Volume 2 - Chapter 11 - Prologue – Light Above, Shadows Below

Mid-afternoon sunlight spilled across the small training ground beside the house, where patches of wild grass swayed gently in the breeze and the smell of pine drifted down from the surrounding forest. Mr. Sword stood tall where Arcea had driven it into the earth, its blade gleaming faintly in the glow, casting slender reflections across the dirt. Birds rustled in the branches overhead, their distant chirps filling the air with a faint chorus. A short distance away, Arcea’s sharp, focused eyes locked onto the worn training dummy planted near the tree line. She thrust out her hand, her voice ringing with determination.

“Fireball! Lightning! Waterblast!”

She continued to shout names of spells she imagined, but nothing came. Not even a spark.

From the porch, Iris leaned against the railing, watching with a faint smile. “You can’t just scream out the name of a spell to cast it,” she called out. “First, you have to figure out your affinity.”

Arcea grumbled, stamping a foot. “I don’t know how to do that! And Xanathis already left with Dad… at this rate, he’s going to win!”

Iris chuckled softly and stepped down from the deck, approaching. “Then I’ll help you.”

Arcea tilted her head. “You… know magic?”

“Yes,” Iris replied, lifting her hand. “Xanathis unlocked my mana pathways a long time ago, so I’ve been able to practice. Just watch.”

“Wind Slash.”

Air stirred, swirling into a tight vortex around her palm. She swung her arm like a blade, releasing the gale. The compressed wind carved across the dummy, leaving a shallow cut in its side. Without pause, she shifted her stance, sweeping her hand again.

“Earth Spikes.”

She swept her hand in a wide arc, raw earth energy condensing in the air before her. Jagged spikes of stone rapidly formed, suspended in the air like floating knives. With a sharp motion they shot outward, whistling through the air in a scattered spread before slamming into the dummy with heavy thuds. Splinters of wood burst from its frame as the stone blades pierced deep, leaving it riddled and quivering from the impact.

Arcea’s green eyes widened. “Wow! You have an affinity for two different elements?”

Iris nodded calmly. “I can even do a few combination spells.” Her tone softened as she crouched slightly to meet her daughter’s eyes. “Now… if you want to find your affinity, you need to concentrate. Expand your senses. Feel for which elements call to you. Once you can feel them… then you can start to imagine your magic and shape it into spells.”

Arcea puffed her cheeks, but slowly nodded. She plopped down cross-legged in the dirt, squeezing her eyes shut to concentrate.

Iris let a small, proud smile curve her lips. It warmed her heart to see Arcea putting in real effort — using her head instead of just brute force.

Iris approached and knelt beside her. “Concentrating is good,” she said gently, “but there are other ways to discover your affinity.”

Arcea cracked one eye open, watching her, waiting for her to continue.

“You also need to interact with the elements,” Iris explained, “and learn how they make you feel when you’re near them.”

Arcea tilted her head. “Like… play in the water?”

“Not play,” Iris corrected softly. “When you touch an element, you must focus on it—concentrate on its presence. Sit in a tub of water and relax, feel the currents pressing against your skin. Lay in the dirt and notice its weight and steadiness. When the wind blows, climb to a tall place and let the breeze wash over you, pay attention to how it whispers. Lock yourself in a room of total darkness and feel how it surrounds and holds you. Each element will speak to you differently—your task is to listen.”

With a quiet breath, she turned and made her way back toward the house to begin preparing lunch.

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Beneath the cheerful light of day above Bernswick, darkness thrived below.

Deep within an underground chamber of the Bernswick mansion, Quinn hung beaten and bloody. The air was thick with damp stone and the stench of iron, the flickering torchlight casting warped shadows across chains, hooks, and rusted tools mounted on the walls. Streaks of dried blood stained the floor beneath him, and the distant drip of water echoed through the chamber like a cruel metronome. His voice cracked as he pleaded through swollen lips.

“And that’s what I saw… her strength and power were unbelievable. She killed a giant beast with one slice of that magical sword she found in the ruins. Now please—let me go. I told you everything.”

Patrick, the mansion’s butler, stood tall and composed. His silver hair was neatly combed back, a waxed moustache framing his stern expression. One of his eyes glowed faintly blue, a mechanical replacement, while his other eye was hidden behind a monocle-like lens. His hands and forearms gleamed with polished metal plating that clicked softly as he flexed them. Dressed immaculately in a black suit with a crimson bow tie, he calmly wiped Quinn’s blood from his steel fingers with a cloth. His voice was cool, detached. “You’re sure that’s everything?”

“Y… yes,” Quinn croaked. “Now please—let me go.”

The butler’s tone hardened. “You still haven’t answered the most important question. Where is that demi-human girl?”

Quinn coughed, forcing the words out. “I already told you—I don’t know the exact location. It’s somewhere in a forest near the Overlook Mountains, that’s all I know. But that girl Lana, or Jack… they might know. I saw them looking over a map jack had and arcea pointed to them the location where her house was. They were closer to her.”

The butler turned his head toward the young master seated in the shadows. “What do you say, Young Master Charles?”

Charles leaned forward, eyes gleaming with cruel delight. “Patrick… I want to hear more. Go find that girl Lana and the shard hunter Jack. We’ll make both of them talk.”

The butler bowed low. “Yes, Young Master. I will see to it at once.” He straightened, preparing to leave, when Charles spoke again.

“Also… hire some hunters. Have them ready and waiting for my command.”

Patrick bowed once more. “Yes, Young Master. It will be done.”

Charles’s lips twisted into a sinister smile as he remained seated in the dim light, staring at the bloodied Quinn. In his mind he pictured the demi-human girl—how she would break under his hand, and how he would use her for all she was worth.

Then another figure entered the chamber—it was Sébastien, Charles’s younger brother. His golden‑blond hair fell in a practiced sweep over sharp features, and his pale blue eyes carried a lazy cruelty that contrasted his youthful face. A scarf of white cloth draped across his shoulders, its ends tucked neatly into a tunic trimmed with gold. Leather gloves creaked as he flexed his hands, and the faint scuff of his boots on stone announced his approach.

“I overheard,” Sébastien drawled, his tone laced with mock amusement. “So this girl—is she really that special? You know we still have a few women in the back.”

Charles’s gaze hardened. “I’m not like you. I have different plans for her now that I know she is extremely strong.”

Sébastien gave a short, dismissive laugh. “What a waste. You and that little secret arena you play around in—it’s nothing but a game. Life is simpler when you take your pleasures as they come. Just enjoy it like I do.” He smirked as he turned toward the door.

Pausing with one hand on the frame, he glanced back. “Father is planning on getting rid of this batch soon. You’d better enjoy your favorites before they’re gone.”

With that, Sébastien strode out, leaving behind only the echo of his mocking words.

Charles ignored him, sinking back into his seat, mind already twisting toward future plans.