Year 1245,

  4th Day of the 14th Lunar Cycle.

  House of Rogers, Glassberg Kingdom.

  White roses bloomed outside the House of Rogers.

  They grew quietly along the frosted stone walls, untouched by the frost. Their petals were pale and soft in the cold, but a few drops of dew gathered on them and dripped off slowly. The servants noticed this first. White roses rarely bloomed this early, especially so close to winter. An old maid whispered that the dew on the petals was the goddess's tears, an omen, she said, not mere luck. At her words, another servant hesitated before fetching the midwife, glancing nervously at the roses as if expecting them to signal some greater change. Inside, the air tingled with expectation, and outside, the roses seemed to lean closer to the house, heavy with meaning.

  Some called it luck, and some called it a sign. Inside the House of Rogers, a cry echoed. It was unusual; soft instead of harsh, as if someone wanted to announce their arrival to bring happiness. A child was born, a boy.

  Rayan Rogers came into the world as the third child of the Commander of Royal Knights, Helmios Rogers of Glassberg, and his wife, Jashiya Rogers.

  The house was already filled with laughter, for the couple had twin daughters, Layla and Shayla Rogers, three years older than the newborn baby. The twins waited outside the chamber, holding each other's hands in the freezing morning cold of Glassberg. They were too young to understand what was happening inside, but old enough to know their brother was about to arrive. As they had been told, he was coming into the world from the hands of fairies to their parents.

  When Rayan's cry became a bit louder than at the beginning, both of his sisters were filled with utter joy and giggled, their cheeks as red as plums, as they saw their baby brother in the midwife's hands with wide smiles on their faces.

  The midwife noticed something strange the moment she cleaned his body. On the right side of his chest, a small birthmark, shaped like a rose, clear and gentle, as if drawn by a masterful craftsman.

  Among humans, the rose was the sign of their goddess, Frosdinte — the protector of the world and the mother of nature. Many priests present at the time of Rayan's birth would later say it was a sign of God, but after that night, no one spoke much about it. Yet Helmios, who feared nothing on the battlefield, stood silent as he held his son.

  Six months before Rayan's birth, his parents were travelling towards the royal capital. Jashiya was pregnant, and it was tradition for noble families to seek blessings from the Royal Priest during such times.

  The journey should've been peaceful, but it was not.

  On a narrow forest road, they were ambushed by a group of robbers, twenty men armed with sharp blades and desperation. Their target was Helmios Rogers, a Royal Commander whose name alone carried weight.

  But Helmios didn't fall.

  With swords in both hands, he fought as he always had, calm, sharp, and fearless, but something was different this time. His movements were smooth, each footstep crunching frost under his boots, the cold air biting at his cheeks. Steel rang as his blades met the robbers' swords, sparks glinting briefly before he knocked them aside. The sharp clangs echoed on the narrow forest road. Breath misted from his lips with each swing. Blood splattered, crimson against snow. He did not pause. The intent to save his wife and unborn child drove every strike. One by one, the robbers fell. Some fled. Some never woke up again.

  Yet victory came with a cost.

  During the attack, Jashiya was thrown from the carriage. Though somehow protected, the shock from the fall was too much, and she was unconscious, her body weak, her breath shallow.

  Helmios rushed to her side, fear gripping his heart for the first time in years, and checked her. She was fine, no scratches or marks on her body, and the unborn child was safe, too.

  They went on to the capital, but something was off. When Helmios was fighting the goons, he felt for a moment that the world became still, as if something unseen was there at that time.

  And his instinct was not wrong. There was something that he never saw or heard, a mysterious existence.

  No one saw it. No sound marked its presence. No light fell from the sky.

  But something passed between the being and the unborn child. A blessing. Not loud, not declared.

  A transfer of power from a higher being to their heir, but this time it was an unborn child of a Royal Knight, not someone important enough to be noted in the history of Glassberg.

  And just as silently as it came, the presence vanished.

  Jashiya survived. And the child remained unharmed.

  Not even the well-aware Helmios Rogers knew what happened on that road.

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  Rayan grew quickly, but quietly.

  Unlike most children, he was calm like a mature adult. He cried, yes, but never loudly. His eyes often followed movement, light, and sound with a strange focus. He slept peacefully and woke without fear or a cry.

