The thunder woke Kael before the sun.
It wasn't unusual. In Stormvale, storms arrived with the regularity of the tides, dragging with them the smell of salt and iron that permeated every stone of the Drayvar mansion. Kael lay still beneath the rough sheets, watching the shadows dance on the ceiling of his small room as the sea roared against the cliffs.
'Another day,' he thought without clear words.
'Another invisible day.'
The door opened with the familiar squeak of hinges that no one bothered to oil. Nurse Maren entered with a firm stride, her skirts rustling against the stone floor. She was a woman with a weathered face and calloused hands, one of the few people in the mansion who looked him in the eye when she spoke to him.
"Up, young Kael," she said in a neutral voice, neither warm nor cold. Professional.
"Breakfast is served in half an hour."
Kael sat up, pushing the blankets aside. The room was functional: a narrow bed, a trunk for clothes, a window overlooking the stormy sea. No tapestries, no thick carpets, none of the decorations that adorned Rylan and Lyssara's rooms in the west wing. His window didn't even have proper curtains, just a grey cloth that barely blocked the dawn light.
"Thank you, Nurse Maren," he replied, rubbing his eyes.
The woman hesitated for a moment, and in that brief instant, Kael saw something that resembled compassion cross her face. But it disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.
"Your brother Sareth is already awake," she added before leaving.
"He's waiting for you in the hallway."
The door closed, leaving Kael alone with the sound of the wind howling against the stone walls. He dressed quickly—a simple grey tunic, dark wool trousers, boots that were already too small. No one had noticed his feet had grown in the last two months.
'Of course they didn't notice,' he thought with a twisted smile that didn't reach his eyes. 'They'd have to look at me to notice.'
The Drayvar mansion's main dining room was a spacious hall with tall windows framing the raging sea. The dark oak table could easily seat twenty people, but this morning, like every morning, only six chairs were occupied.
Kael entered last, with Sareth clinging to his shadow like a nervous puppy. His older brother, though no one would call him that because of how he behaved, had black hair that was just as curly but permanently disheveled, and eyes that never stopped moving, expecting something bad to happen at any moment.
'He probably does expect it,' Kael thought as they slid into their seats at the far left of the table. 'After his ceremony, he probably always expects it.'
Varen Drayvar was already seated at the head, with a pile of scrolls spread out next to his untouched plate. His father, because technically he was, although the word felt hollow in Kael's mouth, had his jaw clenched as his grey eyes scanned what appeared to be military reports. There were grey hairs at his temples that weren't there last year.
'Forty-two now. And he's never asked me how I am.'
To Varen's right, Elyn Valmar, because she would never be "mother" to Kael, not even in his most charitable thoughts, cut a piece of bread with surgical precision. Her platinum blonde hair was pulled back in a bun so perfect it looked carved from marble. She did not look up when Kael and Sareth sat down.
She didn't need to. Her indifference was a perfected art.
"Good morning, Mother," Rylan said from his seat next to Elyn, his voice full of that morning enthusiasm only those completely secure in their place in the world could afford.
He was fourteen, but already over five feet seven, with shoulders beginning to broaden from constant training. His curly black hair was cut in a military style, showing a small scar on his left eyebrow that looked like a medal of honour.
"Good morning, Rylan," Elyn replied, and it was like watching the sun rise. Her voice softened, her eyes, the same grey as Varen's but colder, lit up with genuine affection.
"Did you sleep well?"
"Yes, Mother. I dreamed that..."
Kael stopped listening. He already knew this conversation. It repeated every morning with slight variations: Rylan spoke of training, Elyn praised him, Varen grunted something that could be interpreted as approval. Sareth stared at his plate. Kael watched.
He always watched.
Lyssara arrived late, because Lyssara always arrived when she wanted to. At thirteen, she had already learned that rules were for those who needed to hide behind them. She slid into her chair with a book under her arm, something about naval strategy she had probably stolen from Varen's library, and began to eat without greeting anyone.
Her eyes, however, swept the table in a quick, calculating glance. They paused for half a second on Kael.
He held her gaze.
She looked away first, but there was a small smile at the corner of her lips. Or a threat. With Lyssara, it was hard to tell the difference.
"Master Torin says I'll soon reach the second Apprentice layer," Rylan announced, puffing out his chest slightly.
"He says my progress is... what did he call it? Ah, yes, exceptional for my age."
"Of course it is," Elyn said, and her pride was so tangible Kael could almost see it shimmering around her.
"Valmar and Drayvar blood. You are the son of two great houses, Rylan. It's in your nature to be exceptional."
'And we,' Kael thought as he spread butter on his dry bread, 'are the sons of a dead concubine. I suppose that's in our nature too.'
"How long did it take you to reach the second layer, Father?" Rylan asked, turning to Varen.
Varen looked up from his scrolls, blinking as if he had just remembered there were other people in the room.
"Fifteen years," he replied in a hoarse voice.
"But times were different. Less structure in the training."
"Then I'm ahead," Rylan concluded with a satisfied smile.
"You are."
Varen returned to his reports. The conversation ended as abruptly as it had begun. Rylan didn't seem offended; he was used to his father's emotional distance. Elyn didn't react either, now mentally reviewing, Kael could see it in the way her eyes moved, some plan or strategy that likely involved further securing Rylan's future.
Sareth leaned towards Kael, whispering so low it was barely audible over the wind battering the windows.
"Do you think they'll teach us too someday?"
Kael chewed his bread slowly before answering, also in a whisper.
"Not you, Sareth."
He watched his brother's face crumble, but continued in a neutral voice:
"Your ceremony was clear. Weak Aether. You are not a warrior."
"Then... what am I?" Sareth's voice trembled slightly.
