“…”

  With his eyes closed, Lucius pushed away all unnecessary thoughts, forgot the world around him, and breathed softly and steadily.

  He had repeated this process hundreds—no, thousands—of times. Every single attempt had ended in failure, causing him immense frustration. But this time… this time…

  That’s it! I can feel it. My Aura!

  This time, he truly felt it. Just below his navel, a warmth that could radiate throughout his body, yet somehow remained contained, like a wild beast held back by chains.

  The sensation lasted only a moment before vanishing, but it did not discourage him in the slightest. On the contrary, it left him so exhilarated that he wanted to shout. All his effort and dedication had been worth it.

  “Hm, Lucius, is something wrong?” Elliot asked.

  Hearing Elliot speak, Alex and Camille opened their eyes and turned curious gazes toward Lucius.

  “…I think I felt my Aura,” Lucius said, trying not to sound excited.

  I finally did it.

  After saying that, he expected some sign of admiration from Elliot—perhaps a satisfied nod. Instead, his instructor frowned.

  “Are you sure you actually felt your Aura?” Elliot asked skeptically.

  “Of course!” Lucius replied, his voice louder than intended. “I mean, I’m sure I felt it.”

  “Then try again,” Elliot said.

  His words made Lucius clench his teeth inwardly. Why didn’t he believe him? If it were Alex or Camille, Elliot certainly wouldn’t doubt either of them.

  “Well?” Elliot prompted again, the skepticism clear on his face.

  “…Alright.”

  I’m not lying.

  Closing his eyes and breathing deeply, Lucius searched for that same sensation as before—that warmth that seemed to hold limitless energy.

  Where is it?

  He searched.

  Where?

  He searched.

  Where?!

  He searched.

  Where…?

  But no matter how much time passed, he couldn’t feel his Aura again.

  Was it just a mistake?

  Opening his eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to meet Elliot’s gaze, which surely now saw him as a fool.

  “That happens,” Elliot said calmly.

  “Maybe it was just a upser stomach, and you mistook the sensation?”

  “Pff, that’s ridiculous. Who would confuse their own Aura with a upser stomach?”

  “Well, you don’t know what it feels like to sense your Aura yet. Maybe it really is similar.”

  “Of course not, idiot. If it were, I wouldn’t even be training for this.”

  The mockery from the two siblings pushed Lucius to his limit. In his mind, he lunged at them, knocked them to the ground, punched and kicked them mercilessly until they could no longer speak.

  No—that was only in his head.

  In reality, he simply stood there, listening to their jokes.

  Useless. Useless. Useless.

  “Alright, I think that’s enough for today,” Elliot said.

  “Huh? Already? I felt like I was about to sense my Aura too—and I don’t have a upset stomach like Lucius,” Alex said, laughing.

  “If you have that much energy, I can think of something,” Elliot replied with a mischievous smile.

  “No, no, it really is time to stop.”

  Alex didn’t wait for Elliot to say anything else and bolted away.

  “That idiot,” Camille sighed, shaking her head. “I’ll be going too, Professor.”

  She followed after Alex.

  Lucius wanted to leave as well, but Elliot asked him to stay.

  What is he going to say?

  Lucius watched Elliot, who remained silent for quite some time, as if unsure of what to say.

  “Sometimes,” Elliot finally spoke, his voice far gentler than usual, “we want something so badly that we end up confusing desire with reality.”

  Hearing that, Lucius almost laughed. Elliot didn’t understand—he couldn’t understand the meaning of his own words, nor how they denied Lucius’s very existence.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  “I understand, Professor. I’ll be more careful from now on,” Lucius said with an expressionless face.

  “No, what I mean is—”

  “If I stay any longer, I’ll be late for lunch. May I go now?”

  “…Yes, you may, but—”

  The moment he received permission, Lucius left the training grounds. Elliot still wanted to say more—Lucius understood that—but he didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to listen.

  As the day went on, Lucius felt half-conscious. He was still aware of his surroundings, but everything seemed distant, disconnected.

  “Young master.”

  “…”

  “Young master.”

  “…”

  “Young master.”

  Johan touched Lucius’s shoulder, finally drawing his attention.

  “You seem rather distracted today, young master. Is something wrong?”

  Lucius shook his head.

  “It’s nothing. What were we talking about?”

  “The ancient cults of the continent,” Johan replied, “and how the rise of the Temple of Light eventually smothered their existence.”

  “Ah… yes.”

  Lucius nodded. For a long time, the continent had been a mosaic of beliefs. Every people, every region—sometimes even every city—worshiped their own gods: deities of war, harvest, rivers, stars, or the dead. It was not uncommon for a man to pray to several gods depending on what he sought.

  But that was ancient history. Over the centuries, the worship of the God of Light expanded steadily—first as a faith of the masses, then as an organized doctrine, and finally as an institution wielding political and military power beyond any nation or people.

  Old sanctuaries fell into ruin. Ancient rites were dismissed as superstition, ignorance, even heresy.

  To Lucius, the main difference lay in miracles. While the old gods answered inconsistently—if they answered at all—the priests of Light healed illnesses, closed wounds, and drove away plagues through the power of Light. This proved that even gods, if they failed to fulfill their purpose, were destined to be forgotten.

  But the real question is…

  Lucius turned his gaze toward Johan.

  “Professor, according to the doctrine of Light, the God of Light blesses everyone with the talents best suited to them.”