  Yet he wasn't distant. He smiled easily. He laughed often. He reached out to those around him.

  His twin sisters adored him.

  They treated him like a doll, dressing him in ribbons and soft pink clothes, laughing as they placed white roses in his hair. Any other boy might've cried or pushed them away.

  Rayan only giggled and got a load of kisses from his sisters, mother, and the servants of the family. He was the centre of attraction, and everyone around him loved and adored him. Even at two years old, he seemed happy with simply being with them.

  At an age when children barely spoke, Rayan showed interest in strange things. He listened when adults talked. He stared at books filled with symbols and maps. When servants discussed the history of politics, he sat nearby, quiet but attentive.

  At two and a half years old, he surprised everyone.

  One day, Helmios took him to the Royal Court of Glassberg, believing nothing would come of it. Rayan sat on his father's lap as the King spoke to his council about the crops seized by the landlords as tax, while the population working needed more.

  But Rayan was keen. Rayan tugged at his father's sleeve and pointed at the arguing nobles.

  "Why are they angry?"

  Someone laughed and said, "They are fighting about missing food, my child."

  Rayan thought for a moment, then said softly:

  "If the food is gone... maybe people are hungry."

  The courtroom chuckled.

  Then he added, very simply:

  "Hungry people don't like fights; they like bread. When I'm hungry too, I cry, and mama gives me food, and I listen to mama."

  Silence fell over the hall.

  He then added:

  "If you give them food, they will listen like me."

  The King asked Rayan:

  "But Rayan, if your mama gives you food only for you and you can't share more than half of it, but your siblings are hungry too, what will you do?"

  Rayan chuckled and said:

  "I'll just share it with those who I feel are hungrier. I can't eat half of a full bowl, so I'll eat as much as I need and give the rest to my sisters."

  The King laughed for five minutes continuously and said to his courtiers:

  "This kid seems to have more knowledge as a noble than all of you. The landlords don't need 50% of the crops from cultivation; just 25% of the cultivated crops can make them enormous profits, yet they need more."

  He then passed a rule to cut the taxes to 25%, and every single farmer was happy, excluding the landlords, who saw Rayan as a brat who spoiled their riches in half.

  King Privel Glassberg, a ruler known not only for his crown but also for his love of history and learning, leaned forward with interest. He spoke directly to the child, amused and impressed.

  From that day on, the King ordered Helmios to bring Rayan to the palace every weekend.

  There, Rayan studied alongside the King's daughter, Princess Helena, who was the same age as Layla and Shayla.

  Helena taught him basic manners, greetings, and court behaviour. She treated him not as a noble's son, but as a friend. Rayan, in turn, learned quickly, sometimes faster than expected.

  Years passed.

  By the age of five, Rayan was no longer just a curious child. He was a perfect candidate for a noble society.

  He was being watched.

  As was tradition, priests from the royal court arrived at the House of Rogers to test his potential. Every noble child went through this process. It decided their future.

  The tests were many, like History, Economics, Noble Literature, Science, Battlefield Tactics, Combat, Astronomy, Healing Rituals, Weapon Studies, Administration, and Architecture.

  To one day enter the Glassberg Academy of Prefectures, a child needed to show skill in at least one field.

  The hardest test was magic.

  Magic rituals were rare. Extremely rare. Out of ten million people in Glassberg, only three mages had appeared in the last fifty years. Magic mana was fading from the world, and many believed mages would soon disappear completely.

  Rayan was tested like all others.

  He did not shine like a one-in-a-million miracle.

  But he did well.

  He showed a strong understanding of combat, tactics, noble literature, weapon study, history, and economics. He was not the best. Princess Helena excelled in nearly everything, including healing rituals, but Rayan qualified with flying colours too.

  Then came the surprise.

  The priests sensed magic mana within him.

  Very weak.

  Almost nothing.

  One of the senior priests called it a mistake, a fluke. Something not worth noting.

  Yet even then, they could not deny the truth.

  Rayan Rogers was way above average, a genius.

  Better than most noble children across every kingdom.

  And so, a decision was made.

  Rayan was assigned a private tutor from the academy until his admission, Mr. Alexander Novioli, a famous historian and tactician.

  From that day forward, Rayan's path quietly began to take shape.

  White roses continued to bloom outside the House of Rogers.

  And somewhere, unseen and forgotten, destiny watched patiently.