The Forsaken Heir

The tallest boy faltered, confusion flickering in his gaze. "What, you gonna hit me, Shieldbearer?"

Lorian didn't respond with words. His body moved instinctively, driven by a force colder than anger—something primal, something dark. His fist clenched as the whispers in his mind swelled, louder and more persistent.

Make him pay. Break them.

Without warning, Lorian's fist shot forward, connecting with the boy's face. The impact was devastating—sending the second-year flying through the air and crashing into a wooden crate behind him. The wood splintered under the weight, and the boy slumped to the ground, dazed, struggling to catch his breath.

Lorian was already moving toward the second one, a stocky brute who had been laughing moments before. Now, his grin had vanished, replaced by wide-eyed panic. "W-wait, I didn't—"

Lorian's knee drove into his gut, cutting off his words with a sharp gasp. Before the boy could even double over, Lorian pivoted, his boot catching the second-year in the ribs and launching him through the window of a nearby shop. The glass shattered with a violent crash, raining shards onto the stone street.

But Lorian wasn't done.

The whispers in his mind clawed at him, pushing him forward, urging him to finish it.

More. Break them all.

As Lorian turned toward the final second-year, something sharp and hot tore across his back. The boy had drawn his sword in desperation, slashing it across Lorian's shoulder blades. A stinging pain flared through him, but it only served to fuel the rage boiling inside.

Lorian spun around, his eyes blazing with fury. The third boy, pale with fear, faltered as Lorian released an overwhelming wave of killing intent. The raw malice radiating from him froze the boy in place, his hands trembling around the sword's hilt.

"Y-you should've stayed down," the boy stammered, trying to rally himself, raising the blade again.

But before he could swing, Lorian's hand shot out, catching the sword mid-strike. The blade bit into his palm, slicing into his skin, but his mana surged instinctively, protecting his hand from being severed. Blood welled up, but the sword was trapped in his iron grip.

The second-year’s face drained of color, eyes wide with disbelief. He tried to pull his weapon free, but it didn’t budge.

Lorian leaned in, his voice low and cold. "You tried to kill me. So it's only fair I return the favor, right?"

With a surge of strength, Lorian snapped the blade in two. The sound of metal breaking echoed in the square, and the boy stumbled back, eyes wide with terror.

Lorian advanced, his breath steady but laced with deadly intent. The whispers urged him forward, pushing him to strike, to end it.

Make them pay. Make him suffer.

Lorian's fist crashed into the boy's jaw, sending him sprawling to the ground. He didn't stop. Blow after blow rained down, the second-year's desperate cries barely audible over the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. Each punch felt like it was carving deeper into the anger, into the darkness that gripped him, fueling the whispers that demanded more.

"Lorian, stop!" Selene's voice broke through the chaos, desperate and panicked. But he didn't hear her.

The boy beneath him was barely conscious now, his face bloodied and swollen. Lorian's hands were slick with blood, his own mingling with the boy's, but the whispers screamed for him to keep going.

End him.

"Lorian, please!" Selene cried again, louder this time, her voice trembling.

The sound of her voice snapped something in Lorian, cutting through the fog of rage. He hesitated, his fist raised for another blow, but his body felt heavy, like it was moving through tar. His breath came in ragged gasps, and for the first time, he realized what he had done.

The boy beneath him was barely moving, his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Blood pooled beneath him, staining the cobblestones.

Lorian's fist slowly unclenched, the weight of his actions crashing down on him all at once. He staggered back, his heart pounding in his ears, and for a moment, the world seemed to spin.

Just then, heavy footsteps echoed through the square. Academy officials arrived, their eyes wide as they took in the scene—the shattered glass, the broken bodies, the blood.

One of the officials, a tall man in military garb, moved faster than Lorian could react. He swung his leg in a brutal roundhouse kick, catching Lorian square in the chest. The force of the blow sent Lorian flying backward, his body slamming into a nearby wall with a sickening thud.

Pain exploded through his body, but it was dulled compared to the storm raging in his mind.

The official stood over him, his expression a mix of anger and disgust. "That's enough, Aeloria."

Lorian's vision blurred as he slumped to the ground, his breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. Selene rushed to his side, her hands shaking as she knelt beside him.

"Lorian, are you alright?" she whispered, her voice filled with worry.

But Lorian didn't answer. The whispers had faded now, replaced by a deep, hollow silence that chilled him to the bone. He stared blankly at the ground, his vision still swimming from the kick, but it wasn’t the pain that occupied his thoughts—it was the emptiness. The sudden void where the rage had been.

His breath came in short, shallow bursts, and the weight of what he had done settled over him like a thick, suffocating blanket. Blood stained his knuckles, drying in dark streaks that seemed to burn into his skin. His hands trembled as they hovered just above the cobblestones, as though they didn’t belong to him anymore.

Selene knelt beside him, her voice soft but strained with worry. “Lorian… look at me.”

He didn’t move at first. His gaze was fixed on the bloodied ground, his mind replaying the scene over and over—the impact of his fists, the sound of bone cracking, the fear in the boy’s eyes before everything blurred into chaos.

