As Caesar started to calm down from the fight, his breath came slow and heavy. Sweat clung to his skin, and the sound of his heartbeat echoed in his ears.
Then, as he drew in another breath—something strange happened.
His mind shifted. It felt like something deep inside was stirring, like a door gently creaking open. A strange feeling washed over him—new, yet oddly familiar. It was like remembering a dream he was sure he'd never had. Confusion flickered in his eyes.
And then, out of nowhere, a voice echoed softly in his head:
A memory surfaced, sudden and vivid.
///
In a grand, opulent chamber adorned with red velvet drapes and golden embroidery, the soft crackle of enchanted lanterns filled the silence. A gentle warmth blanketed the room—both from the hearth and the magic-infused walls, a signature of the Blazeforge estate.
At the center of it all, a woman sat on an ornate bed, holding a newborn wrapped in a silken cloth of white and gold. Her expression was soft, her posture regal, even in exhaustion. Around her, a small circle of figures stood—nobles, mages, and servants alike—each watching with reverence.
Among them was a man in crimson ceremonial robes, the fabric laced with gold threads and arcane sigils. His presence was magnetic, commanding the room without a word. He stood beside the woman, gaze fixed on the child.
Across from them, an elderly man in a bluish robe embroidered with subtle runes stepped forward. His long beard was neatly kept, and his staff—leaning against the wall—glowed faintly at the tip. A few well-dressed maids stood respectfully behind him, their expressions unreadable.
The woman looked down at the infant nestled in her arms. A soft smile touched her lips—tired but serene.
"Natan…" she whispered.
Her voice was soft and gentle. she spoken with such wisdom that everyone felt the name's deep power in their minds.
She was breathtaking. Her midnight-black hair flowed like ink over her shoulders, contrasting with skin so fair it almost glowed under the warm lantern light. Her eyes were—golden, clear as crystal, with a depth that seemed to shimmer like sunlight on water. Eyes that could even pierce the void.
She leaned closer, brushing her nose gently against the baby's forehead.
"Welcome to the world, my little Blaze," she murmured, her voice trembling with affection.
Then, from the man in crimson beside her—Gareth Blazeforge, the patriarch of the house—a shift in the air.
He furrowed his brow. His eyes, deep crimson like embers in a forge, narrowed slightly. His features were striking—sharp jaw, high cheekbones, and a calm menace that made him impossible to ignore. His jet-black hair was tied loosely behind his back, cascading down like liquid silk.
"Doctor," he said suddenly, voice low and heavy with unease. "This child… I don't sense an ounce of mana in him."
A murmur passed through the surrounding maids, but they quickly silenced themselves.
The old mage approached, nodding solemnly. His bluish robe trailed softly behind him, runes lighting briefly as he extended a hand toward the baby.
The infant stirred, making a faint sound—a mix between a yawn and a hiccup. His skin was pale, soft, with barely-there tufts of dark hair atop his small head. His eyes blinked open for just a moment—bright red, unmistakably the same hue as his father's, glowing faintly in the dim light.
The doctor's hand glowed with a subtle yellow aura as it hovered above the baby's chest. Moments passed.
Nothing.
"This is… unusual, Lord Gareth," the mage muttered, brows furrowing.
He withdrew a small crystal from his satchel—a teardrop-shaped shard of deep blue. It pulsed faintly in his hand.
"The Mana-Sight Shard," he explained to the others, "a high-tier artifact capable of detecting even the faintest mana fluctuation. Very few exist."
He hovered the shard above the child. It remained still. Dark. Unresponsive.
"There is no mana at all," he said at last, slowly lowering the crystal.
Madona's breath hitched. "Honey… what's wrong?" she asked quietly, her voice barely a whisper.
Gareth's expression hardened. "This child… He doesn't have mana."
A silence fell, thick and cold.
"No… that's impossible," she said, shaking her head. "He's our son. A Blazeforge at that."
Gareth's eyes narrowed. He leaned in, inspecting the boy again. His gaze was sharp, searching.
There was no mistaking it—the baby resembled him in nearly every way. The same angular face, the same unmistakable crimson eyes. He could feel his blood in him, like a heat signature only a father could recognize.
And yet… the child was completely devoid of mana.
Not even the faintest trace.
Even commoners had some. A flicker, a spark. Something. Not this child.
The air in the room turned heavy. Madona's hands trembled slightly, holding the baby closer. Gareth's jaw tightened, his pride and certainty slowly unraveling.
Seeing the tension rise, the mage stepped in once more, gently clearing his throat.
