaving the halls bathed in silvery moonlight.
Hector lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Sleep refused to come. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the flicker of flame at his fingertips—the pulse of mana that danced just beneath his skin.
Eventually, curiosity won over rest. He slipped quietly from his bed, careful not to wake Mira in the next room, and padded barefoot through the marble corridors.
The silence was absolute, broken only by the soft echo of his footsteps. The moonlight spilled through arched windows, glinting off the gold-trimmed portraits that lined the walls—ancestors of the Auren'del family, each painted with a burning flame somewhere near their hearts.
He passed through the grand hall, past the indoor fountain whose waters shimmered faintly red from enchanted minerals. His wandering feet carried him toward the west wing—a section seldom visited, said to house the older archives and sealed relic chambers.
The air grew colder the deeper he went. The mana that normally hummed around the estate seemed weaker here, thinner—as though the enchantments dared not intrude.
He reached an old corridor lined with cracked stone and faded murals depicting battles of flame and shadow. His fingers trailed absently across the wall when he felt something—an indentation, subtle but unnatural.
He leaned closer. A small pattern, half-buried beneath dust, formed the crest of the Auren'del—a flame within a circle. He pressed it.
Click.
A soft mechanical hum stirred behind the wall. Then, with a low groan, a section of the stone slid aside, revealing a narrow spiral stairway that descended into darkness. Cold air spilled out, carrying the faint scent of old parchment, scorched wax, and something else—something ancient.
Hector froze. His heartbeat quickened, each thump echoing in his ears. "What's this…?" he whispered.
The shadows below seemed alive, shifting faintly as though inviting him. He hesitated—every rational thought told him to turn back, to fetch his father or uncle. But curiosity… curiosity burned hotter than fear.
He lifted his hand, summoning a faint ember. A small flame flared to life, hovering just above his palm—unstable, but enough to light the steps ahead.
He exhaled slowly. "Guess we're doing this," he murmured.
Step by step, he descended into the unknown. The stone beneath his feet grew damp. The air turned heavier. His small flame flickered, reflecting off distant metal, off shapes he could barely make out.
And then—at the bottom of the stairway—he saw it.
A vast chamber, hidden beneath the estate. Rows of old shelves lined the walls, filled with scrolls, crystals, and relics sealed in glass. And at the center, on a raised pedestal, burned a flame unlike any he had ever seen—dark, cold, yet burning blue at its edges, as though it existed between fire and shadow.
Hector's breath caught in his throat. The light of his small flame dimmed in the presence of the larger one. His mana quivered instinctively, reacting to the eerie resonance of that impossible fire.
He took a hesitant step forward, eyes wide.
"What… is this?"
His voice barely carried through the stillness.
The strange blue flame flickered faintly, and for a brief moment—he swore it moved.
---
End of Chapter 2
What mystery lies within the depths of the Auren'del Estate?