The Forsaken Heir

Welcome, Lorian...

The voice resonated, smooth and powerful, and Lorian felt his entire being pulled into a dark abyss. There was no ground beneath him, no sense of direction—just a free fall through endless darkness. His arms flailed, searching for something solid to grasp, but there was nothing but the void. His heart raced as he tumbled through the emptiness, the sensation of weightlessness overwhelming.

For what felt like an eternity, he fell. But just as panic began to take hold, the darkness around him shifted. A faint light appeared in the distance, growing larger until, suddenly, the sensation of falling ceased. Lorian's feet landed gently on solid ground.

His breath came out in a ragged gasp as he looked around.

He was standing in the courtyard of Aelshire, his home. The grand Aeloria Estate stretched out before him, its familiar marble walls glowing softly under the pale moonlight. The intricate stone arches, the well-maintained gardens, the soft rustle of wind through the trees—it was exactly as he remembered it.

But something was off. The estate felt... too quiet, too still, as though it were frozen in time. There were no servants, no movement, not even the usual sound of the wind chimes that hung near the entrance. Only the dim, eerie silence.

At the center of the courtyard stood a small table, elegant and carved from the finest wood. Two chairs sat on either side, their high backs imposing. And there, sitting at one of the chairs, was her.

The woman from his dream.

She appeared as hauntingly beautiful as before—her pale skin almost translucent under the moon's glow, and her dark hair flowing effortlessly down her back, blending into the shadows. Her crimson eyes gleamed as they locked onto Lorian's. She gave a soft smile and gestured to the empty chair across from her.

"Sit, Lorian," she said, her voice a whisper carried by the still air. "We have much to discuss."

Lorian hesitated, but something compelled him to move. He approached the table, his footsteps echoing unnaturally in the stillness, and sat in the chair across from her. His heart raced with questions, his mind spinning with confusion.

He leaned forward. "Where am I? How are you here? Is this real or just another dream?" His words came quickly, spilling out before he could stop them. "Why do you know my name? What do you want from me? What is this place?"

The woman remained calm, her crimson eyes never leaving his as he spoke. She seemed unfazed by his barrage of questions. Her expression didn't waver, but as Lorian continued, she finally lifted one graceful hand and held it up between them.

"Enough," she said softly, but her voice carried a weight that immediately stilled Lorian's tongue.

He fell silent, his questions dying on his lips as the tension between them thickened. The night around them seemed to grow quieter, if that were even possible, as if the world itself waited for her to speak.

She lowered her hand slowly, her eyes glowing brighter. "I will answer your questions, Lorian... but in time. First, you must listen."

Lorian swallowed hard, the curiosity and frustration still churning within him, but he nodded. There was something in her presence—something commanding—that made it difficult to defy her. For now, he would listen.

She leaned forward slightly, her gaze never leaving his. "This place, this illusion of Aelshire, is a reflection of your own mind. I brought us here because it is familiar to you, a place where you feel rooted... connected."

Her voice softened, and she gestured subtly around the estate, as though it were nothing more than a fleeting thought. "But this is not real. It is merely a construct, shaped by your memories. We are in a space between dreams and reality—a realm where the mind and the soul can meet."

Lorian's pulse quickened again. A space between dreams and reality? This was far beyond anything he could comprehend, and yet, as surreal as it seemed, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was real—more real than any dream he'd ever experienced.

"Who are you?" he asked, more quietly now, but the intensity behind the question remained. "Why do you keep appearing in my dreams?"

Her smile returned, a faint curve of her lips that held both warmth and danger. "I am here to help you, Lorian. I know you've felt it—that pull, that sense that you are destined for more than what has been given to you. The chains that bind your power... the expectations placed upon you... they are keeping you from becoming who you truly are."

Lorian's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

The woman tilted her head, her dark hair shifting with the movement. "You are bound, just as I am," she said, her voice carrying an edge of urgency now. "You've felt it, haven't you? The funnel that restricts your magic, the pressure of living in your sister's shadow, the weight of your father's expectations. These are chains, Lorian. Chains that you must break free from if you are to claim your true power."

