History lesson

Avyakta look at Sir Archen picture who was holding a sword whose blade was shining blue.

While the other kids gawked at the golden sword of Hero Edmund or the glowing staff Saint Ravina carried, Avyakta's eyes stayed locked on Sir Archen—the man in the dragon helm, standing in shadow. No face, no glory, no light. Just black armor and silence.

Father Johan's voice broke the stillness. "At the end of this year, all of you who are old enough—nine turning ten—will receive an evaluation. A few priests and scholars from the capital's Grand Cathedral will come. They'll look at your potential, your behavior, and your knowledge. And they'll help guide you before the Stigma reveals itself."

Some of the kids groaned. A few looked nervous. One girl whispered, "Are they scary?"

"They're strict," Father Johan admitted, "but fair. And some of them… well, some come looking for talent. If they see something special, they might offer you a chance to study in the capital itself."

That got the children buzzing again. A few even sat up straighter, already imagining themselves wearing golden robes or armor and living in towers high above the slums. Avyakta didn't say anything. He just looked down at his hands. Pale, small, and a little cold.

After the lesson and a short prayer, the children were sent back across the yard to the orphanage building, their feet crunching in the snow. Some ran ahead, others lingered behind, but as always, Avyakta walked in the middle of the group—quiet, unnoticed, and untouched.

Inside, the classroom was already warm. The old fireplace crackled softly in the corner, and a stack of history books lay waiting on the teacher's desk. Teacher Sabrina stood by the window, her long brown hair tied back and her glasses slightly tilted, as usual. She turned and smiled when she saw them enter.

"Everyone, take your seats. Let's not waste time," she said, voice calm but clear. "We've got a lot to cover."

As the children settled in, she glanced at Avyakta and gave a small nod—barely noticeable to anyone else. But to him, it meant something. She was one of the few adults who didn't flinch when they looked at him. One of the few who treated him like a person, not a warning.

"Today," she began, opening a thick, worn book, "we'll be talking about the Telion–Warinton War, one of the longest civil conflicts in the eastern provinces."

Several kids groaned.

"Stop that," Sabrina said with a smile. "This war changed the entire balance of the nobility for nearly a century. If you want to understand how the kingdoms came to be what they are now, you have to understand this."

She pointed to the chalkboard, where two names were written: Telion and Warinton.

"Both families were powerful noble houses. Telion believed in unity through bloodlines—strict marriages, pure inheritance, keeping the power within. The Warintons believed in unity through loyalty and strength. They allowed adoption, promotion by merit, and believed anyone could rise to nobility if they proved themselves."

Avyakta listened closely. He liked this part of the day. History made more sense to him than most things. There was a rhythm to it. A chain of causes and effects. Even if it was full of blood.

"The war lasted twenty-three years," Sabrina continued. "It started with a failed marriage alliance and turned into a continent-wide power struggle. The Telions claimed the Warintons were dishonoring tradition. The Warintons claimed the Telions were tyrants who only cared about blood and birthright."

"What happened to them?" one of the boys in front asked.

"In the end?" Sabrina shrugged. "The war ended with both families nearly destroyed. The Telion line was broken—scattered across minor branches. The Warintons won, technically, but at a heavy price. Their lands were ruined, their people exhausted. Many say neither side truly won."

She walked to the back of the room and pulled down a rolled-up map, letting it snap into place. "This was the territory during the war. You can see here—" she pointed to the divided regions in red and blue, "—how the war tore apart the eastern borderlands. Villages burned, trade stopped, and monsters crept in from the forgotten zones."

"Monsters?" someone asked, suddenly more interested.

"Yes," she said. "In times of war, the old protections fall. That's why the Great Walls were rebuilt after the conflict. That's why the Order of Ashen Blades was founded."

Avyakta's head tilted slightly. Ashen Blades. He remembered reading about them. Knights who used forbidden arts to hunt creatures that couldn't be slain by normal steel. Hated by many, feared by all.

"Some say," Sabrina added, "that the war also awoke older things. Things that had been sleeping. But we'll talk about that next week."

Groans again. She waved her hand.

"Homework—read chapters twelve to fifteen. Try not to fall asleep halfway through. And yes, Avyakta, you can borrow the extra copy from my desk."

The class started to pack up, scraping chairs and chattering again. As the others filed out, Sabrina caught Avyakta's eye and gave him a small smile. "You're always paying attention. That's good."

He nodded.

"Do you know which side you'd have picked?" she asked quietly.

