The first thing David saw was a potion bottle jammed into his mouth. He choke-drank its contents and was rewarded with a desperate beast attaching herself to him, binding his limbs and making it impossible to get up.

  “Hi, Niala,” He said, his mouth drawling the words.

  His girlfriend stopped rubbing her head on his chest and popped her head into his field of vision, her eyes bright. “You're alive! And you're awake!” She said with a smile.

  “I... yes. Somehow.” David replied, resting his head back down and closing his eyes. “My head hurts.”

  Jordo's warbly voice made itself known. “That must have been the brain hemorrhaging, sir.”

  David opened one eye and looked at the golem. “That sounds bad.”

  “It's ok! I gave you a healing potion! You'll be fine!” His girlfriend reassured him, her head trying to rub a divot into his chest.

  Leandro cleared his throat. “Since all is well... Boy, did you find something?”

  David turned his one open eye at the knight before closing it once more and lowering his head, a sudden feeling of exhaustion settling upon his body.

  Niala's voice sounded distant, fading. “David? David! Is something wrong? David!”

  But he was already asleep.

  He woke up in a bed, in a familiar room, painted orange by the setting sun shining through the window. There was a blot of warmth along the side of his body.

  Niala. He was back home. He scanned the room, flinching in a burst of panic when he saw the man-in-the-mask in the corner of the room, before his vision cleared and he recognized it was Jordo, standing still.

  The jolt woke Niala, as she slowly pushed herself up with one arm, staring at David's face through slitted eyes. A lazy smile drew on her face when she realized he was awake.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi,” he replied, with a smile of his own, staring back into her eyes.

  The moment was broken when Jordo spoke up, chirpy as ever. “Madam! I am pleased to report that Sir is in great condition! As we surmised, he had simply been drained by the ordeal!”

  Niala slumped her head onto David's chest, while he rolled his eyes at the well-meaning golem. “Thanks, Jordo. Could you leave the room now, and close the door behind you?”

  “Of course, sir!” The golem affirmed, doing as instructed.

  With only the two of them in the dim room, Niala shuffled herself upward, nestling her head into the crook of his neck, while David laced his arms around her.

  He felt her warm breath on his neck, the small spasms of her body against his own. All was well in the world. He breathed out the last specks of fright he'd had a few seconds earlier.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” She asked, her voice a soft wind.

  “Hmm. There's a lot. Anything you want to know in particular?” He answered, mirroring her tone.

  Her wind turned concerned. “You began screaming, and kept screaming for a long time, and then you alternated between crying and more screams, for almost the entire time. What did you see inside your head?”

  He sighed, the jumbled pieces of his memory not quite matching up to each other. “You know about my imbuements. I told you they were given to me by my family, right?”

  “Huh-uh.”

  “What I didn't tell you is exactly how they gave them to me.”

  Silence returned to the room.

  “You don't want to tell me?” She asked.

  He inched his head left and right. “It might be a bit unsettling.”

  She pecked a kiss on his neck, her lips lightly sticking to his skin as she pulled back. “I still want you to tell me.”

  He took a deep breath and began talking, telling her how a family had decided to use a boy's flesh as a book.

  On the day of his seventh birthday, David had woken up with a start. A huge, vibrant smile took over his face, unable to resist the jitters that were invading the rest of his body.

  He'd gotten up, cleaned up, dressed, and not-quite-ran down to the dining room to have his breakfast, the house staff returning his smile, tussling his hair and congratulating him on the way.

  His father, mother, younger brother and sister joined him a half bell later, finding David flipping through the pages of one of his favourite books: The Body and its Mana.

  The noble family had their breakfast while chattering about the day's events, as usual, while Annabelle tried to crowd David's space, as usual. No matter how often he'd whine at his mother to have her stop, Lady Agatha had only ever lightly chided the girl at worst, and always with a corner of her mouth tugging into a smile.

  And as always, Isaac, his brother, had sat opposite him, snapping at him that he should be happy Annabelle was showing him affection.

  And soon, but not soon enough for him, breakfast was done, and it was time to leave for the Royal University of Amberose, where he would be getting his mana measured, like all other seven-year-olds.