Lorian opened his mouth to respond, more questions swirling in his mind, but he paused. Her words struck too close to the truth—closer than he was comfortable admitting. He had always felt those chains, the constant pressure to prove himself, to surpass the limits placed on him.

"I can help you break free," she continued, leaning forward, her eyes glowing with intensity. "But first, you must help me."

Lorian narrowed his eyes, his instincts warning him to be cautious. "Help you with what?"

Her smile deepened, and this time, her gaze flickered toward the glowing chains that still bound her wrists. The soft crimson glow pulsed rhythmically, like a heartbeat, as the shadows seemed to cling to her. Slowly, she raised her hand again, holding it out toward Lorian. As she lifted her arm, the chains seemed to reappear, snaking up from the shadows themselves, wrapping around her wrist with an eerie, metallic clink.

"Do you see these chains, Lorian?" she asked, her voice a soft whisper in the stillness. "I have been bound like this for hundreds of years—sealed away in this forsaken place, unable to move freely."

Lorian's eyes narrowed, his gaze flicking between the chains and her crimson eyes. The glow of the chains seemed to pulse in time with his own heartbeat, drawing him in. Hundreds of years? He tried to make sense of it. The Abyssal Conquest, the Demon Wars—those dark periods in history... But something tugged at his memory, a name whispered in the shadows of his past.

"Are you...?" Lorian hesitated, piecing it together. "Were you sealed here after the Abyssal Conquest? When the demon hunters—"

"Yes," she cut him off, her voice smooth and approving. "The great hunters of demons, who feared the power I wielded. The ones who sealed me away were none other than your ancestors—your mother's bloodline. They were known as the Varaketh."

Lorian's heart skipped a beat at the name. Varaketh. He knew that name all too well. His mother's family. She had spoken of them often, though with a kind of reverence and distance. The Varaketh were demon hunters of legend, known for their mastery of the shadow element. Once, they had been crucial in the Demon Wars—fighting alongside the Aeloria family, who commanded the light element. Together, the two families had protected the realm, a union forged in battle and necessity.

But those days had long passed.

Demons had not been a significant threat for hundreds of years. The Varaketh now served the royal family as a special unit—mage hunters and assassins, tracking rogue mages and occasionally hunting a stray demon. Their glory days as demon hunters were long behind them, reduced to whispers and legends.

"Varaketh," Lorian muttered, the weight of the name settling on him. "That's... my mother's family."

The woman's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Yes, your mother is one of them. Seraphine Varaketh—the wielder of shadows. And your father, Thaddeus Aeloria, the wielder of light. A perfect union of elements forged in the fires of war. Both families played crucial roles in the Demon Wars. It's no surprise they marry into one another, even now. Light and shadow... constantly entwined."

Lorian's gaze flicked back to the glowing chains that bound her, the pulsing crimson light casting an eerie glow in the dim light. "But what does that have to do with me? The Varaketh fought demons, they didn't—"

"They fought demons," the woman said, her voice darkening, "but they also feared what they could not understand. Your power, Lorian, does not come solely from your father's noble bloodline. The Abyssal element—the element they so desperately sought to eradicate—lies within you. That is why you are sealed."

Lorian's heart raced in his chest. The Abyssal element... in him? But that couldn't be. It was a power tied to demons—creatures his family had sworn to hunt. How could he, an heir of Aeloria, possess such a cursed element?

"I don't have the Abyssal element," Lorian said, his voice firm, though doubt edged his words. "My family doesn't wield it. It's tied to demons."

The woman laughed, the sound soft yet biting, cutting through the stillness like a blade. It sent a chill down Lorian's spine, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

"Oh, Lorian," she purred, her tone almost mocking, "you're still thinking too simply. The Abyssal element isn't limited to demons. The real irony, the delicious irony, is that the very union of your parents—Thaddeus Aeloria and Seraphine Varaketh—gave birth to the fusion of the one element they loathe above all else. A fusion of light and shadow, the powers they command and fear... within you."

