Tucked between golden fields and a sleepy river bend, the village of Emberrest looked like it had been plucked from an old storybook. White stone cottages with mossy roofs stood in neat rows, their chimneys puffing out soft trails of lavender-scented smoke.
But what made Emberrest special wasn't the scenery. It was the magic.
Everywhere you looked, spells danced through the air like second nature.
Farmers whispered small incantations to make their crops grow straighter. Children chased glowing butterflies made of fire, their laughter ringing across the fields. Even the baker, a round man with soot on his cheeks, used flicks of his fingers to keep his ovens at the perfect heat.
At the village well, old women stirred their tea with floating spoons. Lanterns lit themselves as the sun dipped low. No one thought twice about it—it was just life. In Emberrest, magic wasn't a gift. It was a given.
And if someone didn't have it?
They didn't belong.
The Grand Mansion of the Alexander Family
was alive with activity early that morning. The grand kitchen was filled with the warm, inviting smell of freshly baked bread and sizzling eggs. Maids in crisp uniforms moved swiftly through the large halls, their hands waving lazily as they used magic to clean, dust, and prepare the home. A servant levitated a broom to sweep the marble floors while another flicked her wrist, sending a tray of breakfast dishes floating into the dining room.
Upstairs, in the master bedroom, an old maid named Miriam moved quietly into the room. She had worked for the Alexander family for years, and she knew her duties well. With a quick flick of her fingers, the heavy curtains parted, letting sunlight pour into the room. The soft rays lit up the space, making the room feel warmer and more inviting.
In the large bed, Julian Alexander, the young heir, was still curled up under his blanket, snoring softly. Miriam smiled fondly, though her expression remained strict.
"Master Julian, wake up. Wake up," she said in a soft but firm tone.
With a little flick of her fingers again, she tugged at his blanket, pulling it off him with a small surge of magic. The boy groaned, rubbing his eyes as he slowly started to stir.
"Five more minutes, Miriam..." he mumbled sleepily, stretching and yawning. His messy brown hair stuck up at odd angles.
"No, Master Julian," Miriam replied, her tone unyielding. "Today is your first day of the new year at school. You shouldn't be late."
Julian blinked, still half-asleep. The weight of the words slowly sank in. His eyes widened, realizing the time.
"Ah! I'm late, aren't I?" He said, sitting up quickly, his voice groggy. He yawned again and stretched his arms out. "Thanks, Miriam. You're always so… on time."
"Someone has to be, Master Julian," Miriam said with a soft chuckle, smoothing the edges of the blanket back into place. "Now, hurry. You'll want to look presentable."
Julian quickly changed into his school uniform, a crisp, dark blue coat with gold embroidery along the cuffs and collar. His shirt was spotless, his tie neatly tied, though his hair still looked slightly wild. He brushed it quickly with his hand as he descended the grand staircase, heading toward the large dining table in the center of the room.
As he walked in, the maids were already bustling around, setting the table with a breakfast spread: warm bread, butter, jam, eggs, fruit, and a pot of steaming tea. The rich aroma filled the air.
He sat down, looking around the table. His parents, Lord Alexander and Lady Alexander, were not present for breakfast. Julian had grown used to it. They were always busy with their own affairs, dealing with the family's business, social obligations, and magical matters.
"Good morning, Master Julian," one of the maids said cheerfully, placing a plate of food in front of him with a gentle wave of her hand. The bread floated to his plate, and the eggs moved to the right spot.
"Good morning, everyone," Julian replied, though his voice was tinged with a slight sadness. He picked up his fork and began eating, his mind already drifting to the upcoming school day.
As Julian ate, the maids continued their work, preparing for the day ahead. Some cleaned the windows with magic, others dusted the shelves, and a few exchanged quiet words.
"You think he'll be ready for his first day back?" one maid whispered as she levitated a set of teacups into place.
"I'm sure he will," another replied, with a soft smile. "Master Julian always does well at school. Even if his parents don't attend events, he's a bright boy."
"I hear the headmaster's daughter is back at the academy this year," the first maid said with a raised brow. "Master Julian might be seeing more of her."
"Mmm, we'll see," the second maid replied, with a knowing smile. "But first, we need to make sure Master Julian stays on track. You know how distracted he can get."
Julian didn't hear their conversation, too focused on the food in front of him. But a small part of him couldn't help but wonder what his parents were doing, and why they weren't here. It seemed like that was the way it always was—his world was full of servants, magic, and fine things, but always missing one thing: a feeling of family.
The Alexander family was known throughout Emberrest for their immense wealth and influence. The sprawling estate stretched over vast lands and farmlands, where the Alexander name carried power, prestige, and the unmistakable scent of arrogance. Fredrick Alexander, the 35-year-old patriarch of the family, was a figure to be respected—and feared.
