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{Chapter: 82: The Boy in Swan Feathers}
Today marked Charles' sixth birthday.
There was no birthday cake. No streamers. No candles to blow out. Not a single person had wished him well with even a casual "Happy Birthday." The only sound accompanying him was the gentle hum of arcane engines pulsing within the massive floating vessel he now called home.
Yet despite the silence, despite the lack of festivity, Charles feltâstrangelyâhappy.
In fact, he couldn't stop smiling.
Compared to the years he had endured before this, every moment now felt like something stolen from a dream. Or perhaps a fairytale. He half-expected to wake up at any moment and find himself back in the rickety wooden shack he used to share with his seven siblings, lying on the cold dirt floor with a belly so empty it groaned like a beast.
Charles had come from nothing.
His family, packed tightly into a crumbling cottage on the outskirts of a dying village, was one of the poorest in the region. There were days when his mother would sit by the hearth with red eyes and trembling fingers, silently hoping a neighbor would share a turnip or leftover bones. With so many mouths to feed, one meal a day had become a blessing rather than a right.
That relentless hunger had left its mark.
Charles was stick-thin, with spindly arms and legs that looked like twigs in a storm. His growth had stunted early, and his back curved ever so slightly from years of crouching under burdens too heavy for a child to bear. His eyes, once hollow and dull, now shimmered faintly with curiosityâbut his small frame still made others call him "little monkey" behind his back.
Everything changed the day the Talent Inspectors came.
The Empire's flying galleon, bearing the crest of the Silver Tower, had landed unexpectedly in the central square. Shimmering runes floated along its hull. Runes that made Charles tremble in awe. The robed figures that stepped out wielded staves of crystal and light, their mere presence making the air itself feel heavier.
Wizards. Real ones.
They swept through the town with a practiced rhythm, inspecting children with strange glowing devices. When they reached Charles, the device hummed with golden sparks. The moment their eyes widened, he knew something had changed.
He had been chosen.
His magical potential, though ranked as "Third-Tier" â merely average by the standards of the Tower â was still a miracle for someone born from nothing. In a world where wizards reigned supreme, where kings bowed and nobles scraped for their favor, even a trace of magical talent was enough to elevate an entire bloodline.
To the common folk, wizards were not just powerful. They were gods in human form.
And Charles had just been offered a place among themâat least in training.
From that day forward, his family's life transformed overnight. The city mayor, upon hearing the news, visited their home personally. Gone were the cold stares and muttered curses. Now their neighbors bowed with forced smiles, as if they had always admired the boy with the tangled hair and torn shoes.
The mayor gifted them three properties in the inner district, along with a sealed chest containing hundreds of gold coinsâenough to buy livestock, food, even slaves. His parents wept when the letter of commendation arrived, stamped with the seal of the Tower and written in runic script none of them could read.
His father no longer broke his back in the stone mines.
His mother no longer prayed for coins.
They were elevated nowâ"blessed" by the grace of magic.
But Charles didn't understand wealth. What he felt was alien. And sometimes, even now, he felt like he was living in someone else's body, walking in someone else's life.
He adjusted the collar of his fine robe again, fingers trembling. The dark blue fabric shimmered with subtle enchantments, threads of moon-silver and starlight embroidery lacing the cuffs. It itched slightly against his skinâunfamiliar, heavy with dignity.
He remembered the day he first received it.
The city lord himself, a round man with a pink face and a ring-stuffed hand, had smiled down at him like a doting uncle, offering the robe as if it were a royal mantle.
Charles had taken it with shaking fingers, holding back tears. In that moment, he had sworn silently: I must repay this kindness. Someday. Somehow.
And yetâŚ
Now that he was surrounded by splendor, he found himself afraid.
Afraid of standing out.
Afraid that someone might notice the truthâthat beneath the enchanted cloth and golden buttons, he was still the hungry boy who once chewed on tree bark to stave off starvation.
'I look like a toad in swan feathers,' he often thought, eyes lowered in shame. A clown pretending to be noble.
Since boarding the great arcane airshipânicknamed "Sky Whale" due to its massive size and shapeâCharles had barely left his private cabin. The rooms were large, warm, and filled with books and items he had never imagined. But he stayed quiet, fearful that other apprentices might mock his accent, his posture, his awkwardness.
He heard them outside his door sometimesâlaughter, footsteps, voices discussing spells and magical beasts and tower politics.
He didn't belong in those conversations.
At least, not yet.
