CHAPTER 1

I tried to open my eyes again, but nothing happened again—those fucking psychos, it looks like they took them away from me. Damn, it hurts so much. It turns out that this time those bastards managed to get me.

Hah! Who would have thought that my brothers and sisters would eventually be able to come to an agreement with each other? The Gods sent relatives. Although what kind of relatives are they? To kill your own brother just because he has a special Gift? Creatures.

At least the world will remember this battle for a long time. It's just a pity that it was my last.

"What do you say, degenerate, what is it like to die?" This is my older brother speaking. It's a pity that I didn't manage to finish off this bastard.

"He was always different," says another brother of mine. "Well, he could have become the head of our family in a little while. Can you imagine a necromancer becoming the head of the Harrington family?"

"He almost succeeded," I heard my older brother's voice again. "Maybe we should stab him a couple more times? After all, with his Gift…"

"Leave him alone, let him die." And this is the voice of a beloved sister. A rare bitch. "With such wounds, he will definitely not survive. I suggest we return to the city and celebrate our victory."

This time our wishes coincided—I also want them to get out of here and let me die alone in peace. I don't want to hear anything more. Unless I curse them goodbye.

I feel like my mouth is full of blood, but I can't say a single word. Look how they tore me up.

Judging by the retreating footsteps, the whole family was involved in finishing me off—all the brothers and sisters. I should have struck earlier, but I'm a good guy, and that was a mistake.

With each passing moment, I sink deeper into the darkness that surrounds me on all sides. I am drowning in it. Am I really dying?

But what is it? A bright blue light cuts through it, and I hear a familiar, beautiful female voice in my head.

"How are you, my dear?"

What's happening to me? My brain probably couldn't handle the expectation of death, and I went crazy; that's what's happening to me. Now I hear the voice of my mother, who died a long time ago.

"Do you want to correct your mistakes?" comes a new question.

"Yes…"

"I will give you this opportunity and let this be my last blessing to you, Eldric Varnwythe."

"Can you bring me back to life?" I asked.

"Not exactly. But it is within my power to not let you die completely. Who knows, maybe someday you will find the way and the strength to return to life."

No, it seems I've gone crazy and am listening to all this nonsense. How can you not let someone die, but not bring them back to life? All this is just my dying delirium.

---

Two years later. 

Victorian England. 

Pendragon Academy. 

The school principal's office.

In a small room, opposite a burning fireplace, there were two armchairs. One of them was occupied by a man of about forty with tired eyes—this was Viscount Thomas Fielding.

An older man was sitting in the second. He looked to be about fifty. Short haircut, grey hair, and dark glasses with rectangular lenses, which he rarely took off. His name was Edward Frederick Harrington, and he worked as the director of Pendragon Academy.

"Viscount, but the boy is only twelve. You know the rules—we cannot accept him into school until he is fourteen."

"Count, I ask you to make an exception in my case." The shaking Thomas looked at the director with a pleading look. "I just don't know what to do if you refuse. I'm completely exhausted with this boy. At least just listen to me, and then make a final decision."

Edward felt sorry for this man; he really did look extremely tired and exhausted. But was it worth wasting his time and then refusing? Even a fool would understand that the Viscount was simply trying to find a better job for his son. The Fieldings could not boast of wealth, titles, or a special Gift, which meant that his son simply had no chance of ending up in Pendragon.

"Thomas, I'm afraid you've travelled so far in vain," he said cautiously. "You know that only the best study at our school, and the Gift of your kind… Understand me correctly, I don't want to offend you, but elixir specialists study in other places."

"Count, I am perfectly aware of all this and understand the place our family occupies. Believe me, I have no illusions about this conversation," Thomas frowned and cracked his fingers. "That is why I ask you to simply listen to me."

Edward sighed and smiled knowingly. During his entire time working at this school, he had listened to dozens of such desperate nobles, and perhaps their number had even exceeded a hundred.

Each of them tried to convince the director that his son was not like everyone else. Although, in fact, they were nothing special. It is clear—what was the value of just one mention that the nobleman studied at Pendragon? This said a lot and gave a ticket to a bright future.

However, rules are rules. Only the strongest Gifted study here, and that is the law. No one has the right to break it, not even him. On the other hand, maybe the Viscount is not lying and really wants to tell something interesting? Well, anything can happen. He has time; why not listen to him?

"Well, Viscount, tell me your story in more detail, and perhaps I can help you. After all, you seem like a reasonable person who wouldn't waste my time."

"Thank you, Your Excellency," Thomas nodded and fidgeted in his chair with his skinny backside, trying to get more comfortable.

"Although I must remind you that during the entire existence of this establishment, exceptions were made only twice."

"And yet I will try."

"In that case, I ask you to begin your story," said the Count, and settled himself more comfortably, preparing to listen.

The Viscount paused, as if wondering where to begin, then nodded, dabbed his lips with a handkerchief, and began speaking slowly.

"I'll say right away, Miles grew up as a normal child all his life, and I didn't notice anything unusual about him. But a couple of years ago, strange things started happening to him. First, our family Gift woke up in him, and he was only ten at that time."

"A truly interesting case," Edward nodded. "But it happens from time to time. Some Gifted ones' abilities manifest several years earlier. This happens extremely rarely, but there is nothing supernatural about it. I can only say that you are lucky with your son—this means that he will, at the very least, become a great alchemist."

"Yes, for a while I thought so myself," the Viscount smiled grimly. "Until other strange things started happening. Listen further, Count, and don't rush to conclusions; I'm gradually moving on to the most interesting part."

"Have no doubt, I'm all ears," Edward assured his interlocutor.

"Wherever my son appeared, very unusual things began to happen, and I would even say—sinister. Well, for example, one day, Baron Cedric Thalwynd and his family came to visit us. It so happened that the baroness's dog bit my son on the leg. Less than a couple of hours later, she died."

"Baroness?"