"My lord… my lady… It's too early to react yet. There have been cases, though very rare, where a child's mana is too faint to detect at birth. Some develop later, even after years. We cannot yet say this is permanent."
Madona's shoulders relaxed just slightly. Gareth gave no verbal response, but his eyes shifted away, deep in thought.
She leaned forward, kissing the child gently on the brow before passing him to a maid waiting behind her.
"Take care of him," she said.
Gareth nodded toward the maids. "Tend to the newborn. He is still a Blazeforge."
Madona turned back to her husband, placing a hand on his arm. Her voice softened, but held conviction.
"Don't worry, love… everything will be fine. He's a Blazeforge—one born for greatness."
Three years have passed.
From the very moment of his birth, Natan remembered everything.
The room. The voices. The words. The unspoken thoughts behind the stares.
He remembered the warmth of his mother's arms and the subtle shift in the air when his father stepped back, disapproving.
Natan had been born with a photographic memory, a rare and extraordinary condition. Every sight, sound, texture, taste—recorded and retained in exquisite clarity. Nothing was forgotten.
And it was this memory that helped him slowly unravel the truth.
He heard the whispers in the halls. Saw the worried glances. Felt the cold distance in the eyes of those who should have loved him.
Over time, scholars, mages, and clerics visited the estate—some out of curiosity, others out of concern. All came seeking answers, hoping to find a cure for the Blazeforge heir born without mana.
But it was all in vain. No one could explain it. No one could fix it.
Madona, once doting, had begun to withdraw.
"Why doesn't this child have mana?" she whispered one day, biting her nail in frustration. "He's a Blazeforge… there must be some mistake."
She spoke the words in front of Natan, assuming he didn't understand.
But he did.
Gareth, once proud, grew distant and paranoid. He began to question not only the child, but his wife.
"Could he truly be mine?" he thought. "Did Madona betray me? Was there sabotage in the estate? A curse?"
Even though the resemblance of the child to him was uncanny and undeniable, Gareth began to doubt. And those doubts festered like rot.
Natan became a blemish. A silent shame.
The Blazeforge name, once a symbol of might and honor, was too proud to tolerate having such a child.
And so they became distant to him.
They didn't beat him. They didn't banish him. To preserve their 'benevolent' image, they offered him food, shelter, books—but there was no love, no attention, no warmth. Only silence.
By the time he turned four, Natan understood the weight of it all. He had remembered everything from the moment he was brought into the world—but back then, he couldn't yet comprehend the words, so he hadn't understood their meaning yet.
Natan began to understand that he was born into a county noble house located in the western territories of the Astral Empire. He was Natan Blazeforge, son of Gareth Blazeforge, the patriarch of the Blazeforge family, and Madona Blazeforge, the matriarch and Gareth's lawful wife.
His family governed Edenfield, a large and prosperous city known for its abundant resources and fertile lands.
The Blazeforge family was highly respected—its legacy rooted in honor and valor. They had played a significant role in ending the Great War against the Imperium Empire, a conflict that lasted fifteen long years.
Their efforts also brought immense development to their region, contributing heavily to the growth of the empire itself.
They were also admired for their extraordinary affinity with flame magic.
As a family that specialized in fire-based arts, many believed that the Blazeforges were blessed by the Goddess of the Sun herself, their magic said to be inherited through divine favor. The belief was so widespread, it was reflected even in their name—Blazeforge.
His father, Gareth, was said to be one of the strongest living mages—one of the very few to attain the 7th Star Core Foundation in magic. For this, he had earned the title: "The Flame Archmage"
Their reputation was immense—and they were well aware of it. Proud of it.
But, All that legacy, all that pride—meant nothing.
Because he was born without mana.
To them, he wasn't an heir.
He was a curse.
the fact that Natan, their own heir, could bring shame upon their name and lineage deeply disturbed them.
Natan had come to understand his position—and the gravity of his situation.
He had realized why his parents was so distant to him.
One day, as he wandered alone through the echoing halls of the estate, he stopped near an ornate door carved with phoenixes and flames. Voices drifted from within.
"Gareth… I'm pregnant again" Madona's voice said.
A long pause.
"I see…" Gareth replied. His voice was low, hard. "We'd better hope this one doesn't turn out to be another disappointment."
Natan stopped.
The word hit harder than a blade.
His breath caught. His fingers curled into fists.
His face dropped into shadow, eyes wide but unreadable.
"…Disappointment," he whispered to himself.
The word echoed through him. Repeated. Etched deep into his heart.
--Chapter 4 end
A/N: Sorry, guys—I uploaded this a day late. I was supposed to upload it last night, but I didn't want to submit it unedited and full of inconsistencies.