A Tricksters Abilities

Chapter 5: A Tricksters Abilities

Tampering and Misalignment

The air in the training grounds hung heavy with the scent of iron and sweat. Knights sparred in pairs, the clash of steel against steel ringing out in sharp bursts. Noctis stood at the edge of the yard, his grip around the practice sword loose but steady.

Across from him, Caelum Umbrael — the golden heir, the favored son — radiated confidence. His sword gleamed under the afternoon sun, his form immaculate. Around them, several knights and squires watched the coming duel, eager for entertainment.

"Try not to humiliate yourself, little brother," Caelum called, his tone dripping with condescension.

Noctis said nothing. His heart hammered in his chest — not with fear, but with something darker. Control him. Break him.

A distant, primal whisper curled in the back of his mind.

Make him fall.

The signal was given. Caelum moved first.

His blade came down in a controlled, powerful arc aimed to disarm — not to harm. It was a maneuver designed to humiliate, to show the onlookers the clear disparity between them.

But something shifted.

The moment Caelum lunged, Noctis felt the world around him tilt slightly. His mind pulsed — his will grasping something intangible. And without meaning to, Noctis's perception warped.

Time did not slow — but Caelum's strike looked slower. Or rather… wrong.

The distance of Caelum's sword suddenly seemed further than it actually was. Noctis's body moved automatically, tilting his head just slightly — and the blade missed his shoulder by a hair.

Gasps erupted from the watching crowd.

Caelum stumbled slightly, thrown off by the unexpected miss. His brow furrowed. "Lucky."

Noctis said nothing — but inside, his pulse thrummed.

"What did I just do?"

Caelum advanced again, this time faster — a series of rapid thrusts and strikes designed to overwhelm. Noctis's body responded automatically, each evasion precise but not overt. Caelum's sword kept missing — just barely.

But that wasn't the strange part.

The look on Caelum's face began to change. Frustration crept in. Doubt.

And then it happened.

Caelum raised his blade high for an overhead slash. Noctis felt it coming — and in that instant, his subconscious pushed.

A subtle pulse of influence radiated from Noctis.

Step too far. Swing too wide.

Caelum's brain miscalculated the distance. His foot shifted slightly off-center, his balance disturbed. The downward slash came, but Caelum's footing wavered — and instead of landing a strike, his blade jarred awkwardly against Noctis's sword.

His entire body lurched forward. His foot caught against an uneven patch of dirt.

And then, before he could correct himself —

He fell.

A stunned silence followed as Caelum hit the ground hard, his sword clattering from his grasp. Dust exploded around him, and for a brief moment, the mighty heir of House Umbrael looked like a fool.

Gasps erupted from the crowd.

"Did he just—?"

"Caelum tripped?"

"Noctis didn't even touch him…"

Noctis's breathing quickened, his pulse thundering. I did that. I made him fall.

Caelum scrambled to his feet, his face burning red with humiliation. His glare snapped to Noctis. "You—"

But he didn't know what to accuse him of.

Because Noctis hadn't cheated. He hadn't laid a finger on him.

And yet…

Caelum knew.

"You got lucky," Caelum spat, snatching his sword from the ground. "Again."

Noctis's voice came out colder than he intended. "Perhaps you misjudged your own footing."

A flicker of doubt — brief but sharp — crossed Caelum's face.

Noctis watched it like a predator. There it is.

The watching knights were already murmuring.

"…Did you see that?"

"Caelum's balance was perfect. How did he fall?"

"Noctis barely moved…"

The seed of doubt was planted.

And Noctis didn't miss the way Caelum's grip on his sword tightened. For the first time, he hesitated.

"Again," Caelum snapped, his voice strained.

Noctis's cold smile widened. Yes. Let's.

And as they raised their blades once more, Noctis's subconscious power — the power of misalignment — was already wrapping around Caelum's mind like a noose.

Caelum's knuckles were white around his sword, his breathing sharp and controlled — but Noctis could see it now. The hesitation. It festered in his brother's stance like rot, poisoning his once-impeccable confidence.

And Noctis wanted more.

"Again," Caelum growled, his voice low and clipped.

The knights and squires lingered, their gazes flitting between them — but now there was no humor in their eyes. Only curiosity. And doubt.

Noctis exhaled slowly, his grip around the practice sword firm. He could feel it now — the power beneath his skin — raw, predatory, and dangerous. It no longer slumbered beneath the surface. It responded to his will.

And this time, he didn't suppress it.

This time he no matter what it is he just let flowed through him.

It made the world lie to the victim.