  David had hoped he'd get a big number. He needed that to become an Azure Guard. He wanted the biggest number ever! To become the best guard ever!

  He'd followed his father out to the Wardenfel's auto-carriage, a master-crafted, if austere, piece of arcanotechnology, like most things Wardenfel, doing his best to rein in his runaway excitation. The last thing he wanted to do right now was attract his father's ire.

  They spent the ride mostly in silence, his father, the patriarch of the Wardenfel family, asking him a few questions about his studies and little else. David answered truthfully; his father already knew everything. This was just another test.

  Nearly a bell of road later, they arrived at the university, lining up behind the other nobles' auto-carriages as they deposited their respective scions in front of the “High” University, the one reserved for the upper classes.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  And, finally, it was David's turn. He flung the door open, earning him a tsk from his father. His young shoulders tensed, his body frozen, as he turned his head toward his father, who narrowed his eyes at the boy, getting up and shooing him away from the door.

  Exiting as a noble should, Jacob motioned for his son and heir to follow. He did not need to remind him to do so calmly and in control of his emotions. The punishments had taught David how a Wardenfel should act when in public.

  They were brought to a large hall, where snacks and beverages were provided as the noble children were called one after another, to have their mana measured. Some came out of the room dejected, some came out vibrating with joy. Most came out midway between pleased and disappointed.

  David's name was called, and he very nearly lost control as he jumped-stumbled from his chair, glancing from the corner of his eye at his father, who, to David's relief, had not seemed to notice.

  The staff led them to a dimly lit room, in the middle of which a horse-sized crystal sat inset into the floor, only the very top of it sticking out. Two child-sized pedestals rose in front of it, with clear handprints on each. A staff member was off to the side, looking at the display on another such pedestal.

  David was motioned to proceed, and with awed reverence, he stepped up, let his hands hover above the handprints, sending a small prayer to the founding gods, before slapping his hands down.

  A small buzzing flash triggered within the sphere, but it went dead afterwards, and nothing else happened.

  David stared at the sphere, dread mounting within him. Wasn't it supposed to light up? The brightness and colour of it an indication of his mana? He looked around, eyes desperately wide, for some sort of explanation.

  All he saw were the frozen, shocked adult faces, his father included.

  “M... my lord, the boy, he's...” One of the staff said, his voice trembling.

  Lord Jacob regained control of his person, and his next words felt like daggers pressed to your neck.

  “Nobody speaks of this to anyone. Record his result as extraordinary. My wardens will visit you by this afternoon.”

  No threats were needed. Everyone knew who the Wardenfels were, what they did.

  David didn't understand why his abyssal results needed this much secrecy. He was a failure, after all.

  His father turned to the boy, nodding as he saw his son's crestfallen expression. “Good, keep that face. We're going back home right away. Speak to no one.”

  The topic was never broached again until a year had passed.

  He was let into the underground room by a masked individual and walked in to see his parents, sitting in padded chairs and waiting for him. His father tracked David with the eyes of a hawk, while his mother's permanent half-smile seemed strained.

  “Sit, David,” his father commanded, motioning to a third chair, as the door behind him closed.

  He took small steps forward and slid himself onto the cushion, keeping his hands tucked into his lap, not meeting his parents' gaze.

  Jacob's voice was flat, but strangely warm. “Son, I will ask you a question. This will be the most important question you will ever be asked. You must answer this question with the truth. Do you understand?”

  David nodded, his palms sweaty.

  “David, what does power mean for you?” His father asked.

  The young boy looked up, eyes searching for the question's true meaning.

  His mother's sweet voice startled him. “It is not a trick, or a test, as your father enjoys so much. Simply answer the question as best you understand it, my love.”

  He looked back at Jacob, who remained stone-faced. David swallowed and tried thinking.

  Power... what was power? It was strength, sure, but it was more. His father often talked about power, and he didn't always mean being strong. His tutors had taught him of the power of words and actions, the power of names and legends. It was...

  He broke the seal on his lips. “Power is... how you influence the world.”

  “Go on.” His father encouraged him.

  David's face scrunched as he tried to grab onto his fleeting thoughts. “It's how you change the world to what you want it to be.”

