It was finally Arthur's turn to test his Mana at the orb, and he was not feeling the slightest bit confident about the results.
Unlike his sister, who had walked up to the glowing object with casual grace and unshaken poise, Arthur lingered where he stood. His feet felt rooted in place, his hands clammy, his chest unsteady. His mind raced through every possibility that could occur in the next few seconds, and the storm of thoughts threatened to swallow him whole.
'What if I fail? What if the orb doesn't even glow? I'm not from this world anyway, that could happen, couldn't it? What if it shows blue or green—lower than my sister? Wouldn't that make me beneath her, nothing but a disappointment? We were born at the same time, twins… but if she shines gold while I falter, wouldn't that mean I am discarded, worthless, unnecessary? Damn… I didn't think this through. I'm going to fail, I just know it—'
"Arthur, touch the orb!"
The sharp yell tore through his spiraling thoughts, dragging him harshly back to reality. His gaze snapped forward, searching for the one who had called his name.
It was his father. Lord Castagir's voice was as sharp as steel, laced with command, and that very tone was the final straw in Arthur's fragile resolve.
Arthur swallowed hard, his throat dry as sand, his body trembling from the weight of expectation. Uncertain of both his thoughts and his very place in the world, he forced himself to take a step forward… then another.
Each step felt like he was trying to lift a leg chained to a stone mace, the heavy pull threatening to drag him down into the earth itself. His balance faltered, his knees weak. His breath quickened in a nauseous rhythm. His chest felt like it might collapse under the crushing pressure, and his thoughts spun so violently that he was sure his head would burst.
And yet, somehow, step by step, he reached the orb.
The sphere glowed faintly with its milky-white sheen, its surface as smooth as glass, resting innocently on the altar. Arthur stared at it, his heart pounding so hard that it echoed in his ears louder than the murmurs of the crowd.
'I never realized it before, but as an author, I have no self-confidence. None at all. I can't even think clearly here. I'm her twin, so shouldn't I get the same result she did? Isn't that how it should work?'
But another darker thought whispered to him.
'Or maybe… maybe because she was born first, part of my Mana core was given to her. Maybe that's why she glowed with golden brilliance, and I… I will have nothing.'
Arthur froze again, too long this time. The silence in the room shifted into uneasy murmurs, whispers spreading through the watching crowd. His father's face hardened, calm expression twisting into something darker—rage. His mother, on the other hand, already wore worry in her eyes, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.
The weight of their gazes bore down on him, smothering him, reminding him of the truth: there was no way to surpass his sister's golden shine. No path to impress his father unless he too could wield that same light.
Lord Castagir slammed his fist against the armrest of his throne. The sound cracked like thunder across the chamber, silencing every murmur in an instant. The noise rattled through Arthur's bones, jolting him back into motion.
Not daring to linger another second, desperate to avoid another furious command, Arthur pressed his trembling hand onto the orb. His eyelids slammed shut, as though closing them could shield him from the truth. He was terrified of what result might come.
Nothing.
For the crowd, there was no reaction. No burst of light. No gasps of awe. No applause like his sister had received moments earlier. Only silence.
Arthur's heart sank. His pulse pounded against his ribs like a drum of despair.
Then—gasps. A few sharp breaths cut through the stillness. The sound pierced him, nauseating him further.
'That's it… I've failed. I knew it. I knew it!'
"Arthur, stop—!"
The shout came from his side, snapping him out of his spiral.
His eyes flew open, and what he saw froze him where he stood.
The orb… had turned black.
The milky white glow was gone, swallowed completely in shadow. From its depths, obsidian smoke poured out in thick, suffocating waves. It wasn't thin like mist, but dense, heavy, crawling like a living river across the table, spilling downward past his feet and seeping into every corner of the chamber.
By the time Arthur realized what was happening, the smoke had already risen to chest height. The air thickened, suffocating, forcing those in the room to cover their mouths or stagger backward. Some shouted in fear, rushing forward to drag his hand away from the orb. Others stood paralyzed, unable to move, their eyes fixed on the phenomenon with horrified fascination.
"What the hell is—?"
Before Arthur could even finish his question, his hand was yanked violently away from the orb. The priest, pale-faced and trembling, had acted in haste.
The instant Arthur's palm left the orb's surface, the darkness vanished. The smoke, the black color, the suffocating presence—it all dissipated into nothingness as though it had never been there.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Arthur lifted his eyes toward his family, but what he saw only deepened the pit in his stomach. His sister's face was twisted with confusion. His mother was already on the verge of tears, her hands shaking as though she wanted to reach out to him but dared not. And worst of all—his father. Lord Castagir's expression was cold, his disappointment carved plainly across his features.
Arthur's heart sank.
'Just as I thought… I've failed.'
"Priest, what does this mean?" Lord Castagir's voice cut through the air, breaking the unbearable silence.
The priest opened his mouth, his lips quivering as though the words themselves were unwilling to leave. He stammered, tried to speak, but only after a long hesitation did he force sound from his throat.
"I… I am not sure, my Lord. But…" The priest swallowed hard, then continued, "The young Lord Arthur has a Mana reserve as distinct and powerful as his sister's. However… it is corrupted. I would prefer to address the details in private, my Lord—"
"Say it!"
The sharp command cracked like a whip, silencing the priest's attempt to stall. Lord Castagir's patience was already gone. He wanted the truth, and he would have it immediately.
The priest faltered, lost for words under that piercing gaze. His shoulders slumped, and another long, suffocating silence pressed down upon the room.
Arthur's own breath caught in his throat. He wanted to know. He needed to know. His entire body trembled with dread, his stomach twisting painfully. The priest knew something… something terrible.
"Uhmm… My Lord, if you say so." The priest bowed his head, his voice shaking. "Lord Arthur's Mana is corrupted. And there are… two possible outcomes that may occur in the next twenty years of his life. His condition is dire."
Arthur's eyes widened.
'Dire?! Two decades?!'
"Speak," Lord Castagir demanded again, his tone unshaken, unfazed by the growing tension in the chamber.
The priest drew in a deep breath, his hands trembling. "The first possibility is that Arthur's Mana will gradually dwindle over the coming years. Eventually, he will lose the ability to wield Mana entirely… and live out his days as nothing more than a regular human."
The words landed like a hammer blow. The room erupted with gasps.
"The second," the priest continued, his voice now heavy with dread, "is far worse. He may not only lose his Mana, but also his very body weight—his life force. Should that happen, he will die of Mana depletion."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Both fates were cruel. Both futures unforgiving. Either he would be cast into weakness… or he would wither away into death.
Arthur's gaze fell to the floor. He could not bear to look at them—his sister, his mother, his father. He had no strength left to meet their eyes. Shame burned through him, more unbearable than the fear of death itself.
And then—words struck his ears. Words that shattered his heart more cruelly than any blade.
"If that is the case, then he will no longer be known as my son. He is a bastard of the Castagir house… and from this day forward, a slave to Alistair."
Arthur's eyes widened, sinking further, his breath stolen.
That was his father's voice.
Wasn't it?
Time seemed to stop in that instant. The chamber, the crowd, the orb—all faded into the background. Arthur's world shattered in silence.
And in his heart, it felt as though he had died a second time.