Caelum lunged again, his sword aimed for Noctis's side.

Noctis reached for the power — and pushed.

A subtle pulse radiated from him, invisible to the eye but potent in the mind. Caelum's perception slipped. The distance between them shifted by a hair's breadth. His arm adjusted mid-swing — compensating for a perceived distance that did not exist.

His sword missed.

By a single inch.

The knights gasped.

Caelum stumbled, his mind scrambling to correct the error. "What the—?"

Noctis stepped back, his breath measured, his expression carefully neutral. Inside, his pulse roared with vicious exhilaration. He can't see it. He doesn't know why he's missing.

"Is something wrong, brother?" Noctis asked, voice smooth.

Caelum's glare snapped to him. "Don't patronize me."

He attacked again — more aggressive, more desperate. Noctis sidestepped, his power coiling like a viper around Caelum's perception.

Your blade is slower than you think.

Your step is heavier than you realize.

Your balance is unsteady.

Caelum swung. His sword cut through empty air.

Gasps erupted again.

"What is happening?" one of the knights whispered.

"Caelum doesn't miss like that…"

"Noctis hasn't even landed a hit. Why does it look like Caelum's struggling?"

The moment was perfect. Noctis's power pulsed. He didn't force Caelum to see anything — he merely made him doubt what he was perceiving.

Caelum's next lunge came too hard, too fast — desperate to end the duel.

Noctis pushed.

Caelum's depth perception slipped. For a split second, his brain perceived the ground a step further than it was. His foot came down wrong.

And Caelum's entire body lurched. His ankle twisted. His momentum failed.

And he fell.

Hard.

A thunderous crack of armor hitting stone erupted across the training yard. The knights gasped. Caelum hit the ground, his sword scattering beside him. Dust and humiliation clung to him like a second skin.

Silence.

Total. Deafening. Silence.

Noctis did not move. He kept his stance, sword in hand, gaze neutral — but inside, he was electrified. I did that. I made him fall. His subconscious had caused the first stumble — but this time?

This time, I chose it.

Caelum's breath was ragged as he pushed himself up, his eyes wide with disbelief. "You—"

Noctis tilted his head. "Are you alright, brother?"

Caelum's fists clenched, his face a storm of rage and confusion. He knew something was wrong. But what could he accuse Noctis of? There was no magic sigil, no burst of visible power — only a series of unexplainable failures.

"I— You got lucky, that's all," Caelum snapped, rising unsteadily. His face burned with shame.

Noctis smiled. "Yes. Lucky."

The knights were no longer laughing. They were staring. Whispering.

"…Caelum missed twice."

"Noctis didn't even hit him — but Caelum fell."

"…Did he lose?"

Caelum could hear them. Noctis saw the moment it cracked him. His brother's composure — always pristine, always unbreakable — now fractured.

"Another round?" Noctis asked pleasantly.

Caelum flinched. Flinched.

"…No." His voice was low, strained. "Enough for today."

And he turned sharply, walking off the training ground like a man who had just seen a ghost.

But the damage was done.

The knights stared at Noctis differently now. Not with pity — but curiosity. Suspicion.

He smiled.

The halls of House Umbrael were built like a fortress — tall, imposing, and steeped in cold elegance. Marble floors gleamed under the dim light of chandeliers, and intricate silver tapestries wove silent stories of generations of power.

To most, the estate was a symbol of nobility and strength.

To Noctis Umbrael, it was a gilded prison.

A prison where smiles masked daggers, kindness concealed poison, and weakness was devoured without mercy.

But now… things were different.

Because Noctis was no longer the forgotten son. He was no longer powerless. He was something else entirely — something far more dangerous.

And as he walked toward his mother's chambers, his mind turned with the weight of understanding.

The bloodline of a Trickster God coursed through him now.

And it was time he learned how to wield it.

The air in his mother's chamber was thick with the scent of cold lilac and aged parchment. Lady Selene sat by the grand window, dressed in deep midnight silks, her pale hair cascading down her back like silver frost.

She did not turn as he entered.

"You've been pulling at the threads," she said quietly. "I can feel it."

Noctis stilled. "…What do you mean?"

Slowly, she turned, her gaze sharper than any blade. "Do not insult my intelligence, Noctis. You've been using your bloodline. Quietly. Subtly. But it leaves a trace — like faint ripples in still water."

A slow chill coiled in his gut. "…You know about it."

Her smile was bitter. "Of course I do. I carry the same curse — or gift, depending on who you ask." She rose, crossing the room with deliberate grace. "The blood of House Erevar was always touched by something inhuman, something… unfathomable. When I married into House Umbrael, I sealed that power within myself — but it still lingers."

