Chapter 1: No one to see my struggle

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The mansion loomed like a judge in the rain, its golden gates closed forever against me.

I had always known I was different. In the House of Vaelor, Roar awakened at birth for those of true royal blood blades of fire for my eldest brother, 

wings of storm for my sister, even the youngest cousin had manifested a shield of pure light before he could walk. They were butterflies, radiant and effortless. I was the toad squatting in their shadow, waiting for wings that never came.

The family elders called it a defect. "The Spirit skipped you," they said, as if I were a faulty blade. My siblings never mocked me openly royals were above such pettiness but their pity cut deeper than any insult. 

Whispers in the halls: "Poor Yagmi. The blood thinned with him." My father, the patriarch, never met my eyes after my tenth birthday when the ceremony failed. Mother wept once, then never again.

When the Eternal Order's recruiters came to the estate last spring, they tested every noble child of age. My siblings dazzled them Roars flaring like beacons. They offered squad positions on the spot. For me? Silence. 

A cold glance. "No potential detected." The commander even laughed softly. "Royal blood, yet no roar. A shame."

That night, they decided. "The House cannot carry dead weight," my father declared at dinner, voice flat as a judge's gavel. "You will leave at dawn. Find your own path or perish on it."

No one argued. Not my brother, who once promised to train me. Not my sister, who used to sneak sweets to my room. Not even the servants looked sorry. I was erased before I left.

The streets of Vaelor City swallowed me. Rain hammered down that first night, as if the sky itself mourned what my family would not. I huddled under an alley overhang, soaked to bone, stomach clawing itself empty. 

The cold seeped in, numbing fingers and toes, but it was nothing compared to the ache inside. Loneliness gnawed worse than hunger. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the mansion lights warm, distant, mocking.

I was dying slowly. Not from the rain or the empty belly, but from the truth they forced on me: I was a failure. Unworthy. Forgettable. I even cried on the gates, no one listen, not my brothers nor sister, not even my mother who gave me birth

Yet even as my body shook, a stubborn spark refused to die. I wanted to prove them wrong. Not for revenge not yet but for equality. To walk back through those gates one day, Roar blazing, and hear them say my name without pity. To be family. To belong.

The desire burned hotter than the cold. If I died here, forgotten in the gutter, at least I would die trying.

Thunder cracked overhead. Lightning illuminated the distant silhouette of the mansion one last time.

Something stirred deep inside my chest. Not warmth. Not hope. Rage. Pure, black, bottomless. And beneath it, something ancient uncoiled.

I cried until there were no tears left, only dry heaves that rattled my ribs. My heart felt pierced clean through not by a blade, but by the quiet absence of everyone who should have cared. 

The night sky wept louder than I ever could, rain pouring in sheets, turning the alley into a river of mud and regret.

The rain wrapped around me like a blanket, cold and indifferent. I should have hated it. Instead, I welcomed the embrace. A toad craves rain, after all. And in that moment, the sky was the only thing willing to hold me.

Two days and two nights passed in a haze. I didn’t eat. I barely moved. Hunger clawed at my insides, cold settled into my bones like rust, but none of it mattered. The real pain was deeper, sharper, and it had my family’s faces on it.

On the third morning, I decided I couldn’t stay in Vaelor City any longer. If I remained within sight of those golden gates, the hope that someone anyone might come looking for me would keep killing me slowly. So I left.

I couldn’t walk. My legs refused to carry the weight of what I had become. I crawled.

Hands sinking into mud, knees dragging through puddles, I pulled myself along the road that led out of the city toward the dark line of woods in the distance. Every inch felt like surrender. Every breath tasted like failure.

From the corner of my eye, I saw her.

My sister stood beneath a black umbrella at the edge of the estate grounds, just beyond the gates. She hadn’t moved closer, hadn’t called out, hadn’t even lifted a hand. She simply watched.

The umbrella was the one I made for her years ago simple bamboo frame, oiled paper dyed deep indigo, a clumsy little charm carved into the handle because she liked stars. I spent a whole summer on it. She had treasured it then. I was pretty sure she still did.

She stood like a word caught in the throat about to be spoken, but never quite escaping. Rain drummed on the fabric above her head, but she didn’t flinch. Her face was pale, expression unreadable behind the veil of water.

I wanted to scream. Help. Sister. Please.

The words died in my throat before they could form. What right did I have to ask anything from her now? I was no longer worthy to even speak her name. The toad doesn’t beg the butterfly to land.

I forced my eyes forward. Used every scrap of strength left in my arms to drag myself farther, faster, until the curve of the road hid her from view. Until she was gone.

The woods swallowed the path ahead. Dark trunks, dripping leaves, the scent of wet earth and decay. I kept crawling until the city sounds faded completely until there was only rain, my ragged breathing, and the hollow ache where family used to be.

I collapsed against the base of an ancient tree, face pressed to bark, body trembling. If I disappeared here, maybe the pain would disappear too.

I lay motionless against the ancient tree, back pressed to rough bark that felt more alive than I did. My mind was a storm of what-ifs, each one sharper than the last.

What if I had been born like my brothers? Roar flaring at birth, sword in hand, wings already unfurling. Would Father have looked at me then? Would Mother have held me instead of turning away? 

Would my sister have stepped forward instead of standing frozen behind the gates? The questions looped endlessly, cutting deeper with every pass. I wanted someone anyone who would listen. 

Who would sit in the mud with me and say, “You are enough.” But the woods were silent except for the drip of rain from leaves.

Or so I thought.

“Ohh son, your condition is worse than worse.”

The voice came from above me, low and weathered like old wood. I blinked through the haze. An old man stood there, umbrella held high against the drizzle. His face was lined like cracked earth, eyes soft but sharp, clothes patched and practical. 

He looked down at me not with pity, but with something closer to recognition. I tried to speak. Nothing came out except a dry rasp. My throat had forgotten how words worked.

He crouched slowly, joints creaking, and studied me. “You’ve been out here a week, boy. Thought you were part of the tree at first thin as a branch, pale as the bark. What happened to you, son?”

I opened my mouth again. Only air escaped, cracked and useless. The words were there family, gates, failure, toad but they refused to leave.

The old man’s expression softened further. “You don’t have to speak. Not yet. Rest for now.”

He slipped an arm under my shoulders gentler than anyone had touched me in years and lifted me with surprising strength for his age. My body was limp, weightless, as if the last week had hollowed me out completely. 

He carried me through the trees toward a small wooden house half-hidden among the trunks, smoke curling lazily from its chimney.

Before my eyes closed, I caught one last glimpse of his face brow furrowed, lips pressed thin with worry. Not disgust. Not indifference. Worry.

For the first time in days, something warm flickered in my chest. Not rage. Not hope, exactly.

Just the faint, fragile feeling that maybe I hadn’t completely disappeared yet. Darkness took me.

(End of Chapter 1)