In the Kingdom of Vaelora, where magic is known as the most powerful weapon, its people rely on it for everything—from warfare to daily chores. Magic is not just a tool; it is a way of life, a symbol of power, and the measure of one's worth.
At the heart of this kingdom stands the Caelvarin family, a powerful and ancient bloodline that rules over Vaelora. They are renowned for their immense magical strength and have protected the kingdom for thousands of years. The Caelvarins are not only the royal family—they are the very embodiment of Vaeloran might.
Their patriarch, King Caedryn Caelvarin, is revered as the "Chosen of the Heavens". A prodigy since birth, he is known as the most powerful mage in the land. His command over the elements and his leadership have made him both feared and respected. Under his reign, the kingdom thrives, and his children are expected to follow in his footsteps—or be left behind.
King Caedryn has many wives and many children. Each of them, save one, is gifted with extraordinary magical talent. They are all heirs to the throne, and when the time comes, they will fight in the ancient Trial of Heirs, a brutal tradition where the royal siblings battle until only one remains. The survivor becomes the next ruler of Vaelora.
All of them are powerful—except the youngest.
Ari Caelvarin, the king's last-born son, was born without magic. A stain upon the legacy. An outcast.
Because his mother was a commoner and he was born without magical ability, Ari is ridiculed by the other royals and scorned by the noble class. Though he carries the Caelvarin name, he is treated as if he were invisible.
Despite this, the king never once disowned him. King Caedryn raised Ari with the same pride as his other children, never once allowing favoritism to break through his stoic exterior.
But in Vaelora, magic defines a man's worth—and Ari had none.
His siblings, paragons of magical strength, are in constant competition, each preparing for the Trial. Many believe the contest to succeed the king will be the most intense in generations.
And Ari? To the rest of the royal court, he's nothing more than a joke—a magicless boy from a common woman with no place on the throne.
---
Years later, far from the capital and deep within one of Vaelora's ancient forests, a lone house stood in silence. Though remote, it still lay within the kingdom's domain. This was where Ari lived, far from the judgmental eyes of court.
In a clearing outside the house, a young man swung a wooden staff wrapped in sandbags. He moved with precision and power, each strike echoing through the trees.
Seventeen years old, Ari Caelvarin had grown into a hardened warrior. Though he had no magic, he had honed his body like a weapon—trained in swordsmanship, strategy, and survival. Sweat glistened on his bare chest, dripping down his muscular frame as he clenched his jaw and continued the strikes.
"998… 999… 1000," he grunted.
He dropped the staff and collapsed to the ground, panting. The evening sun dipped below the treetops, casting long shadows across the forest floor.
"The Trial of Heirs is coming," he thought, staring at the fading sky. "Even though I'm magicless… I have to participate in that damn tradition. Only one will survive. That means my siblings and I… we'll be fighting to the death."
He closed his eyes, letting the cool earth calm the fire in his chest.
"I should go back. Mom will be worried."
---
As night fell, Ari returned to the house. But something was wrong.
The front door hung open. The scent of blood tainted the air.
"Mom?" he called, stepping inside.
His heart stopped.
The interior was ruined—furniture shattered, walls scorched, and in the center of the room, his mother lay on the floor, blood pooling beneath her.
"NO—Mom!" Ari rushed to her side, lifting her into his arms.
She looked up at him, her face pale, her voice faint. "Run… Go… They're coming for you…"
Her hand slid from his arm, limp. Her eyes closed.
"NO! Please—please, wake up!" Ari sobbed, cradling her. His tears fell onto her cooling skin. His chest tightened with grief, agony twisting in his gut. His mother—the only person who had ever shown him unconditional love—was gone.
Memories flooded his mind. Her warm voice. Her soft hands. Her laughter as she braided his hair. The way she smiled even when the world mocked them.
And now she was silent.
Then—pain.
A sharp, stabbing sensation in his back. Warmth spilled down his spine.
He turned, groaning.
Behind him stood a man dressed in black—an assassin.
Ari reached for his training stick and swung, but the figure vanished like smoke.
Then his mother's body began to glow.
"M-Mom… what's happening?" he whispered, backing away.
Her form expanded, bloated with unstable energy.
Then—BOOM.
The body exploded in a surge of arcane fire. The house disintegrated.
Ari was thrown through a wall and landed outside in the dirt, limbs torn, body burning, jaw shattered, blood staining the grass.
"M…Mother…" he rasped, vision fading. He couldn't move. His body was broken beyond recognition.
He turned his head and saw them—a group of cloaked assassins, their eyes cold, their steps silent.
"That's him," said the leader. "The target."
One assassin scoffed. "Why is he a threat? He has no magic. He could train for a thousand years and never beat us."
"Shut up," the leader replied. "The prophecy says he's dangerous. We don't take risks. Kill him."
Two assassins approached. Without hesitation, they plunged their blades into Ari's chest. Over and over. Blood soaked the ground. He gasped—and went still.
"Enough," said the leader. "Burn the body. Leave no trace."
The assassins unleashed fire magic. Flames engulfed Ari's corpse.
Then they vanished into the night.
The forest was silent.
---
But something stirred in the fire.
Ari's charred body turned to stone.
Then—cracks.
A golden light erupted from within the stone.
It split apart, falling away like an old shell.
From the wreckage emerged Ari Caelvarin, whole, alive—reborn.
No scars. No burns. His limbs were intact. His body radiated power.
As if death had never touched him.
---
In a quiet village on the kingdom's border, morning light filtered into a modest room. Ari lay on a straw bed, breathing steadily.
Suddenly, he woke with a jolt.
"M-Mom…" he whispered, looking around in confusion. This wasn't home.
Then the door opened.
A young woman burst in—Amy, his childhood friend. Her eyes widened.
"Ari!" she cried, rushing to him. She wrapped him in a hug, tears spilling down her cheeks. "Thank the gods—you're awake. We found you laying in the grass, near to your burned house… but… we couldn't find your mother…"
Ari froze.
The memories came rushing back.
The assassins. The blood. Her final words.
His jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists so tightly they bled.
His golden eyes filled with hatred.
"They killed her. They tried to kill me."
"They should've made sure I stayed dead."
"I'll find them."
"I'll kill every last one."