Noctis swallowed. "And you never told me."

"Would you have believed me?" Her voice was sharp. "You were a child. And it was not my intention to mold you into a weapon."

"…But now?"

Selene's silence was answer enough.

Finally, she turned fully toward him, and for the first time — truly — he saw the weight of her burden. The cold, ancient understanding of power that turned men into gods and gods into monsters.

"You've already begun to use it, haven't you?" she asked softly. "The subtle influence. The small shifts in perception."

"…Yes."

A faint, cold smile. "Then it is time you learned what it truly means."

Selene stepped closer, her gaze like a dagger through his heart. "The blood of House Erevar is not one of raw power. It does not grant strength, nor command fire, nor wield lightning. It is subtler… darker."

She raised her hand, and the faintest ripple of power danced along her fingertips. The air shifted — not visibly, but perceptibly.

Suddenly, the room felt smaller. The walls more suffocating. The air heavier.

And then — it vanished.

"The first ability," she began, her voice steady, "is Perception Tampering. It is the simplest form of control — a touch on the mind. You cannot force someone to see something that does not exist… but you can influence how they perceive reality."

Noctis's breath hitched. "Like making someone overlook my presence?"

"Exactly." Selene's gaze sharpened. "You've been unconsciously doing it for days now. Making people dismiss you. Ignore you. Underestimate you. It is the art of shaping what they assume to be true."

Noctis's mind reeled. "…And the second ability?"

Selene hesitated. "…Perceptual Misalignment."

His brow furrowed. "Meaning?"

Her eyes darkened. "It is far more dangerous. With it, you can create a rift between what is real and what is perceived — without them realizing. You can make a man mistake his ally for an enemy. Or make a person misstep in combat by altering their depth perception. Subtle — but lethal."

The memory of his duel with Caelum burned in his mind. That was what I did.

"And the third?" he asked hoarsely.

Selene's voice turned cold. "…The Third Gift is not one I wish you to touch — not yet."

"Why?"

She hesitated — and for a moment, genuine fear danced in her gaze. "…Because it is no longer an illusion. It is realignment. With it, you do not merely manipulate perception — you impose your own reality."

Noctis's breath caught. "…Impose reality?"

She did not answer immediately. Instead, her hand reached out, brushing his cheek with a cold tenderness. "You will not touch the Third Gift, Noctis. Swear it."

"…Why?"

"Because," Selene's voice cracked, "the Third Gift is the one that devours its wielder."

Silence hung between them.

And Noctis, ever calculating, merely smiled. "I understand."

He lied.

The silence between them hung like a noose.

Selene's gaze was hard, unreadable — the gaze of a woman who understood power far too intimately and knew the cost of wielding it. She stepped away from Noctis, her hands clasped in front of her as though she feared the knowledge she was about to impart.

"You've already begun to grasp the first ability," she said softly, her voice like tempered steel. "But you're using it blindly, without precision."

Noctis's jaw tightened. "I've been surviving."

A bitter smile flickered across her face. "Yes. But survival and mastery are not the same."

She turned to face him fully, and for a brief moment, Noctis caught a glimpse of something ancient in her gaze — not power, but the sheer weight of knowledge.

"The first ability — Perception Tampering — is the cornerstone of our bloodline. It does not change reality. It changes how others perceive reality."

Noctis straightened. "…Like making them overlook me."

"Precisely," Selene said, folding her arms. "But you are using it crudely — like a blunt weapon. If you wish to wield it effectively, you must understand three things."

She lifted a single finger. "First — Perceptual Pressure. This is the foundation of Tampering. Every mind has thresholds. You cannot force someone to see something they would never believe — but you can push their assumptions."

Noctis furrowed his brow. "Explain."

Selene gestured to him. "Stand still. Do not move."

He obeyed.

Selene closed her eyes, and Noctis felt it. A faint pulse of something invisible — like the brush of cold fingers on the edge of his consciousness. His heartbeat slowed. His muscles slackened.

"…I feel dull," he murmured.

"Yes." Selene's voice sharpened. "I did not make you disappear — I simply nudged your perception of yourself. By lowering your internal awareness, you radiate less presence. People overlook you, not because you are hidden — but because you no longer matter in their minds."

Noctis's throat tightened. "…I did that in the training yard."

Selene smiled faintly. "Unintentionally, yes. But the flaw in your method was that you did not direct it — you merely relied on your instinct."

She took a slow step toward him, her voice measured. "Repeat after me: I do not exist."