  “Yes, exactly,” Johan nodded.

  “So if someone excels in a certain field, it’s because the God of Light willed it so. And the opposite is also true.”

  “Correct again.”

  The satisfied smile on Johan’s face grew even wider.

  “For a long time,” Johan continued, “it was believed that the gift of Light reflected a person’s position in the world—that kings, nobles, and wealthy men were so because they had been chosen since birth.”

  “That interpretation, however, is mistaken,” Johan said, raising a finger slightly to emphasize his point. “The gift of Light does not exist to justify where one is born, but to reveal where one should be.”

  He took a deep breath before continuing. “Those who occupy high positions without possessing the proper gift will inevitably fall, for they lack what sustains such positions. Likewise, those who possess the gift—even if born into humble circumstances—will eventually rise.”

  “The Light works over time. It corrects deviations, removes the unfit, and elevates the capable.”

  Finally, he concluded, “It may take years, even generations, but the world tends toward balance. That is the beauty of the Light.”

  Johan’s words were truly inspiring.

  That is, for anyone who wasn’t Lucius.

  What a joke.

  And this was the God he was supposed to worship? A God who denied his very existence. He felt like laughing.

  “But what if a person doesn’t possess the gift they desire?” Lucius asked mockingly. “Should they abandon that desire simply because the God of Light decreed it so?”

  The moment the words left his mouth, Lucius realized his mistake.

  Idiot.

  Why had he said that out loud?

  To some, his words could be considered pure heresy—questioning the actions of the God of Light.

  But Johan was open-minded. Lucius was certain he wouldn’t accuse him of such things.

  No—that wasn’t the problem.

  The real issue was…

  Damn it…

  Johan’s expression changed. Lucius saw several emotions cross his teacher’s face: doubt, surprise… and then understanding.

  That last one troubled him the most.

  Johan observed him in silence for a few moments, as if reorganizing something within himself. When he spoke again, his voice had lost its didactic tone.

  “That isn’t a theoretical question,” he said slowly.

  Lucius felt his stomach tighten.

  “It is,” he replied quickly. “Just curiosity.”

  Johan did not smile.

  “No,” he said. “It’s the kind of question only someone deeply dissatisfied with their own answer would ask.”

  The silence that followed was heavy. Lucius looked away, clenching his fists on the desk.

  “The gift of Light is not a denial of desire,” Johan continued carefully. “It is a guide. There are desires that do not belong to us, and insisting on them only leads to suffering.”

  So that’s it, Lucius thought. Suffering is just the elegant word they use for failure.

  “And what if that desire is all a person has?” he asked, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice.

  Johan hesitated—just for a moment, but Lucius noticed.

  “Then… perhaps one must learn to desire something else.”

  Something inside Lucius cracked. It wasn’t anger. It was something colder.

  He rose slowly, bowing his head in a respectful gesture he did not truly feel.

  “I understand, Professor.”

  But he didn’t. Or perhaps he understood too well.

  Johan had seen it. Had noticed his insecurity, his fear… and yet the answer was the same as always.

  Accept it.

  Accept not being enough.

  Accept not belonging.

  Accept disappearing.

  Lucius walked away without another word.

  Johan said something else, but Lucius didn’t hear it. At that moment, he felt completely detached, as though seeing the world from a third-person perspective.

  Not knowing where to go, he wandered through the mansion’s corridors, Johan’s words echoing in his mind.

  At some point, he crossed paths with Alex, who was looking for him to ask for help with his imperial history homework. Lucius ignored him and kept walking.

  He passed many people—servants, family members.

  All of them.

  They must all think the same thing. That he was a fool, walking down a dead-end path, blind to what was obvious to everyone else: that he would never amount to anything.

  So be it.

  He must have walked through every room in the mansion, taken a good look at the faces of everyone who lived there.

  When his steps finally stopped, he found himself before a large wooden door.

  With a clear mind, he reached for the handle, opened the door, and entered.

  It was a clean, austere office, where every object seemed to occupy exactly the place it belonged. The desk was always uncluttered, documents aligned with precision, and the shelves held only what was essential. There were no ornaments or excesses—only order, silence, and the sense that nothing here was done without purpose.

  This was Cédric’s office, the place where he spent much of his day handling matters related to the administration of the territory.

  “Lucius,” Cédric said, lifting his gaze from the documents he had been reading when he noticed his son’s presence.

  No…

  Cédric must have noticed him while he was still in the corridor.

  A personality that valued efficiency above all else.

  Lucius stared at his father in silence.

  Cédric said nothing either, merely returning Lucius’s gaze, as if waiting for him to speak.

  As time passed and Lucius remained silent, Cédric frowned.

  “Is there something you wish to tell me?” Cédric asked, tapping his index finger against the desk.

  Perhaps he was impatient with Lucius’s delay. As the head of the Aster family, he surely had many important matters to attend to—no time to waste on his useless son.

  But Lucius had no way of knowing what his father was thinking. Like him, Cédric was difficult to read.

  Maybe I inherited that from him.

  “Lucius—”

  “I’m leaving,” Lucius said, turning around and walking out.

  For a moment, he wondered if his father would call after him.

  But Cédric said nothing.

  And Lucius thought that was fine too.

  Leaving the office, he went straight back to his room, opened the wardrobe, and pulled open the top drawer, retrieving the object hidden at the back.

  If the world had no place for the desire that kept him standing, then perhaps it had no place for him either.