Failure

“You failed, again.”

A boy gasped for air in pain, his breathing silent. Craters stared on the grey brick walls, the leftover rubble crumbling to the floor. The pebbles echoed in the room as the candles lit the weekly exam. The boy was on his knees, his left hand clutching his chest as tears began to flow down.

Two black stilettos stood tall in front of him. The light reflecting the glossy finish wavered, the boy struggling to catch his breath in the deathly silence. His mouth gaped open, but he knew he had to control his breathing, he just had too. But he couldn’t.

A tired sigh filled the room, the woman in front of him turning around.

“W-wait” The young boy pleaded.

“Don’t beg.”

“...sorry.”

“Sorry? For what?” She glanced back, her bright hazel eyes staring spitefully at the young boy.

“...”

She sighed once more and continued onward. Her heels’ clicks echoed down as she climbed the stair to the basement door, the sound unending until a moment later a loud creak was heard. The rusted metal door shut behind the woman, leaving just the boy in the room.

The moment the door clacked shut, the boy fell flat on his stomach, gasping for air. He’d just been pummeled for 6 hours straight, the woman testing his magical power, swordsmanship, and hand-to-hand combat, relentlessly. She was the wife of the head of the House of Pride, and the boy’s mother. He’d just finished his weekly assessment, an exam done to measure his growth in the aforementioned skills as he spent his days training, studying, and sleeping. This was the life he’d known since birth, his blood belonging to the most prestigious family in the entirety of the nation of Falmah.

Struggling to his feet, the boy pushed his spent palms against his knees. His legs shook and his heartbeat pounded as he took slow steps forward. He was starving, and more than anything, dying of thirst. He slowly made his way up the stairs, the door opening once he neared the last few steps where he was met with one of the mansion's butlers.

“You are to report to Duke’s office at once master Kaelric.”

Coughing in exhaustion he replied, “I will head there at once.”

Dragging his feet above the velvet carpet, Kaelric made his way down the large corridor. There he saw the portraits of the family spanning across the corridor leading up to a double door at the end, the House of Pride on the wall.

His father’s portrait was the largest, rightfully so as he was a duke of the nation, and one of the King’s most trusted advisors. His mother was also in the same portrait, her legs crossed and sitting on a red cushioned chair in front of her husband; who was behind the chair slightly to the right. She sat with her chest puffed out, her cold gaze immortalized in the picture as she was an accomplished commoner. Working hard with her gifts since her youth, she alone was granted the title of Court Mage, and graduated top of her class in the lands’ most prestigious academy, only second to the Elven academy in Gyoral. The marriage brought upon many obstacles and adversities, but in the end the name became hers, the wife pledging and willing to uphold the House’s prestige. Raisa Pride gave birth to 6 children, the six set on a path of success since they first gained the ability to walk.

As he walked down the hallway more and more portraits began to stare back at him. His oldest brother, Maader, looked down on him, the frames’ placement being next to his fathers’ near the hallway ceiling. He grew to follow in his father’s footsteps as the successor of the house, the portrait featuring many of his closest friends, all capable nobles and the prince of Falmah by his side, his arm over Maader’s. He’d maintain high performance in academic, magical, and physical ability, on top of maintaining his friendships and even become close enough to be granted the special privilege to him and him alone to call the King of Falmah, “Uncle.”

The portrait under Maader’s was of the second oldest brother, Iskander. His portrait was wider than the rest, the painting depicting a wide slash with his sword, demonstrating his powerful combat abilities. Despite his lack of political adeptness, he’d become known as the golden child of the family, having surpassed his brother's strength at a younger age, magically and physically, his father gave a special exception and allowed his portrait to be significantly different from the rest, allowing his brother to have all they say in how it turned out.

Walking further, he came to a stop at the third portrait, the illustration of a beautiful girl with fair brown hair, a green dress complementing her bright hazel eyes.

“Sylvia…”

“Yes?”

“AH!!”

“You're the one who called me.”

The girl from the portrait was now sixteen, her sword on her hip, and her eyes locked on Kaelric’s behind two glass frames.

“Ah…no it’s nothing.”

“I see. You should wash up, you look like a mess.”

She lifted a book in her left hand, her glasses now locked on the words within the book as she walked away, turning left at the double doors at the end of the hall. Out of all his siblings, Sylvia was the one Kaelric felt closest too, and the one that made him hope. She was the third child of the House of Pride and the only daughter of the family.

Like Kaelric, she was born with very little mana, granting her the title of “The first problem child.” However, this name did not stick for long as she was two years younger than him when she proved herself an official mage at 11 years of age, which is when her portrait was made. Her lack of magical ability led her to excel at her academics and became the first to implement magic into swordsmanship despite her limited output, inspiring a whole new form of battle as the years passed.

His portrait was right under hers, a smaller boy with a strained smile, sitting down as straight as a ruler. He looked up to his sister, a narcissistic idolization as his greater mana pool left him with hope for his future. However his abilities stopped there. His studies were above average at best and his physical abilities were only a ways away from his sisters. His body was toned but his movement was slow, a liability on the battlefield according to the House, all their movements swift and accurate. He’d been born into great shadows, darkness he could only escape if he surpassed them, and became accomplished in his own right.

Walking closer to the door he remembered his mother’s spiteful gaze, how she pushed him, her need for validation echoing through her teachings. The House of Pride’s bloodline spans centuries, giving birth to legendary figures and many accomplished individuals; success and superiority was a guarantee and the sole goal to achieve in the household.

Time had run its course, the mother training the boy, seeing the gap between him and his siblings grow larger as he was significantly weaker. She began to lessen her focus on him and instead his two younger siblings, a twin boy and girl. Years studying, training, and practicing magic with his mother had amounted to nothing, his family members growing further alongside him, and the gap between their success growing larger and larger.