The official who had struck him stood over them, his posture rigid, face set in a grim expression. "What the hell were you thinking, Aeloria?" His voice cut through the haze, sharp and commanding.

Lorian blinked, the words barely registering as his mind fought to catch up. Slowly, he turned his head, his body moving with effort as if weighed down by something far heavier than the injuries he'd sustained. His eyes met the official’s, but there was no defiance, no fire left in them—just a hollow, haunted look.

“I—” Lorian’s voice cracked, hoarse from the struggle and the weight of the emotions he couldn’t put into words. What had he been thinking? The truth was, he hadn’t been thinking at all.

The official’s frown deepened. "Get him out of here," he ordered, gesturing to a nearby guard. "Take him to the infirmary. We'll sort out this mess after."

The guard moved forward, reaching down to help Lorian to his feet, but Lorian flinched, instinctively pulling away. He didn’t want to be touched. Not right now.

Selene’s hand on his arm was the only thing that grounded him. Her touch was light, hesitant, but it was enough to remind him that she was there—that someone still saw him beneath the blood and chaos.

“Come on,” she urged quietly. “We need to get you out of here.”

Lorian nodded numbly, letting Selene guide him to his feet. His body protested every movement, a sharp pain radiating from the wound on his back where the third boy had slashed him. But that pain felt distant compared to the storm that raged within him.

As they began to walk, the students around them whispered and pointed, some too shocked to speak, others murmuring in awe or fear. Lorian’s gaze remained forward, unfocused, his mind detached from the reality of the situation. The world felt like it was moving around him while he remained frozen in place.

They passed by the bodies of the three second-years he had fought. Medics were already attending to them, their faces grim as they assessed the damage. Lorian couldn’t bring himself to look at them. He didn’t want to see what he had done—didn’t want to face the consequences of the violence he had unleashed.

Once they were clear of the crowd, Selene led him toward a quiet corner, away from prying eyes. The festival atmosphere seemed like a distant memory, the laughter and chatter of moments ago now replaced by tension and dread.

“Lorian,” Selene began softly once they were alone. “What… what happened back there? That wasn’t you.”

Lorian leaned against a nearby wall, his legs threatening to give out beneath him. He ran a hand through his blood-matted hair, his chest tightening with each shallow breath he took. He could feel the familiar weight of guilt beginning to settle in, but there was something else—something darker gnawing at him from the edges of his mind.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I couldn’t stop. It was like… like something inside me just… broke.”

Selene’s violet eyes softened with concern as she moved closer. "Lorian, I’ve seen you fight before. You’ve always had control. But back there... it was like you were someone else."

Lorian squeezed his eyes shut, his hands trembling slightly. He could still feel the remnants of the rage that had gripped him, the whispers clawing at the edges of his mind, urging him to strike, to end it.

"It’s happened before," he admitted quietly, his voice low. "During training. There’s something inside me, Selene. Something dark. When I get pushed too far, it... takes over."

Selene’s brow furrowed, and for a moment, she didn’t speak. Then, carefully, she reached out and placed her hand on his arm, her touch grounding him. "You don’t have to face this alone, Lorian. We’ll figure it out together."

Lorian looked at her, feeling the weight of her words. But there was also a gnawing sense of dread inside him, the fear that whatever was lurking within him might be beyond help. "I don’t even know where to begin," he said, his voice tight with frustration.

"Then we’ll start with what we do know," Selene replied firmly. "Whatever it is, we’ll get to the bottom of it. You’ve fought hard to get this far. You can’t give up now."

Her determination was unwavering, and for the first time since the fight, Lorian felt a small flicker of hope. He nodded, though the tension in his chest hadn’t fully lifted. "Alright," he whispered. "But I’m not sure how much longer I can keep it under control."

"We’ll find a way," she assured him. "You’re stronger than you think."

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of the conversation pressing down on them both. Finally, Selene gestured toward the infirmary. "Come on. Let’s get you patched up."

Lorian nodded, his muscles aching from the fight, the adrenaline now fully faded. He followed Selene toward the infirmary, each step feeling heavier than the last. The warm glow of the mage lights flickered softly as they entered the building, the scent of healing herbs and antiseptic thick in the air.

A healer, an older woman with tired eyes, glanced up as they walked in. She took one look at Lorian’s bloodied knuckles and the gash on his back, and her lips thinned into a disapproving line.

"Another one, huh?" she muttered, gesturing for him to sit on the nearest bed. "You students really need to stop trying to kill each other."

Lorian winced as he sat, the cut on his back flaring with pain. Selene stood nearby, her arms crossed, watching the healer work with quiet concern.

The healer’s hands glowed with soft, pale light as she began to close the wound on Lorian’s back. The warmth of the healing magic spread through him, dulling the sharp edges of the pain, though the ache in his chest—the guilt, the fear—remained untouched.

"You’re lucky this didn’t cut deeper," the healer muttered, her tone stern. "Hold still."

