Even with Seraphine's public declaration, even with her promise to protect Raelith, nothing stayed the same.
Things only got worse.
The same cousins and peers who used to suck up to him—hoping to be favored by the rising genius of House Vale—now turned on him like hyenas around a wounded lion. They shoved him in corridors, stole his training gear, whispered curses behind his back. Every time Raelith entered a room, the air changed. Every time he tried to speak, someone laughed.
His parents, once so proud of his progress, stopped acknowledging him entirely.
His father no longer looked at him during family dinners. His mother, who once combed his hair before clan events, now walked past him as if he were just another servant. Even the guards who used to bow when he walked past now stared ahead, stiff and unmoving.
Only Seraphine remained unchanged.
If anything, she became more present. She brought him meals when no one else remembered. She checked his robes for rips and bruises. She told him stories and reminded him of his worth, even when he couldn't see it.
It was during one of those quiet evenings—when she sat beside him under the crimson sky, resting her head lightly on his shoulder—that Raelith finally opened his heart. He didn't say much. Just a quiet, trembling "Thank you." But in that moment, something shifted in him. Trust. Love. Dependence. For the first time, Raelith allowed himself to need someone.
But worse was still to come.
Word of his Grade 0 result eventually spread beyond the clan walls, despite every attempt to contain it. And when it reached Everlight City, it spread like wildfire.
The Vale Clan had produced a Grade 0 mage.
The city's commoners laughed. The noble houses whispered. Street jesters mimicked his awakening in comedy plays. Children in the city began calling any weak spell "a Raelith move."
The pride of the Vale Clan was becoming its shame.
Second Elder Lucen had enough.
He had always seen Raelith as a threat—an unknown, uncontrollable variable. Now, he was nothing more than a stain on the clan's name. Worse, the boy's continued existence risked dragging the rest of them down in public esteem.
It was time to fix the problem.
Lucen crafted a plan: Raelith would die during the upcoming Hunting Festival, an annual clan tradition held near the edge of the Forbidden Woods. And afterward, the clan would say the boy took his own life out of guilt, sorrow, and disgrace. A convenient narrative. A clean end.
The plan was simple.
Guards loyal to Lucen's faction would lure Raelith away from the group using an illusion. Once isolated, they would surround him. Sylas—Lucen's grandson and newly named heir—would be the one to deliver the final blow.
The Hunting Festival began under a clear sky. Laughter, music, and banners filled the woodland clearing. Clan members boasted about past hunts and sharpened their blades, while young mages tested their spells on training dummies.
Raelith walked behind the group, keeping to himself. His robes were plain. His expression, blank. A smile here, a nod there—nothing more.
That's when the illusion began.
A shimmer in the trees.
A golden stag, gleaming and silent, stepped into view. It turned, as if beckoning him, then darted into the woods. Spellbound, Raelith followed. Step by step, deeper and deeper, until the sounds of the festival faded.
And then the illusion broke.
He stopped.
Dead trees surrounded him. The forest air was colder here. Wrong.
And in front of him stood Sylas, arms crossed, smirking.
"Well, well," Sylas said, "look who wandered off like a lost puppy."
Raelith turned—but it was too late.
Six guards surrounded him in a circle. All bore the insignia of Lucen's faction. All wore cold expressions.
"What is this?" Raelith asked, though his heart already knew the answer.
Sylas stepped forward, fire dancing around his gloves. "A mercy, cousin. You see, the clan's been carrying your weight for too long. This is me doing you a favor."
The guards laughed.
Raelith clenched his fists, trembling. "I did nothing wrong."
"No," Sylas said with a twisted grin, "you just didn't do anything right. No magic. No awakening. No future. You think you're special just because Seraphine pities you?"
Raelith stayed silent.
Sylas raised his hand. "Don't worry. This'll be fast."
A fireball bloomed in his palm—large, hot, deadly.
Raelith froze.
Far away, Seraphine laughed quietly as she watched the younger mages celebrating. Her arm was still bandaged from recent training, but she enjoyed these gatherings. They were peaceful.
Then her smile vanished.
Something was wrong.
She scanned the crowd—and saw no sign of Raelith.
Her heart clenched.
"Please just be nearby," she whispered. But her instincts screamed otherwise.
She closed her eyes and cast Clairvoyance, a rare and difficult spell even for her. It showed a path to what the caster desired most.
And in her mind's eye, a single image appeared:
A shadowed clearing inside the Forbidden Woods. Raelith, alone. Surrounded.
Her heart dropped.
Without a word, Seraphine turned and ran. Leaves and dust swirled in her wake as she dashed into the forest, calling on the wind to guide her.
Raelith's legs wouldn't move.
Sylas's fireball crackled like a miniature sun, casting flickering shadows across the trees.
One of the guards scoffed. "Maybe he already died of fear."
Sylas laughed. "Maybe. Let's help him along."
He raised his hand—ready to strike.
Then a gust of wind howled through the clearing.
A spell.
A blur of red and gold burst through the trees, crashing into the center of the circle. Seraphine spun, her Whirlwind Spell deflecting the fireball midair.
The spell shattered, scattering flames into harmless sparks.
She stood in front of Raelith, arms spread, eyes ablaze.
Sylas stumbled back. "Seraphine?!"
"You traitorous filth," she snarled. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Wait, it's not—this isn't what it looks like—"
"Silence!" she roared.
But her sudden entry had come at a price.
Even with her wind barrier, the edge of the fireball had grazed her side. Her robes were singed. Her left arm trembled. Pain lanced through her—but she didn't fall.
She didn't move.
"Touch him again," she growled, "and I'll kill you."
The guards hesitated. Even Sylas, who seconds ago looked so confident, had gone pale.
Raelith, still in shock, stared at her back.
His sister.
His shield.
And she had been burned—again—for him.