In the Kingdom of Aerindel, magic was not merely a force.
It was authority.
It was law written into bloodlines, carved into stone, and whispered into cradles before children ever learned to speak. Magic determined where you lived, what you learned, who you served, and how long you were allowed to exist.
Those born with strong affinities were celebrated. Their families rose in status overnight. Schools competed for them. The High Council watched them closely, already imagining future generals, healers, or royal advisors.
Those born with weak magic lived quietly. They became craftsmen, merchants, scribes. They were not mocked, but they were never important.
And those whose magic did not fit into the natural order were feared.
Kael Veradin was not born feared.
He was born ordinary.
For the first thirteen years of his life, nothing about him suggested destiny or danger. His magic had been dormant, as many children's magic was, slow to wake. He lived with his parents in a modest district beneath the floating bridges of Aerindel, where enchantments glowed softly at night and the air always smelled faintly of mana.
Kael remembered laughter. Warm meals. His mother humming while she worked small household charms. His father teaching him how to focus, how to breathe, how to listen to the rhythm of the city's magic without touching it.
"You don't rush power," his father used to say. "You respect it."
Kael had believed that.
The day everything changed was supposed to be a celebration.
The Crystal Ascension Ceremony was held once a year for children whose magic had begun to stir. Families gathered in the central spire, dressed in their best robes, hope shining brighter than the crystals themselves. It was the day destinies were confirmed.
Kael remembered the feel of the marble floor beneath his bare feet. Cold. Smooth. Unforgiving.
He remembered his mother squeezing his hand, her smile trembling but proud.
"Whatever happens," she whispered, "we love you."
Those words became a curse of their own.
When Kael stepped forward and placed his hand against the Oracle's crystal, the world screamed.
The crystal did not glow.
It shattered.
A sound like glass being torn apart filled the chamber as raw energy exploded outward. Protective wards collapsed instantly. Runes etched into the walls unraveled as if they had never existed. Magic died—not disrupted, not redirected, but erased.
Kael was thrown backward by the force, pain searing through his chest and skull. He heard people screaming. He smelled scorched stone and blood.
Three elders died before they hit the ground.
Their magic failed them mid-spell, defenses unraveling in a heartbeat. Their bodies struck the marble floor with hollow finality.
The chamber fell into absolute silence.
Kael lay on the ground, shaking, his hands glowing with a dark, shifting energy that devoured the ambient mana around him. The air felt wrong—empty, hollow, stripped of its song.
And then the Oracle spoke.
Its voice was not loud. It did not need to be.
"This one must never love."
Those six words echoed through the chamber like a death sentence.
The High Council did not debate.
They did not hesitate.
Fear made decisions swiftly.
Kael was restrained immediately, ancient suppression runes binding his limbs, his mouth, his very thoughts. His parents were dragged away screaming his name. He never saw them again.
Later, he learned the truth.
His magic was Null Arcana—a forbidden anomaly that did not manipulate mana but erased it. Where most magic shaped reality, Null Arcana denied it. Spells collapsed in his presence. Enchantments decayed. Magical beings weakened instinctively.
And worse still, his power responded violently to emotion.
Love, attachment, devotion—these feelings destabilized the Null Arcana, causing it to expand uncontrollably. The Oracle had foreseen it clearly.
If Kael ever truly loved someone, his magic would consume them both.
So the Council did what they believed was merciful.
They carved the Mark of Severance into his soul.
The mark bound his emotions, suppressing emotional growth and acting as a failsafe. If his heart ever crossed the threshold the Oracle had warned of, the mark would activate, killing the bond at its source.
Love, for Kael, was forbidden by magic itself.
Seven years later, Kael stood atop the Obsidian Spire, staring down at the city that had shaped him into a weapon.
Aerindel glowed beneath him, magnificent and cold. Floating bridges arched between towers like veins of light. Rune-etched streets pulsed softly with regulated mana flow. Skyships drifted in perfect lanes, guided by precise enchantments.
Everything was controlled.
Everything was safe.
Kael's dark cloak snapped violently in the wind as he rested a gloved hand against his chest. Beneath the fabric, the Mark of Severance burned faintly, responding to the city's magic like a restrained beast.
He felt nothing about it.
That was the point.
"You'll wear a hole into the city if you keep staring like that."
Kael did not turn.
"State your purpose, Master Eldrin," he said calmly.
The old mage stepped beside him, leaning heavily on his staff. Time had bent Eldrin's back but sharpened his eyes. He had been Kael's assigned handler since the day after the ceremony.
"You're being sent to Lunareth," Eldrin said.
"There are reports of widespread magical failure."
Kael's expression did not change.
"Location?"
"Near the Grand Archive."
Of course.
"When?"
"Tonight."
Kael nodded once.
Eldrin hesitated, then sighed. "Lunareth is different. Magic flows freely there. People are… careless."
"Then they will learn restraint," Kael replied.
"That's not what I meant," Eldrin said quietly.
"Kael, you are not just a tool."
Kael finally looked at him. "You trained me to be one."
Eldrin had no answer.
Lunareth felt alive in a way Aerindel never had.
The moment Kael crossed the city's boundary, he sensed it—wild, unstructured mana flowing through the streets, curling through greenery, humming softly through the air. Magic here was not regulated. It breathed.
And it resisted him.
Null Arcana responded instinctively, suppressing the ambient flow to maintain balance. Enchanted lanterns dimmed as he passed. Floating petals fell lifelessly to the ground. Illusions flickered and collapsed.
People noticed.
They always did.
Kael kept his hood low and moved steadily toward the Grand Archive. His senses stretched outward, searching for instability, for sources of corruption or forbidden experimentation.
He did not expect her.
The collision came suddenly, sharp enough to knock the breath from the smaller figure.
"Oof—!"
Kael barely staggered, but instinct took over.
He reached out and caught her wrist before she fell.
Warmth flooded his senses.
Not magical warmth.
Human warmth.
His breath caught.
She looked up at him, startled, dark eyes wide and alive. Loose curls framed her face, and faint magic shimmered around her hand—until it didn't.
The glow vanished instantly.
Her brows furrowed. "My spell…?"
Kael released her as if burned, stepping back sharply.
"Stay away from me," he said.
Confusion replaced surprise. "What? I was just—"
"Forget this," Kael interrupted. "Forget me."
He turned and walked away before the Mark could react to the dangerous pull in his chest.
Behind him, Lyra Vale stared at her empty palm, heart pounding.
For the first time in her life, magic had gone silent.
That night, Kael stood alone on the balcony of his assigned quarters, Lunareth's twin moons hanging low in the sky. His magic pulsed restlessly beneath his skin, reacting to thoughts he refused to name.
He pressed his hand to his chest, forcing the Null Arcana back into silence.
Tomorrow, he would finish his mission.
He would not think of her warmth.
He would not wonder why the silence had felt different.
He had never been meant to love.
And fate, patient and cruel, had already begun to disagree.