Fredrick was tall, broad-shouldered, and stern. His strength was as much in his presence as in his magic. With the highest magical class, he could have easily risen to a commanding rank in the military, his magical prowess unmatched by most. But instead, he had chosen a quieter life here in Emberrest, away from the chaos of war. Still, peace did not soften the steel in his spine, nor the pride he held for his lineage. The Alexander family had long ruled these lands, and Fredrick wore their heritage like a crown, one that gave him a sense of entitlement that few dared challenge.
On this particular day, Fredrick sat under the shade of a massive mango tree that towered above the estate's grounds. The tree's leaves rustled gently in the breeze as Fredrick scanned through thick financial documents, his sharp eyes scanning for any inconsistencies in the numbers. A maid, Lina, stood a few feet behind him, patiently awaiting any instruction.
Despite the peace, Fredrick's mind never rested. He kept an eye on the fields below, where workers toiled in the warm sun. The workers were out in full force today, but none of them were using magic. Fredrick didn't need to ask why—he knew. The workers were Nulls.
In Emberrest, and across the lands of the Alexander estate, Nulls were born without any mana. They could not wield magic in a world that revolved around it. Though many believed them to be lesser, cursed even, Fredrick treated them like tools—necessary for his family's wealth but not worthy of his true respect.
These Null workers were strong, their hands calloused from hard labor, their bodies fit from the manual work they performed. They were the backbone of Fredrick's estate, but Fredrick had no empathy for them. They worked his land, tilled the fields, and harvested the crops, but magic could make the work easier, faster, more efficient. And for that, Fredrick believed they were worthless.
As Fredrick read the financial reports, his sharp gaze occasionally flicked toward the workers. He was about to turn the page when a worker walked up, hesitantly stepping forward and bowing low, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Master Fredrick, I did it, sir. Just as you instructed." The worker's voice trembled slightly, nerves clearly evident in his tone.
Fredrick glanced up, his face unreadable. "Hm. You did it, did you?" His voice was a low rumble, a touch of disapproval hanging in the air.
The worker shifted uncomfortably, glancing at his wife, who stood a short distance away, her hand on her stomach as if anxious.
"Master, as you said, I took the day off to bring my wife to the healer. She's been feeling unwell, and…" the worker started, but Fredrick's interruption was quick.
"I gave you half a day, not a full one. A half-day, do you understand? I wanted that work finished. You should have managed both," Fredrick snapped, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the worker.
The worker's face grew pale, but he didn't back down. "Master, I only need an extra hour. I'll make it up tomorrow. You promised me the half-day wages…"
Fredrick's eyes flashed with anger, and the air around him seemed to grow heavier. He slowly stood from his seat under the mango tree, the rustling leaves quieting as if even nature itself knew to keep still.
"How dare you speak to me like that?" Fredrick's voice grew colder, a hard edge to it. He was standing now, his broad figure towering over the worker. Without raising a hand, he extended his fingers, and the worker suddenly found himself floating in the air, choking.
The worker's feet kicked helplessly as he gasped for breath, his face turning an unnatural shade of red. The maids, including Lina, stood frozen, their gazes fixed on Fredrick. They'd seen this before, but they never grew used to it.
Fredrick's voice was calm, like a predator toying with its prey. "You're fortunate I didn't have you dismissed immediately for your insolence."
After what felt like an eternity, Fredrick released his grip on the man's throat. The worker dropped to the ground with a sickening thud, gasping and coughing violently as he scrambled to catch his breath.
Fredrick didn't even look at him as he spoke.
"Get out," he ordered, his voice cold and final.
The worker, struggling to his feet, didn't waste another moment. He ran off, leaving Fredrick standing there, his cold eyes watching the man flee.
Lina, the maid, lowered her gaze but remained silent. She had learned long ago not to speak unless spoken to.
Fredrick, still standing, returned to the shade of the mango tree and sat back down, his anger simmering beneath the surface but his face calm once more.
The Alexander family's horse-drawn carriage rumbled up the long, winding road toward the grand gates of the Academy of Arcana, the most prestigious school in Emberrest. Julian sat back in the plush, velvet cushions of the carriage, staring out the window as the towering stone walls of the academy came into view.
The Academy of Arcana was a place where the elite sent their children to study magic, history, and the finer aspects of noble life. The towering spires of the main building glistened in the morning sun, adorned with magical runes that shimmered and pulsed, glowing with the essence of power. The academy grounds were immaculate—lush gardens and meticulously pruned trees bordered wide walkways, leading to stone courtyards that housed fountains and statues of past masters.
As the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the main entrance, Julian sighed, glancing at the towering gates that seemed to stand as an imposing reminder of his family's status. The golden insignia of the Alexander family was clearly visible on the side of the carriage, earning him the eyes of many students standing nearby. They whispered and stared as he disembarked, their expressions a mix of awe and jealousy.
The Academy of Arcana was a place of both awe and intimidation. The grand entrance hall was lined with magical portraits of famous sorcerers and scholars, each one shimmering and shifting as if alive. Magic hung in the air like a living thing, swirling around the floating candles and enchanted tapestries that lined the walls.
