The sun had risen gold over Caelworth, but for the Wynhart family, a storm brewed beneath its light.
Two weeks after the training incident, the rumors had spread.
"Kavel's son can mimic a blade like no child I've seen."
"His movements—unnatural, precise. The younger one, Ragna. He's gifted."
"Even without aura, that kind of raw instinct is unheard of."
Whispers grew louder until they reached the ears of the Royal Army.
They came on horseback—three scouts in deep green cloaks, bearing the crest of the capital's High Guard. Their leader, a pale woman with a vertical scar on her throat, introduced herself as Captain Merien.
They observed quietly from a hilltop as Ragna and Eudora sparred.
And when it was over, they didn't ask for Eudora.
They asked for Ragna.
---
"What's this about?" Kavel asked, his hand resting on the hilt of a rusted sword by habit.
"Your son is promising," Merien replied calmly. "He has something we're interested in."
Ragna blinked. "You mean my aura?"
She shook her head. "You haven't awakened it yet. But it's something else. We'll know soon enough."
They offered Ragna a place in the Royal Proving Grounds—a military training division near the capital, where elite talents were shaped into knights and commanders. It was more than honor—it was future.
Kavel was hesitant. Eudora said nothing.
Ragna accepted.
---
Two days later, during a final training session before departure, it happened.
A wooden sword splintered during a mock fight. A sharp edge sliced clean through Ragna's left index finger.
Blood gushed.
Kavel rushed over.
But the blood stopped before they could react. The severed flesh trembled—then shifted, like something alive.
Bones pushed out. Veins reknit. Skin tightened.
In less than ten seconds, his finger had fully regrown.
Silence fell.
Not even Kavel spoke.
Ragna stared at his hand, wide-eyed. "What… what was that?"
Eudora stepped back, heart pounding.
He remembered the battlefield corpses. The torn limbs. The men who screamed before death claimed them. Never once had he seen anything come back.
This wasn't talent.
This was mutation.
And in that moment, Ragna's future was sealed.
---
That same week, Ragna left under royal escort.
He waved. He smiled.
He didn't know what was waiting for him.
But Eudora did.
The kingdom wouldn't just train a boy like that.
They would study him. Use him. Maybe even fear him.
And when they were done…
They'd discard him like all the others.
---
Eudora stayed behind.
No invitations. No letters. No offers.
The villagers gave him pitiful glances now—the shadow of a "chosen" twin.
But he didn't care.
He trained.
He bled.
He tried to understand the strange sensation inside him—something that had started the day Ragna's finger grew back.
At first, it was just noise.
A vibration in his bones.
Then—heat. A sharp pain when he stood near fire. The smell of smoke made him dizzy. Once, while burning wood, his skin didn't blister. It absorbed the flame.
He said nothing.
Because this wasn't aura. It wasn't magic.
It was wrong.
Like something buried inside him was slowly trying to wake up.
---
On his fifteenth birthday, a messenger arrived.
Not from the Crown. Not from any noble house.
But from the Guild of the Bound Path—a brutal adventurer order where the unwanted, untalented, and cursed were dumped.
Recruits were expected to survive six months of torment, beast hunts, dungeon patrols, and live training. Most didn't.
It was a death sentence disguised as an invitation.
Eudora didn't flinch.
He packed what little he had.
And when Kavel asked where he was going, Eudora just said:
"Where the cursed belong."