Jacob twisted and turned in his bed, the thin sheets tangling around his limbs as he struggled against invisible terrors that gnawed at his sleeping mind. Another nightmare had seized him, though what made these particular dreams so strange and so unbearable was that Jacob never remembered them upon waking. At best, he could guess at the horrors lurking in the forgotten corners of his mind, but no certainty ever came. Only dread.

  His mother had once declared that he must be cursed, and after years of useless rituals and the finest family sorcerers failing to dispel whatever haunted him, Jacob had little choice but to believe her.

  With a ragged gasp, Jacob jolted upright, his body slick with cold sweat, the mattress beneath him damp and clinging. He blinked blearily around his darkened room, eyes ringed with heavy shadows from countless sleepless nights, and forced his panicked heartbeat to slow with deep, deliberate breaths.

  “Young master,” a soft voice said from the corner of the room, “another nightmare?”

  Jacob turned his head toward the speaker: Belemir, his assistant and by now his constant shadow. A boyish-looking young man with neatly cut brown hair and an average, forgettable face, Belemir was dressed in a tailored black suit that seemed too formal for someone standing vigil in the dead of night. For the fifteen years Jacob had been alive, Belemir had been at his side, his silent guardian through every private moment of suffering.

  “Yes,” Jacob answered curtly, voice raw with exhaustion. There was nothing more to say, nothing he hadn't said a hundred times before. Even as the fourth son of the mighty Skydrid family, second only to the royal line in power and influence, he was helpless against his own mind.

  Jacob shifted his gaze toward the window. A faint pre-dawn gloom painted the horizon in dull shades of blue and grey. “You should go back to sleep,” he said without much conviction. “There's no need to keep watch over me.”

  Belemir shook his head dutifully. “The Lady has instructed me to monitor your condition and report the frequency of your nightmares. I must remain.”

  Jacob sighed and pushed himself to his feet. Resignation had long ago dulled the sharp edges of his frustration. He crossed the room to his desk, lit the oil lamp resting there, and watched the flame sputter and flare to life. The flickering light was strangely hypnotic, and for a moment he nearly nodded off standing up, only catching himself with a sharp slap across his own cheek.

  “I can't sleep,” he muttered under his breath. “Not again. I've had enough nightmares for one night.”

  He reached for a large, leather-bound tome resting at the edge of the desk. Its dark blue cover was embroidered with intricate golden patterns, and its title gleamed proudly in the lamplight: Introduction to Basic Runery. Sliding his glasses, thin black frames, simple but elegant, onto his nose, Jacob opened the book to the marked page and began to read.

  "To truly embark on a career in runery," the text explained, "an exceptional memory is required. The slightest variation in a rune, a curve here, an extra line there can spell the difference between success and disaster. Additionally, a natural connection to mana and a robust physical constitution are paramount, for mana is the fuel by which runes are drawn, and the body the vessel that endures their strain."

  Jacob rested his forehead against the open pages and closed his eyes briefly, letting the words sink in. ‘My memory is decent enough’, he mused. ‘I should be able to memorize minor runes, and if not, I can always find resources to enhance it later. I've already awakened to mana—’ his chest tightened slightly at the thought ‘—though I haven’t tested my aspect yet. But the real issue is my body...’

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  He pictured himself as he was: five foot ten, raven-black hair hanging slightly messily despite his efforts to comb it down, brown eyes dulled by chronic sleep deprivation, and a frame that could only be described as lean at best, scrawny, if one were less charitable. His face might have been considered handsome if not for the ever-present dark circles that undermined it. His glasses, practical and understated added a touch of refinement he sorely needed.

  "Do I really have to start physical training?" he murmured aloud, half in despair. "Treasures that strengthen the body are so rare."

  Belemir, who had heard his muttering, spoke up immediately. "It is not too late to ask Sir Alex to train you, young master. He will be leaving for his new post in a few months."

