heir of the cursed blood

The sun had barely risen, but Kael's arms were already numb from crawling up the rocky slope. He collapsed onto his back, chest heaving, muscles trembling. Blood ran down his fingertips, mixing with dirt and sweat.

Eorun sat under a crooked tree, watching him like a crow watching the dying.

"Still breathing? Good. Means I don't have to drag your corpse today."

Kael gritted his teeth and pulled himself up. "How long until I learn Aura?"

Eorun raised an eyebrow. "You're already learning it."

Kael frowned. "I don't feel anything."

The old demi-human smirked. "Exactly. Aura is like steel. You forge it in heat. Right now, your body's the furnace. You won't feel anything… until it tries to kill you."

He stood and walked toward Kael, then pointed toward the horizon where the clouds stretched low and thick over distant mountains.

"Tell me, Kael. Do you know what color your Aura will be?"

Kael blinked. "Color?"

Eorun nodded. "Yes. Every Aura has a color. It doesn't affect the power. Not directly. But it reflects something deeper… something inside."

He tapped his own chest. "A reflection of the self. Temperament. Spirit. Drive."

Kael's brow furrowed. "So what does your color mean?"

Eorun chuckled. "Wouldn't you like to know."

Kael looked down at his hands. "Then… has anyone ever become powerful just using Aura? Without magic? Without ability?"

Eorun suddenly laughed — loud, harsh, and echoing off the canyon walls like thunder.

"Boy… There are people in this world who make mages tremble without ever uttering a single spell!"

He turned his gaze north, eyes narrowing.

"Let me tell you about the man called Thalren Runcal — the Patriarch of the Runcal family."

Kael's breath caught. He had heard that name before — only in whispers, only in legends.

"One of the Eight Families," Eorun continued, "but unlike the others who hide behind magic or bloodlines, the Runcal family rules the entire Snowfang North with nothing but steel."

He crouched beside Kael, eyes fierce.

"Thalren's swordsmanship is unmatched. In the last war of the shattered plains, he ended the siege of three kingdoms… with a single slash."

Kael stared, stunned.

Eorun nodded, voice low and reverent.

"They say his blade tore through mountains. Not even magic barriers could hold. The sky itself turned pale when he drew his sword. Across all four continents, no one dares challenge him in a duel."

"Some believe he's among the top ten strongest beings in all of Raghas."

"And do you know the most terrifying part?"

Kael didn't breathe.

"He has never used magic. Not once."

"In the Runcal kingdom, magic is banned. Even healing spells are forbidden. They believe in Aura alone. Strength through suffering. Precision through pain."

"And his Aura… is light blue — clear as the northern skies, but colder than any winter."

Kael's throat was dry. "Even the other family leaders fear him?"

"They respect him," Eorun corrected. "But yes — deep down, they fear him. Not because of his family. Not because of his wealth. But because when Thalren Runcal steps onto a battlefield, he doesn't speak. He slashes. And things die."

Kael looked down at his bleeding hands again.For the first time… he didn't feel shame.He felt potential.

If a man could shake kingdoms without a single spell, without being born chosen… then maybe there was a path for someone like him too.

He whispered to himself.

"I'll master it. Even if it kills me. I'll turn this body into a weapon."

Eorun watched, quiet now.

The fire in Kael's eyes was no longer fueled by revenge or betrayal. It was something deeper — a hunger to become. To matter. To write his name in the scars of the world.

"Somewhere far in the frozen north, a light blue blade carved through snow and silence.And in the south, under dirt and sweat, a nameless boy began forging his own."