Every day, Benedict followed the same routine.
He woke up on the makeshift bed he had arranged in the library, a mattress dragged from a nearby guest room and placed between towering shelves of books. He would prepare breakfast, sit beside Artemisia, and eat with her while telling her about everything he had read the previous day.
She always listened with a gentle smile.
Afterward, he helped her lie down and rest, then returned to the library to continue reading.
Sometimes, when he saw knights training on the grounds near the manor, he would sneak out to watch them.
One day, he stole a wooden sword.
It was far too large for his small body, so he used a dull kitchen knife to carve it down to a manageable size. From then on, he trained in secret, copying the movements of the knights as best as he could.
By midday, he would slip into the knights' kitchen, steal a piece of bread, and return to the library.
Then he would read again.
From the books, he learned that a child's magic usually awakened between the ages of four and six.
That was why Caelum's father, Alaric Valtheron, had cast him aside. At the age of four, Caelum had shown no signs of magic.
It had been a year since Benedict had taken over this body.
Today marked Caelum's sixth birthday.
By now, Benedict had memorized every spell available in the library.
'This kid was called a failure by his old man?' Benedict thought as he checked if he could do the final magic, healing magic.
A faint smile formed on his lips.
"Fire, ice, air, earth, thunder, light, dark… and healing," he whispered. "This body holds all elements, yet it was abandoned."
'Is the old man worth the dukedom he rules over?'
A small flame flickered to life in his palm, illuminating the dim room without burning his skin.
Then, carefully, he drew moisture from the air and wrapped it around his other arm, where faint burn marks lingered from his earlier attempts.
The marks began to fade.
The red, angry skin softened, then healed into faint scars.
He smiled. 'May be I can heal her,' thought as he rushed to her room.
The moment he opened the door, he felt something in his chest tighten.
Artemisia was sitting upright, coughing violently.
Blood stained her lips.
"Mother!" Benedict shouted as he ran to her side. "Please… don't leave," he begged, his voice breaking as he collapsed against her.
Artemisia smiled weakly, her bloodied fingers brushing gently through his hair.
"I'm sorry, my dear," she whispered. "Mother… cannot continue."
Tears filled her eyes, even as she smiled.
"I'm so sorry…"
"I can use healing magic," Benedict stuttered, his words mixing with his sobs. "I'll search for spells," he said. "So, please. Please don't leave me," he begged her.
Artemisia pulled him into a fragile embrace.
"Mother will always be watching over you," she said softly. "Live your life the way you want."
Her expression turned serious for a moment.
"Never let anyone know you can control all elements."
Benedict froze.
She pulled herself away with all strength.
"Only show one," she continued, her voice weakening. "Choose one… and hide the rest. Don't let the Valtherons know about your magic. Do you understand?"
He nodded, trembling.
"Mother will be watching, so be happy…for me and yourself," she said as she closed her eyes.
Her hands slowly fell away.
Her eyes closed.
"Mother?" Benedict whispered.
He shook her gently.
"Mother…?"
He poured his magic into her body, desperately trying to hold on to her life.
But it slipped through his fingers.
When he checked her pulse, he didn't feel it.
"MOTHER!"
His scream tore through the empty manor.
He wished someone would hear him and come. Come and see how they were and do something. Revive her, maybe.
No one came.
No one answered.
Silence.
Slowly, his cries faded into quiet sobs.
After a long time, he wiped his tears and forced himself to move.
Carefully, he cleaned her body, removing all traces of blood. He dressed her in a fresh gown, his small hands trembling with every movement.
He used air magic and carried her down to the garden.
He used earth magic to create a hole big enough to lay her to rest.
He placed her inside.
Covered her.
Then he searched for a wooden board.
With slow, deliberate movements, he carved:
Artemisia Rose Holstan
Her birth and death dates, as he remembered them.
Below that, he added:
A loving mother
He stood there for a long time.
Then something inside him hardened.
If the Valtherons thought he was useless, then he would only show them what they wanted to see.
A mask.
Behind it, he would grow stronger.
He had learned from the books that all noble children were required to attend the Royal Academy. Whether legitimate or not, they would be tested and placed into either the magic program or the knight program.
Only a rare few were chosen for both.
Those with exceptional talent.
Benedict looked at the grave one last time.
"I'll live the way you wanted," he said quietly.
"And I'll make them regret everything."
For Artemisia.
For Caelum.
He buried himself in books once more, studying magic and swordsmanship with relentless focus.
Years passed.
Twelve years of preparation.
When knights from the main Valtheron Manor finally arrived to collect him, after abandoning him there with his mother all those years ago, he was ready.
He had mastered every spell in the library.
He had learned to suppress all but one element.
Healing.
He had trained his body and refined his swordsmanship in secret.
"Move," one of the guards snapped.
Benedict lowered his head, masking his expression, playing the role of the weak and forgotten child.
Caelum.
He followed them without resistance.
When they shoved him into the carriage, he clenched his fists, reminding himself of one thing.
Respect did not exist for someone his father had abandoned.
That was the reality of noble society.
He glanced at his scraped palms and knees.
Then, deliberately, he cast healing magic in front of the guards.
The wounds closed before their eyes.
Gasps filled the carriage.
Benedict lowered his hand slowly.
A faint smirk touched his lips.
'This is only the beginning,' he thought. 'You have no idea what's coming.'