Chapter 6: Scars and Secrets

Metha's hands trembled as she dabbed the damp cloth against my forehead, her touch feather-light, as if I might shatter beneath her fingers. The scent of lavender oil—her remedy for calming nerves—clung to the air, masking the metallic tang of blood.

"You shouldn't provoke knights twice your size," she murmured, her voice frayed at the edges.

I forced a smile, biting back the truth: I'd already healed.

The moment Sir Krow's blade had cracked my ribs, I'd channeled mana into the fracture, visualizing the bone knitting itself back together. Bruises faded as blood vessels mended; torn muscle fibers stitched themselves into seamless tissue. By the time Metha had rushed to my side, my body was whole—save for the superficial cuts I'd left intact to avoid suspicion.

"I'm fine, Mom," I said, catching her wrist gently. "See? Just scratches."

She pulled back, her blue eyes narrowing. "You're too calm. Boys your age cry over splinters."

Boys my age haven't died once already.

A knock shattered the silence—hesitant, rhythmic. Two short raps, one long. Jol's signature.

Metha sighed, wiping her hands on her apron. "Come in."

Jol stood in the doorway, backlit by the setting sun, her curls glowing like spun gold. At thirteen, she'd shed the roundness of childhood, her frame elongating into something ethereal. Freckles still dusted her nose, but her green eyes held a new depth, a quiet intensity that made my breath hitch.

"Alex!" She rushed forward, skirts swirling around her ankles, and dropped to her knees beside me. Her hands hovered over mine, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her skin. "You're—you're covered in—"

"It's not mine," I lied smoothly. "Most of it's dirt."

Her gaze locked onto mine, searching. "Don't. Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Pretend this is nothing." Her voice cracked. "I saw you fall. I saw—"

Mok shuffled in behind her, his broad shoulders blocking the light. At ten, he'd inherited his father's build—stocky, strong, hands calloused from tending crops—but his eyes were soft, brimming with awe. "Brother, you moved like… like one of those forest spirits Old Bren tells stories about."

Jol's jaw tightened. "You could've died."

"But I didn't."

"Yet." She leaned closer, her whisper sharp as a blade. "You keep throwing yourself into danger like you're invincible. But you're not. You're just—"

Human? I almost laughed. With my mana heart thrumming beneath my ribs, I wasn't sure what I was anymore.

Metha cleared her throat, breaking the tension. "Tea, children?"

Jol straightened, smoothing her skirts with trembling hands. "No, thank you, Aunt Metha. We shouldn't stay long."

Mok, ever oblivious, plopped onto the floor beside me. "Did you see Sir Krow's face when you went for his knee? I thought he'd split you in half!"

"Mok," Jol warned.

"What? It was brilliant!" He mimed a sword strike, his enthusiasm undimmed. "You're gonna be a legend, Alex! Maybe even join the king's guard someday!"

Metha's teacup clattered against its saucer.

"The king's guard requires noble blood," I said quietly, watching her. "Or a ministry seal."

Jol followed my gaze, her brow furrowing. "What's wrong with—"

"Enough." Metha stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floorboards. "It's late. Alex needs rest."

Night fell, the fire reduced to embers. Jol lingered at the door, moonlight painting silver streaks in her hair.

"You're hiding something," she said, her voice barely audible.

I leaned against the doorframe, close enough to catch the scent of wildflowers clinging to her skin. "Aren't we all?"

Her fingers brushed mine—a fleeting, electric touch. "Just… be careful. Please."

Then she was gone, swallowed by the shadows between cottages.

Alone at last, I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the pulse of my mana heart. Beneath the bandages, my skin was smooth, unbroken.

Monsters aren't born—they're forged.

Sir Krow's words echoed in the silence.

I flexed my fingers, watching moonlight dance across my palm.

What exactly am I becoming?

Sir Krow's Reflection POV:

The first time I saw the child, he was swaddled in rags, barely more than a whisper of life in a world that wanted him dead. His mother, Metha, held him close, shielding him from the cold with her own trembling body. A maid. A runaway. And the boy? The bastard son of House Zodek—a noble bloodline that would sooner kill their own than let a stain remain on their legacy.

Gerro had been the one to bring them to me.

"He needs protection," the man had said, his voice worn with exhaustion and resolve. "She won't survive on her own, and neither will he. I need your help, Krow."

I had no love for nobles. No patience for their sins. Yet when I looked at the child—silent, watching, as if already aware that the world was cruel—I had seen something strange. A quiet strength. A thing not yet broken.

I didn't agree to protect him out of kindness.

I agreed because something in my gut told me this child would be different.

The First Sign

Years passed. The boy grew, strong but unassuming. Gerro raised him as his own, and I remained in the shadows, watching.

i was curious, i wanted to know if he will have affinity to mana just like nobles, that's when i gave the book to Gerro for a favor.

Until that day.

It was supposed to be a simple test. A wooden sword in his hands, and me standing in front of him. I wanted to see if he had any instinct for battle.

Then his eyes burned gold.

For the first time, I felt it—mana moving in him, not through a core, but through every fiber of his body. Like it was woven into his very being, thrumming with a rhythm different from any noble lineage I'd ever faced. Not a mana core. he wasn't doing on purpose it was just happening as if the most natural thing to happen.

And yet, i have no idea what that is.

and the surprise when he attacked me at my opening risking taking a non vital hit for a vital hit, that's someone who have seen death. 

The next morning at dawn, I stood in the training yard, waiting. If he wanted to survive, if he wanted to fight, then I would teach him. Not because he was noble, not because he was special.

But because one day, House Zodek would come looking for him.

And when they does, I wanted to see if that golden fire in his eyes would burn them to ash.