Her words lingered in the air, the weight of the revelation settling over Lorian like a suffocating shroud. The Abyssal element wasn't some cursed power only demons could wield. It was born from the union of his parents—light and shadow, mingling together to create something feared by both families.

"That's... impossible," Lorian muttered. "Light and shadow—how could I wield both?"

The woman's smile grew darker, her voice almost a whisper. "It's rare, Lorian. So rare that when it does happen, those who possess the Abyssal element are marked for death. It's a kill on sight order, isn't it? Anyone with the Abyssal element is considered too dangerous to live. Have you ever wondered why the law doesn't just target demons, but anyone with that power?"

Lorian's blood ran cold. "Because... the Abyssal element isn't limited to demons."

"Exactly," she said, her voice sharp with satisfaction. "It's a power born of the most dangerous combination of magic. Shadow and light, working in perfect harmony, or—" she paused, leaning even closer, her crimson eyes glowing brighter, "in your case, not at all."

Lorian's brow furrowed, confusion and frustration mixing with the revelation. "What do you mean?"

She gestured to him, her gaze flickering with amusement. "The seal placed on you wasn't just to hide your power, Lorian. It was to make your elements work against each other. Instead of blending into the Abyssal element, your light and shadow powers are clashing, constantly at war within you. This is why your magic is funneled, why you've always felt restricted. Your own elements are canceling each other out."

Lorian's heart pounded in his chest as her words settled in. He had felt it for so long—the funnel, the frustrating inability to fully control his magic. The moments when his power felt overwhelming, but just out of reach, as though it were being pulled in two directions at once. He had always assumed it was a result of the funnel placed on him, but now...

"It's because of the seal," Lorian muttered, his voice hoarse. "It's using my own magic to suppress itself."

The woman nodded, her smile never wavering. "Yes. The seal was designed to keep you from ever realizing your full potential. The Varaketh feared what you might become if your power were to go unchecked, so they devised a way to ensure that your elements would never work together. Light and shadow, in constant conflict. The result is your power being limited, funneled, so that you can never access the Abyssal element's true strength."

Lorian's breath quickened as the weight of her words sank in. The funnel, the restriction—it wasn't just a tool to help him control his power. It was a cage. A cage designed to keep him weak, to prevent him from ever becoming what he could be. His ancestors had bound him before he even had a chance to understand what he truly was.

"And your family..." the woman's voice dropped lower, almost to a whisper, as she rose from her seat. "They've kept this from you. But at what cost, Lorian?"

Suddenly, before he could react, she was behind him, her breath warm against his ear. He stiffened, the air around them growing colder, heavier with the weight of her presence.

"You're alive," she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath, "which can only mean one thing. Your family is keeping this secret. But at what cost, Lorian? You are an outcast, a forsaken heir, destined never to take the mantle of your family."

Lorian's blood ran cold. Her words cut deeper than he had expected. The truth, dark and undeniable, settled over him like a shroud. He had always known he wasn't the favored child—his sister Elara had been named heir, and he had always lived in her shadow. But now, the full weight of his situation hit him with staggering clarity.

He had never stood a chance of becoming heir.

From the moment he was born, he had been barred, marked by this secret, by the Abyssal element that his family had feared and hidden away. His father, the Varaketh bloodline—they had kept him restrained, limited, never giving him a real chance to rise.

His hands clenched at his sides, rage and betrayal boiling up inside him. All this time, he had been fighting a battle he could never win.

"You know it's true, Lorian," the woman continued, her voice soft but merciless. "They've kept you weak, kept you from realizing your full potential, because they feared what you could become. You were never meant to take the throne. You were meant to be forgotten."

The silence that followed was thick with tension, and Lorian's mind raced with the weight of his realization. He wasn't just fighting for control over his magic. He had been fighting against a cage placed on him since birth.