  Lord Jacob nodded, but spoke once more. “And how would you change the world, if you had all the power you wanted?”

  “I... all the power? Even though I failed?” David asked.

  “You... failed?” His father asked, with the faintest signs of surprise on his face.

  “Yes! I failed at the mana reader! It didn't show anything, which means I have no mana! I'm a failure!” David blurted out, his young voice breaking apart as he fought to push back his tears.

  Jacob's brow furrowed before returning to its resting place. His gaze bore down on David like a mountain and crushed his rampaging emotions flat.

  “Son, answer my question. If you had all the power you wanted, how would you change the world?”

  “But I...!”

  “Answer the question!” His father shouted.

  David flinched back, his brain shutting down for an instant.

  Jacob maintained his gaze upon him, giving him no escape.

  “I... I... I just want to... make people happy. I want them to smile, and to have fun, and I want to have fun with them, so I would make the bad things go away, and I'd never fail at doing that, because I would have all the power, so I'd be the strongest, and nothing bad would ever happen, and-”

  “Enough.” His father cut him off.

  David's eyes glistened; he felt pulled in four directions at once. Nothing made sense. He looked to his mother with pleading eyes.

  He saw a break in her mask, which she mended immediately. He found no succour offered.

  Jacob's voice pulled his son's attention back to him. “David, if you had to suffer immense pain to get all the power you needed to ... keep people happy. Would you do it?”

  These questions didn't make sense. He didn't understand this at all! Pain?! He didn't like pain, but nobody liked pain! If he felt pain, he could take other people's pain away? Like when Annabelle fell from the tree she was climbing and hurt her leg and she cried forever?

  If he could keep people from pain...

  “If I can... keep other people from feeling pain... I think I would.”

  His parents looked at each other. Their eyes held a furious conversation. His father won, as Lady Agatha looked away.

  His father signalled, and the door behind David opened. Masked men entered, and, led by his father, brought him deeper into the earth.

  He was confined to a small clinical room for a week, fed a tasteless white mulch that made him void his bowels daily, with nothing but a few books for him to read and pass the time.

  People wearing clear face masks that hid their faces behind reflected light, clad in white clothes that covered every inch of their bodies, came into the room regularly, at every time of the day, to take blood samples, measurements of his vitals, ask him nonsensical questions about what the colour blue tasted like, and left without answering any of his own.

  At the end of the week, he was put on a gurney and encased in a chemical-smelling sheet that he had trouble breathing from within.

  They released him into a large, all-white room, with a single steel table in the middle that rested upon an articulated arm that attached to the ceiling.

  The masked men picked him up and strapped him to the table. Nobody answered his questions. Nobody paid his words any attention.

  His breath quickened, his pupils dilated, and he begged to be let go when one of the men spoke in his father's voice.

  “Remember, son. Pain, for power. As scary as this will be, your life will never be in danger, I swear on the family name.” The man looked to another of the masked men and nodded.

  A sharp pain pricked his neck, and he felt his muscles lose all strength, his body going limp, held in place only by the metal straps of the table.

  He tried to speak, but his jaw was too heavy to move, his lips too stiff to bend.

  At the corner of his unmovable eyes, he saw the glint of a blade.

  He felt the blade pierce his skin.

  A second, third, fourth, fifth...

  Uncountable blades, led by precise and decisive hands, cut him apart, layer by layer.

  He tried to scream, to let them know it was painful.

  He could not utter a sound.

  And then, they brought out the blue-white tipped metal pens, and he sensed his flesh wail in agony.

  And still, he could not scream.

  As he felt his body layered open, like the pages of a book, upon which the masked men wrote in runic script, the boy realized that his father's questions had been a test and a trick after all.

  David spared Niala of the details, only recounting the event with Annabelle, as much as he could remember anyway, with his memory still refusing to fully reveal everything.

  Niala was pressed into him, tears escaping her eyes and soaking his shirt, her heart crying out for an injustice she could do nothing to fix.

  But David had no tears of his own, the story still feeling as if it belonged to someone else, and so she cried in his stead while he held her close, falling in love a little bit more.