Despite the beauty of the place, Julian didn't feel a sense of wonder. He had grown up with this world of wealth and magic, but here, at the academy, he felt the weight of his family name like an invisible chain. He was no ordinary student—his status was a heavy burden.
As he walked down the hallway to his assigned classroom, the murmurs of the other students followed him. They watched him, eyes filled with curiosity, admiration, and resentment. The children of the elite were used to this kind of attention, but Julian hated it. His last name was enough to separate him from everyone else, and in a school full of children with powerful magical abilities, he felt his lack of mana like a hole in his chest.
Julian entered Classroom 3B, where the students were already seated, most of them chatting excitedly in groups. The teacher, a stern woman with an air of authority, glanced up as he walked in but said nothing.
He found an empty seat in the middle of the room, as far from the other students as he could. His classmates barely acknowledged him, and the ones who did either gave him a nod or a distant stare. The truth was, Julian didn't fit in. The children of the nobility had their own circles, their own bonds built on shared magical abilities and family connections. Julian, despite his last name, was a misfit. They saw him as an outsider, a Null in a world where magic ruled everything.
The bell rang, and the room fell silent. The teacher, Professor Elara, began speaking about the day's lesson. Her voice was sharp, and her magic seemed to hang in the air as she wrote complex symbols on the blackboard, drawing intricate diagrams of magical equations.
Julian tried to focus on the lesson, but his mind kept drifting. His classmates whispered about the upcoming magic trials—tests that would show off their magical abilities. The students in the class, even the ones Julian had once met as children in passing, already knew their place. They were powerful, confident, and full of promise.
Julian, however, was nothing more than a spectator. He couldn't cast spells, couldn't conjure even the simplest of flames. His lack of mana made him a joke in a world that thrived on power, and it was clear that no one in the class cared to get to know him.
The classroom was quiet, sunlight pouring in through wide arched windows. The walls glowed faintly with enchantments—cooling runes humming quietly in the corners. Students sat upright in polished wooden desks, quills hovering beside their parchment with gentle flicks of their fingers. All except one.
Julian sat still. His quill didn't float. He gripped it with his hand.
At the front of the class, Professor Elara stood beside a large chalkboard. Behind her, a glowing diagram of a magical circle hovered mid-air, spinning slowly with etched symbols around its edge.
She turned, her dark robe sweeping the stone floor."Today," she said, her voice crisp and sharp, "you begin learning real magic. Not theory. Not fairy tales. The foundation of who you will become."
The class leaned in, excited.
"You've all discovered your mana levels and specialties, yes?"
Several students nodded eagerly.
Elara smiled thinly. "Good. Then let's begin. First question—" she looked around, "—what is mana?"
A hand shot up. "Mana is the life-force inside us, Professor," answered a tall boy in the front row.
"Correct," Elara nodded. "It fuels everything—from basic spells to the greatest feats of arcana. Without mana…?" Her eyes flicked across the room. They briefly passed over Julian, then moved on.
"You are powerless," another girl answered quickly.
"Exactly. In Aetheria," Elara continued, "mana is everything. Not just magic—but your place in society. Now—who can tell me the five Tiers of magic users?"
A girl with silver braids raised her hand. "Archons, Sentinels, Artisans, Menders… and Nulls."
Whispers stirred the air. The last word always made people uneasy.
Julian looked down at his desk.
Professor Elara nodded slowly. "Yes. A well-structured answer. Archons, the rarest, bend space, time, even souls. Sentinels command nature—fire, wind, water. Artisans use their gifts to build and heal. Menders do the basics—levitate, light fires, purify water."
She paused.
"And then there are the Nulls. Born once in every ten thousand. They have no mana. Not even a spark."
Her voice dropped slightly.
"Society sees them as flawed. Broken."
Julian kept his eyes fixed on his notes. He had read all this before, in books and scrolls from the family library. He understood mana more than most—but it didn't matter.
Knowledge didn't make mana.
Professor Elara continued, turning to a second glowing chart.
"These are the Disciplines—Elementalism, Chronomancy, Soulweaving, Construct Magic, Biomancy, and Glyphcraft. You'll all be tested in the coming months to see where your affinity lies."
Students murmured excitedly. Some whispered about what they hoped to get—"I want lightning," "Chronomancy would be insane," "I bet I get Biomancy like my dad."
Julian stared at the symbols. He had no affinity. No magic. Just silence inside.
"And now," Elara clapped her hands once, "you'll begin basic spell formation with the beginner's chant in Old Tongue."
But before she could begin, a light knock came at the door.
A younger assistant peeked in and whispered something into her ear.
She turned to the class. "Julian Alexander. Come with me. The Headmaster wishes to see you."
Julian's heart skipped.
He stood up slowly. The room went quiet. All eyes turned to him. Some curious. Some cold.
He didn't say a word, didn't make eye contact, and quietly followed the assistant out the door—alone again.