Kael looked at him, truly looked at him. He saw an eleven-year-old boy who had been broken at five, when an ancient crystal had told the whole world he wasn't worth enough. He saw the constant fear in his eyes, the way his shoulders hunched, expecting a blow at any moment.
And something in Kael's chest, something small and resilient that had not yet been completely crushed by eight years of indifference, tightened uncomfortably.
"You are my brother," he said simply.
"That's enough."
Sareth blinked, and for a moment, hope illuminated his face.
"But seriously," Kael continued, returning to his bread,
"you should stop thinking about swords. There are other ways to be strong."
"Like what?"
Kael didn't answer immediately. His eyes drifted to Lyssara, who had closed her book and was now watching Rylan with an analytical expression as he explained some combat technique to Elyn. Lyssara couldn't defeat Rylan in a duel, not yet, perhaps never, but Kael had seen how she got things. How she manipulated conversations. How she planted seeds of doubt with innocent questions.
"Like knowing things others don't know," he finally said.
"Like understanding what people want before they even know it themselves. Like being there when they need you and disappearing when they don't."
Sareth looked at him in confusion.
"I don't understand."
"Not yet," Kael admitted. "Neither do I. But I will understand."
'I have to understand,' he added silently, watching as Varen finally pushed his plate aside, having tasted no more than two bites. 'Because "moderate" is what they said at my ceremony. Moderate like my existence. And if I stay here, being moderate, I will disappear completely.'
Breakfast ended the same way it had begun: with Varen retiring first without a word, followed by Elyn and Rylan, who was still talking animatedly about his training. Lyssara left with her book, throwing one last indecipherable glance at Kael.
And Kael and Sareth were left alone at the end of the table, eating the leftovers of the stale bread, invisible even to the servants who were starting to clean up.
Kael and Sareth's tutor was named Master Corvin, a middle-aged man with a prominent belly and a voice that seemed designed to induce sleep. He was from a minor house, so minor that Kael had never bothered to find out which one, and had been assigned to educate Varen's "secondary sons" with the same enthusiasm one might accept cleaning latrines.
The study room was small, located in the east wing of the mansion, far from the main areas. It had a long table, three uncomfortable chairs, and shelves full of old books that smelled of dampness and neglect.
"Today," Master Corvin announced with a sigh that suggested he'd rather be anywhere else,
"we will continue with the history of the Empire. Specifically, the consolidation of power under Emperor Titus Draconis."
Sareth immediately straightened up, pulling out parchment and quill with nervous movements. He was an obsessive student, taking notes of every word the tutor said, underlining passages in borrowed books, memorizing dates and names as if his life depended on it.
'Maybe it does depend on it,' Kael thought as he leaned back in his chair. 'If he can't be strong, at least he can be useful. That's his survival strategy.'
"Emperor Titus ascended the throne three hundred and twelve years ago," Corvin continued, reading directly from a book without even looking at his students,
"after the death of his father, Emperor Cassius Draconis. In the first fifty years of his reign, he consolidated the power of the six Great Houses under the imperial banner, eradicating..."
The tutor's voice became a background drone. Kael took out his own parchment, but instead of taking notes, he began to draw in the margins. First, the basic shape of the Drayvar mansion viewed from above. Then, small circles representing each family member, with lines connecting them.
Varen in the center, but isolated.
Elyn strongly connected to Rylan and Lyssara.
Sareth and himself floating on the edges, almost outside the diagram.
"...and that is how Emperor Titus, in his infinite wisdom, established the Imperial Solar Council, ensuring that each Great House had a voice but none could challenge the authority of the Crown."
'Voice but not power,' Kael translated mentally. 'Control without the illusion of freedom. Clever.'
"Young Kael," Corvin's voice snapped him out of his thoughts,
"are you paying attention?"
Kael looked up, his expression perfectly innocent.
"Of course, Master Corvin. Emperor Titus established the Solar Council..." he pretended to consult his "notes,"
"two hundred and sixty years ago, after the Rebellion of the Three Houses."
Corvin blinked, clearly surprised that Kael knew the answer.
"Yes, well. Correct. Pay more attention to my words instead of..." he looked at Kael's parchment, frowning at the drawings, "...scribbling."
"Yes, Master."
Corvin continued his monotone recital. Sareth was still writing fervently. And Kael returned to his diagrams, this time adding arrows. Arrows that showed flows of power, attention, resources.
All the arrows flowed towards Rylan.
None flowed towards him.
'Not yet,' he thought, tracing a dotted line from his own circle towards the center of the diagram. 'But someday. Somehow.'
"...and this brings us to the Divine Weapons, legacies of the Age of Gods. Can anyone name the two main weapons that still exist?"
Sareth's hand shot up.
"The Sword of Zorath, wielded by Emperor Titus, and the Spear of Kryon, in the possession of our House Drayvar."
"Correct," Corvin admitted without enthusiasm.
"Although 'in possession' is a generous term. The Spear of Kryon hasn't been wielded in combat for two hundred years. It's more a relic than a weapon at this point."
"Why?" Kael asked before he could stop himself.
Corvin looked at him in surprise, as if a piece of furniture had suddenly spoken.
"Why what?"
"Why hasn't it been wielded? If it's a divine weapon, shouldn't it be used?"
"The Divine Weapons have... costs," Corvin said uncomfortably.
"The kind of costs that make even the most powerful think twice before using them. Now, let's return to..."
But Kael was no longer listening. His mind had latched onto that word: 'costs'.
'Everything has a cost,' he thought. 'Power, position, respect. The question is: what are you willing to pay?'
The lesson continued for another endless hour. When it finally ended, Sareth had three pages of meticulous notes. Kael had a page of diagrams and a question he couldn't shake from his head.
How much would it cost to stop being invisible?