Noctis's pulse quickened. "…I do not exist."

"Again."

"…I do not exist."

"Feel it." Selene's voice sharpened. "Push that belief into the air around you. Make it true — not in reality, but in perception. Shrink your presence in their minds."

Noctis clenched his fists. He closed his eyes.

I do not exist.

I do not exist.

I do not exist.

The air shifted. The weight of his existence seemed to bleed away. His breathing slowed, his mind quieted — and then he felt it.

A void.

A pocket of perception where his presence dimmed to insignificance.

Selene smiled grimly. "Open your eyes."

He did — and froze.

Selene's gaze slid past him, as if she had momentarily forgotten he was there.

"Mother—?"

She blinked, startled, and her gaze snapped back. "Good. Very good."

Noctis's blood surged. "I can make myself vanish from their perception entirely."

"No," Selene corrected. "You cannot make them unsee you — but you can make them dismiss you."

A slow, cold understanding settled in Noctis's gut. "That's why the servants ignore me. Why no one pays attention when I enter a room."

"Because you have unconsciously been pressing their perception downward," Selene confirmed. "Lowering your presence in their minds. With practice, you could amplify it — make yourself utterly forgettable until someone intentionally sought you out."

Noctis's lips parted — and then a cold smile spread. Invisibility without sorcery.

Selene, however, did not share his satisfaction. "Be cautious. Overuse of Perceptual Pressure warps your own identity. If you make yourself a ghost too often, you may begin to feel like one."

"…And what happens then?"

Selene hesitated. "…You forget yourself. That is the first cost of our bloodline."

"Now," Selene said, "we will approach Perceptual Misalignment — the Second Gift."

Noctis's spine straightened. His duel with Caelum flashed in his mind — the way he'd made his brother misstep, misjudge, fail.

"…I've already done it."

Selene's gaze darkened. "Yes. And poorly."

Noctis scowled. "I won, didn't I?"

"You survived," Selene snapped. "But you did not control the battle."

A chill settled in Noctis's bones. "Then teach me."

Selene exhaled slowly. "Misalignment is not about creating illusions. It is about warping perception. Understand this: humans rely on patterns. Their brain anticipates movement, distance, timing — everything is shaped by expectation."

She stepped closer. "Your gift allows you to subtly shift those patterns. If a man expects you to move left, you can make his perception tilt right. If he expects his sword to connect, you can make him feel it missed — without it ever changing."

"…How?"

Selene's smile turned thin. "Create a false rhythm."

She picked up a silver quill from the table. "Watch my hand."

She began tapping the quill against her palm — three steady beats. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Follow the pattern," she instructed. "Expect the fourth."

Noctis's brain automatically prepared for the fourth tap.

But it never came.

Instead, Selene's hand shifted — and Noctis's mind swore she tapped when she did not.

His head jerked. "…You didn't tap."

"No," Selene said softly. "But your mind believed I did. I created a false rhythm and broke it — forcing your perception to betray you."

A cold shudder ran down his spine. "…I can do that in combat."

"Yes." Her voice darkened. "You can make your opponent react to false movements, misjudge their own balance, or feel a blow that never landed."

Noctis's mind spiraled with possibilities. "What's the limitation?"

Selene's gaze sharpened. "Concentration. Misalignment requires you to be absolutely aware of your target's perception. If you hesitate, the illusion breaks."

"…But if I maintain it?"

"Then your opponent will doubt their own senses. And in combat, doubt is fatal."

A slow, dangerous grin spread across Noctis's face. I will never need strength again.

But Selene's face did not share his satisfaction. "…There is one more thing."

"What?"

Her voice dropped. "…Misalignment does not merely break perception. If pushed too far, you can make them doubt reality itself. They will believe up is down. That their blade is heavy. That they missed when they struck."

Noctis's heart pounded. "And the danger?"

Selene's voice turned hollow. "…Push too far, and you may fracture their mind permanently."

A beat of silence.

"…Good," Noctis said coldly.

Selene's expression tightened. "…You enjoy this."

Noctis met her gaze — and the cruelty lurking beneath his growing power finally surfaced.

"I am tired of being weak," he said, his voice soft but venomous. "If they fear me — so be it."

Selene stared at him for a long moment. "…You are not the boy I raised."

"No," Noctis murmured, his gaze burning with new ambition. "I am not."

He was something else now.

And the noble court would soon learn to fear him.

"Teach me more, Mother."

Selene's heart broke — but she obliged.

Because in that moment, she realized:

Her son was no longer prey.

He was becoming the predator.