His mother saw success with the twins, which gained significant magic adeptness even earlier than the rest of their siblings, the evidence shown in the 3 year olds crib, untouched as they slept on air above it.

The hallway filled with the names of the children, their achievements playing in Kaelrics head. Maader gaining the hand in marriage of the princess of the nation, Iskander growing ever more powerful and winning the people’s support, the sister and prodigy continuing her studies and developing the sword magic medium granting her praise from renowned researchers and her own mother. The rumors that spread of the new twins and the potential they had as they began their studies. The praises and laughter echoed in his mind, the house filled with cheers as those born within the House of Pride, were all becoming exceptionally powerful and respected individuals, fulfilling the house’s one and only goal. All the siblings' names and their great achievements were told and repeated by the house maids and butlers year round, their voices resounding loudly in his mind.

Reaching the double door, Kaelric felt his sweaty shirt and pants stick to his body. He would have changed if he could, but the butler had said At once, which meant his father wanted to see him immediately. He knocked on the door and immediately responded too.

“You may enter.”

The voice was loud and low, the door creaking open and child-like laughter entering his ears. His stoic father sitting on his office desk as the twins played tag in the air. His mother sat with her legs crossed on a chair near the desk, she looked up and cooed warmly.

“Kid’s come here~”

““Okayyyy””

The two toddlers floated down as their mother stretched her arms out. The two slowly landed atop her arms to which she cradled them into a sitting position, a glance being shot to the duke, before looking at Kaelric, indifferently.

“I’m told that you failed the assessment again.”

The father’s hands clasped together on the desk, the fingers interlocking and his face leaning into them, staring at the bruised boy.

“Y-yes father.”

“Tell me…what is the name of this house?”

“The House of Pride.”

“The House of PRIDE! Exactly! So tell me why-”

A knock at the door interrupted him, followed by a familiar voice.

“Duke sir, apologize for the interruption, but I have gathered the rest as you instructed.”

His father sighed and got up from his chair.

“You may enter.”

The doors opened and his three older siblings bowed before stepping in.

“You wished to see us, father.”

Maader looked at Kaelric, his bruised body and stained clothes standing in front of them.

“Tell me, are you three proud of your accomplishments?"

‘‘“No father.”’’

“How are things in Falmah?”

“The wedding is set for next year, although the throne is not yet mine, father.”

“I see, what say you Iskander?”

“There are talks about joining the Royal Guard ranks; possibly as a captain.”

“And you? Sylvia?”

His gaze moved over to her, the atmosphere different than when looking at his sons, a slight glimmer faintly glowing in his eyes.

“I have been granted the title of archimage, father.”

His eyes opened slightly, a clear sense of shock quickly flashing on his face before relaxing once more.

“That makes you the youngest in the Three Great Nations.”

“Yes father, and the academy seems to want to implement my sword magic into their curriculum.”

“I see.”

A silence filled the room, the three siblings now looking at his father, standing behind his desk.

“This is an important family meeting, one that will rectify this house and ensure its prestige is preserved.”

His gaze lowered to the young Kaelric, his face of worry staring back at him.

“Kaelric. That is the name I gave you. Do you know what it means?”

“I do not father.”

His gaze began to drop, now looking at the desk in front of him, rather than his father’s face.

“It means fire and steel, a fitting name for this house… And yet, the name has been wasted.”

“...”

“You are thirteen years old… so tell me boy, what have you accomplished.”

The room drowned in suspense. The twins begin to get restless in their mothers arms, and the three siblings still up against the now closed doors.

“Nothing, father.”

His eyes grew stern and his voice announced for all in the room to hear.

“You will no longer call me Father.”

The duke looked up at his wife sitting to the side, and his three oldest children.

“The House of Pride is a prestigious family, producing only greats, and greats alone. All my children embody the house, and all who bear the name are worthy of it.”

“From this moment on, your name is whatever you want it to be. Anything but Kaelric Pride, your family is whoever you want it to be.”

His eyes shift to the older siblings, his face cold and imposing as he looks at Maader.

“Tell me the names of your siblings.”

The young man looked down at the boy, his face apathetically staring at the boy once named Kaelric.

“They are Iskander, Sylvia, Chasi and Marno, father.”

“Iskander, have you always had five siblings?”

“Yes father, there were only ever five of us.”

“Sylvia, who is this boy here?”

“He…must have been a stowaway from the last shipment of wheat.”

The boy was sweating, his eyes beginning to tear up. His knees giving out and dropping to the floor.

“Lahmer!”

The door shot open, the head butler bowing before assessing the scene.

“It seems this boy arrived on the island by accident, could you return him to the mainland?”

“...Certainly.”

—--

“Here you are.”

It was the middle of the night. A nameless boy had just been returned from the House of Pride’s estate, having accidentally arrived as a stowaway on their last shipment of wheat.

The boy sniffed, holding back tears as a maid gave him ragged clothes, a replacement for the ones he currently had.

“Here.”

She handed the boy a piece of paper and a knife. Her face indifferent as she began to take her leave.

“From Mistress Sylvia.”

The trees rustled under the night sky, a cold ocean breeze wafting over the land. He looked up at the stars, the tears now flowing unapologetically and his lips parting ways after hours of silence. A young boy’s cries filled the empty beach. Not a soul to hear him. On his knees he gripped the sand, the waves rising to his knees and wrists and he broke down in tears. The beach whooshed against the sand and the moonlight lit the beach; the beach ruined the paper, stealing it from him. It had read:

Don’t die. Pawn the knife.

And if you can’t think of anything,

I think Ansel is a good placeholder.