  Jacob flinched at the suggestion. Sir Alex, his eldest brother, a knight of renown who served directly under one of Eterna’s royal princes was the last person Jacob wished to approach. Even the mere thought of speaking to him dredged up too many painful memories.

  "You know I can't do that," Jacob said stiffly.

  Belemir pressed on, voice tinged with a rare earnestness. "The Lady worries for you. You barely leave your room anymore. You haven’t spoken properly to your siblings in years. You have severed ties with every friend you once had. Were it not for my assignment, you would live in complete isolation."

  Jacob’s hands clenched into trembling fists at his sides. He knew his mother worried. He hated that he made her worry. But this was better. This was safer.

  “She believes you should stop blaming yourself," Belemir said more gently. "No one blames you. No one ever did."

  Jacob said nothing. In his mind, the reply echoed anyway, ‘Precisely because they don't blame me, I must.’

  Belemir sighed, sensing that his words had fallen on deaf ears yet again, and withdrew silently into the background.

  Jacob buried himself in his studies until the first light of dawn filtered through the windowpanes. Eventually, when the hunger pangs grew too strong to ignore, he left his room, navigating the sprawling hallways of the Skydrid family mansion with practiced ease. The vast corridors, lined with towering windows and bearing banners of the family's soaring bird emblem, stretched endlessly in every direction.

  Reaching the kitchen, he found a maid waiting for him, a covered plate balanced neatly in her hands. Without a word, Jacob accepted it and turned to leave only to find his path blocked by a figure he recognized instantly.

  Towering at six foot five, clad in light Armor etched with the family crest, a bird soaring vertically into the sky. Alex Skydrid stood with arms folded, a patient, weary smile on his face. His raven hair, like Jacob’s, was tied back into a loose tail, and his rugged features bore the unmistakable mark of a man who had seen battle firsthand.

  "Jacob," Alex said warmly, stepping forward and reaching out as if to clasp Jacob’s shoulder.

  Jacob dodged instinctively, slipping past him with minimal grace. "Sir Alex," he said formally, voice flat and emotionless, "it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance this morning."

  The smile on Alex’s face faltered ever so slightly. He let his hand drop to his side, masking the hurt that flickered across his expression.

  "I heard you awakened to mana a few weeks ago," Alex said, voice steady despite the tension. "I always knew you wouldn’t walk the path of a knight, but still, it’s good to see a sorcerer rise from the main branch."

  The Skydrid family, after all, had long prided itself on its knights. Sorcerers, while not frowned upon, were rare among their bloodline, and rarer still among those close to the patriarch’s seat.

  "You have heard correctly," Jacob said coolly. "I have not yet tested my aspect. If there is nothing else, I will take my leave."

  Without waiting for permission or acknowledgment, Jacob turned and strode away, the weight of Alex’s gaze lingering on his back like a physical burden. He returned to his room without incident, closed the door firmly behind him, and dropped the breakfast plate onto his desk.

  "If you think you can hide in this coffin of a room all day, you're dreaming."

  "Eat fast," a cheerful voice piped up, "you’re coming to the Noble Market with me!"

  Jacob sighed heavily and turned to see the intruder: Jessica Skydrid, his younger sister by two years, her bright eyes glinting mischievously beneath a curtain of raven-black hair. Standing beside her, silent and imposing, was her personal assistant, Mary, a woman whose mere presence suggested a deep reservoir of dangerous strength.

  "Firstly," Jacob said, pinching the bridge of his nose, "you’re not supposed to enter my room without permission. Secondly, I’m not going anywhere with you."

  Jessica only pouted, crossing her arms stubbornly. "You promised," she said accusingly. "Last month. When you didn’t come to my birthday party."

  Jacob groaned but knew better than to argue. Jessica was relentless. There would be no peace until he agreed.

  He sat down heavily at his desk and picked up his fork, resigned to his fate. ‘This is going to be a long day.’