Lorian complied, his mind still swirling with the events of the day. He could feel Selene’s gaze on him, but he didn’t look up. His thoughts were too muddled, too heavy.

"How bad were they?" he asked quietly after a moment, referring to the second-years he had fought.

Selene hesitated. "They’ll be alright. The medics got to them in time."

Lorian swallowed hard, the weight of his actions pressing down on him again. "I didn’t mean to hurt them that badly."

"I know," Selene said softly. "But that’s why we need to get this under control, Lorian. Before something worse happens."

The healer finished her work, stepping back with a nod. "That should do it. You’ll be sore for a while, but the wound is closed. Don’t push yourself too hard for the next few days."

Lorian nodded in thanks, though the idea of rest seemed impossible with everything weighing on him.

As they left the infirmary, the sun was already beginning to set, casting long shadows across the academy grounds. The quiet between them was heavy but not uncomfortable, each of them lost in their own thoughts.

"Thank you," Lorian said finally, breaking the silence as they walked. His voice was soft, barely above a whisper. "For being there. For helping me."

Selene smiled faintly, her eyes flicking to him. "You don’t need to thank me, Lorian. Just promise me you’ll talk to me if it happens again."

Lorian nodded, though his chest tightened at the thought of it happening again. "I promise."

They parted ways at the entrance to the Bronze Hall, Selene giving him a final, lingering glance before disappearing into the twilight. As Lorian entered the hall, the quiet of his surroundings did nothing to ease the turmoil inside him.

But as Lorian made his way back to his room, his mind refused to quiet. The whispers might have faded, but the darkness still lingered, coiled like a snake in the back of his thoughts, waiting for its next opportunity to strike. His chest felt heavy, the events of the day still playing over in his mind—overwhelming, and at the same time, oddly empowering.

He couldn’t shake the feeling of how the surge of mana had felt. There was something there, something more. The anger, the raw emotion—it had given him access to power he hadn’t been able to reach before. And now, despite the exhaustion creeping into his bones, that same curiosity tugged at him, urging him to push further.

When Lorian finally arrived at his room, the quiet of the Bronze Hall offered no real comfort. His mind was still racing, too full of thoughts to let him rest. He had to know if something had changed. If whatever had broken loose in him had unlocked something more.

Closing the door behind him, Lorian stood in the middle of his room, focusing inward. The quiet hum of mana inside him was familiar, though it felt different tonight—stronger somehow. He took a slow breath and extended his hand, channeling the energy outward like he had done countless times before.

The familiar tightness was there at first, like always. The funnel. That damn restriction that had kept him from fully controlling his power. But tonight, it felt... different. Wider. The energy wasn’t as difficult to push through, and for the first time in a long while, it felt almost natural.

Lorian’s brow furrowed as he focused, testing his control. A small orb of light appeared above his palm, steady and bright, glowing without the usual flicker that plagued his earlier attempts. He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. This was progress. Real progress.

He decided to push further.

With a deep breath, Lorian moved to his sword, picking it up from where it rested near the door. Holding the hilt tightly, he began channeling his mana into the blade, the energy flowing through him, into the weapon. The glow that surrounded the sword was faint at first, but steady—much steadier than before.

There was none of the usual struggle. None of the hesitation.

Lorian’s heart raced as he watched the blade hum with a faint but powerful glow, his mana surging through the steel in a way it never had before. He swung the sword lightly, the hum of energy following the arc of his strike. This was it. The power was finally starting to respond.

He decided to try a more difficult technique—something that had always given him trouble. Taking a steadying breath, he focused on an offensive mana burst, channeling more energy into the blade, letting it pulse out from the weapon in a shockwave.

For a moment, everything seemed to align. The funnel was wide, the mana flowing freely. The power in his sword flared brightly, humming with intensity, and Lorian could feel the surge of magic building in his chest, ready to be released.

But just as quickly as the surge came, the familiar constriction began to creep back in. The funnel tightened, narrowing once again, and Lorian felt the mana choke as the energy flow stuttered. The bright glow around the sword dimmed, and the power he’d been harnessing slipped away like sand through his fingers.

"No..." he muttered, his grip tightening on the sword as if that could somehow keep the power from fading.

He tried to force the mana through, pushing harder, but the more he strained, the worse it became. The funnel was closing rapidly now, constricting the flow of energy to a trickle. Frustration surged through him, and in his haste, the mana burst destabilized.

The shockwave he had been preparing fizzled out with a weak pulse of energy, barely enough to disturb the air around him.

Lorian growled in frustration, slamming his sword back into its rack. The brief glimpse of progress had slipped through his fingers, leaving him once again with that maddening feeling of being blocked, of something holding him back.

He sank onto the edge of his bed, his breaths coming hard and fast. What had just happened? For a moment, it felt like he had finally broken through, like the restriction was gone. But just as quickly, it had returned, tightening its grip around his magic.

His hands clenched into fists. Whatever had changed during the fight with those second-years had left its mark, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t stable.

He couldn’t help but wonder—was this darkness inside him the key to breaking free of those restrictions? Or was it a curse, one that would eventually destroy him?