He thought about it. "Neither."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"They both lost."

She paused, then laughed softly. "That's fair."

As he walked back to the boys' dormitory, Avyakta thought about the war. The Telions, the Warintons. Heroes and villains. Knights in silver, and one in black.

He didn't care about glory. He didn't care about honor.

He just wanted to understand.

What made people fight wars for decades? Why did bloodlines matter more than people? Why did the Telions and Warintons ruin thousands of lives just to prove who was right?

These were the kinds of questions Avyakta thought about when the others were running around, throwing snowballs, or arguing over who'd get the last piece of bread. He never said these things out loud. They wouldn't get it.

The other kids at the orphanage didn't really talk to him unless they had to. Some were just scared of his eyes. Others hated how quiet he was. A few didn't hate him at all, but still stayed away just to avoid being the next target of the bullies. It didn't matter. He didn't talk much either. He'd rather listen.

Back in the boys' dorm, Avyakta sat near the small window, holding the extra copy of the history book Teacher Sabrina had let him borrow. The others were on their beds, laughing, teasing each other, throwing pillows, or just complaining about homework. He stayed out of it, like always.

"Spawn's reading again," one of the older boys name Leo muttered loud enough for everyone to hear.

Another boy name Jean snorted. "Probably trying to figure out how to summon a demon."

They laughed. Avyakta didn't react. He turned the page of the book.

He didn't even know why they cared so much. He'd never done anything to them. Not once. But people feared what they didn't understand. And he wasn't easy to understand. His face, his voice, his eyes—none of it fit in.

His right eye was pitch black, like ink poured into a hole. The left had that strange ring and four black pupils that always made people uncomfortable. He used to wonder if something was wrong with him. Now he just accepted it.

He flipped to a section in the book about old noble alliances and noticed a name he hadn't seen before—House Veldrin. A minor family that sided with neither Telion nor Warinton but still ended up being destroyed because they tried to stop the war.

They tried to stop the war… and both sides saw them as traitors.

He closed the book and looked out the window. Snow was falling again. Slow, steady, covering the streets in white. His skin was almost the same shade—white as frost. Once, one of the nuns had joked that he might disappear if he ever lay in the snow too long. The joke didn't make the other children laugh, but it stuck with him.

A knock came at the dorm door. Sister Dalia peeked in.

"Avyakta, can you come with me?"

He nodded, stood up, and followed her quietly. She always spoke gently to him. Never forced him to talk, never stared at his eyes for too long. It helped.

They walked down the corridor toward the back chapel, where Father Johan was lighting candles. He turned when he heard the footsteps.

"Good. You're here," he said. "We need to talk."

Avyakta stayed silent, waiting.

"Sit," Father Johan said, motioning to the small wooden bench by the altar. The boy sat.

"You've been doing well in your lessons," Johan said. "Teacher Sabrina says you remember everything you read. Even the boring parts."

Avyakta looked down. "I like reading."

"I know. It shows." The priest folded his arms. "The capital examiners will be here in about four months. That's not a lot of time. You'll be one of the youngest being evaluated, and... to be honest, the others may not be as ready."

"Do I have to go?" Avyakta asked quietly.

Johan paused. "No. But it's an opportunity. If someone from the capital sees potential in you, you might leave the orphanage. Get real training. A future."

Avyakta didn't respond right away. Finally, he said, "Will I still get the Stigma?"

"Everyone does," Johan replied. "Even if they don't want it."

"Do I get to choose what I become?"

The priest shook his head. "No. The Stigma chooses you. It comes from somewhere deeper than choice. The best we can do is prepare."

Sister Dalia stepped forward. "You're different, Avyakta. That's not a bad thing. The world is full of people trying to be the same. Sometimes the ones who don't fit are the ones who matter most."

He didn't know how to reply to that. He just nodded again.

As they left the chapel, Dalia placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You'll be alright. You're stronger than you think."

That night, after dinner and chores, the other children drifted off to sleep one by one. The dorm quieted. The fire in the hearth dimmed to embers. But Avyakta stayed awake, staring at the ceiling, his hands folded over the book on his chest.

What would his Stigma be? What if it never came? What if it did, and it was something no one understood?

He wasn't afraid of the power. He was afraid of what it would make others see.

More reason to hate him?

More reason to fear him?

He didn't want to be feared. He didn't want to be loved either. He just wanted answers.

And if no one would give them to him…

He'd find them himself.