But today⌠something had changed.
It began with a distant soundâgasps, then shouts of awe, then the rapid thudding of feet rushing toward the upper deck. Curiosity gnawed at Charles. He hesitated, clutching his robe tightly, before slowly creeping out into the corridor. His bare feet padded softly on the velvet carpet as he followed the flow of others up the spiral stairs.
What he saw upon reaching the observation deck took his breath away.
The Sky Whale had reached the edge of a great forestâan endless sea of emerald trees blanketed in swirling fog. And there, just beyond the mist, sprawled a city unlike anything Charles had ever dreamed of.
It looked like a world carved into the land.
Sprawling towers pierced the clouds. Giant domes of crystal glinted in the sun. Floating platforms drifted between structures like silent birds. Runes as large as houses shimmered on mountaintops, feeding energy to monolithic pylons.
The city pulsed with magic. Ancient, alive.
Even from this distance, Charles could feel it buzzing through the airâlike invisible threads tugging at the corners of his soul.
His hometown had been a village of mud roads and wooden fences.
This⌠this was a kingdom for gods.
Then a voice broke through his wonder.
"It's enormous," said someone beside him, calm yet filled with the same wonder he felt. "Even the capital back home feels like a courtyard compared to that."
Charles turned, startled.
A boy stood beside him. Perhaps the same age, perhaps a little older. His skin was pale like ivory, his hair a rich platinum, tied with a silk ribbon. The boy's robes shimmered with intricate spell circles embroidered in gold, and his eyes gleamed like polished sapphires.
There was no mockery in his expression. Just warmth. Curiosity. An open hand stretched in friendship.
Charles swallowed his fear and returned the smile, just barely.
It was the first time anyone had spoken to him since he boarded the ship.
Facing Charles' gaze, the boy extended his hand with a composed smile, speaking with the poise of someone accustomed to attention:
"Hello, my name is Saya Glens, the seventeenth prince of the Kingdom of Dort. I believe this is the first time I've seen you on board."
The words struck Charles like a lightning bolt, freezing him in place. A prince? His breath caught in his throat. For a moment, Charles could hardly believe what he was hearing. He had seen nobles from a distance, usually surrounded by guards and fawning attendants. Even their servants were treated like royalty in the slums Charles came from.
And now one of themânot just any noble, but a royal princeâstood before him, smiling politely and offering his hand as if they were equals.
Charles hesitated.
His own hands were thin, small, and rough from years of laborâscrubbing floors, hauling water, and working with whatever materials he could scavenge just to help his family survive another day. His palms bore the calluses of poverty. Could such a hand really touch that of a prince?
A dozen worries tangled in his mind like vines. What if his touch offended the prince? What if this was some sort of joke, a trap to humiliate him?
Still, he could not stay frozen forever. Gathering what little courage he could muster, Charles reached out his trembling hand and accepted the handshake.
"...Nice to meet you. My name is Charles," he said softly, almost afraid to raise his voice too much.
Unlike Saya, who had a full name that echoed with lineage and legacy, Charles only had a first nameâno surname, no family crest, no noble house to claim.
But instead of laughing at his hesitation or scoffing at his commoner roots, Saya's face lit up with an encouraging smile. "Charles? That's a fine name. Strong and simple. I'll remember it."
Charles blinked. Praise? From a prince?
Saya took a few steps forward, motioning for Charles to stand beside him at the railing near the edge of the deck. Together, they looked down through the reinforced glass canopy of the aircraft. Below them, the forest canopy seemed to shudder beneath the force of arcane propulsion, trees swaying as the ship descended steadily.
The sky was painted with soft amber light, and the dense fog around the floating academy peeled back like silk curtains revealing a sleeping giant. Ancient towers, each carved from massive stone and veined with glowing blue runes, rose out of the mist. Bridges of light connected floating platforms that circled the central spire like satellites around a moon. Arcane energy pulsed through the air, humming with a power that made Charles' skin tingle.
From the ground, this place must have seemed like a myth, a citadel in the clouds. But from up hereâthis was real.
"It's so vast..." Charles murmured, his voice barely audible over the rush of wind. "It's bigger than...anything I've ever seen."
"Indeed," Saya replied, his voice calm and observant. "Even the capital feels small in comparison. This is the heart of wizardry in the western hemisphere. The Archspire Academyâone of the three Grand Academies in the known world."
Charles didn't know how to respond. The name alone felt heavy, full of history and prestige he couldn't yet comprehend.
*****
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