While Victor kept sleeping normally, someone stood there hovering over him, watching the newborn child sleep.
It was his father, Duke Tristen, younger brother of the king. The man of nearly twenty-five looked at the boy sleeping in the cradle. He stared at him with fear, anxiety, and apprehension. The powers the boy had shown were not simple—he had to intervene before they materialized.
"Damn it… if my brother finds out, I will have to kill you… Why did you have to be so powerful… so young? Don't you know what role you've placed me in? To decide whether to kill my newborn… or hide him from society. Damn it."
The duke looked at the boy, who began to glow again. He was having another dream—this one more powerful than those before. He began to tremble before a wound formed on his little leg. It looked like it was caused by an arrow or a magic pellet that tore deep into the flesh.
"Damn it, what is happening? Why are you even hurting yourself?! Someone outside—bring me a medic, and hurry!"
The baby began to cry loudly as blood started to flow from the clean wound. The duke placed a hand over it and tried to concentrate. He closed his eyes and began to sleep while controlling his body to keep himself upright. After years of torture and training, he had learned to do what his brother could at the age of four. He began dreaming of his firstborn's wound quickly healing. The dream met some resistance this time, but it seemed the boy—who had fully awakened—no longer had the power to oppose him, and so the wound closed.
Soon, the door opened, and a medic rushed in to check the boy's wound.
"Forgive me… I got too excited and began to dream about the battlefield. My power got out of control from all the excitement of seeing my firstborn, so this happened. Heal him, now!"
The Duke did not need to add the reason but he did not want it to be known that the baby could use magic, so he had to tell a lie here. The Duke then waited as the medic used his healing magic. He was a water mage versed in blood magic, so the wound repaired itself easily.
The boy, tired from the blood loss, went back to sleep. The duke sent the medic away right away, though the man hesitated to leave.
"Worry not. I won't let it happen a second time. And don't tell anyone about what happened—do you hear me?"
"Yes! My lord. I will return to helping your wife heal. Forgive me for overstaying…"
The duke closed the door, almost forcing the man out.
He then went back near the crib. The boy looked too drained to use his magic. The duke knew it was impossible to leave the baby as he was—he would end up killing himself, and half the kingdom would want him dead to avoid a clash in power.
The duke returned to deep thought. He formed his next plan and began to sleep while standing again, this time more focused. He guided the dream that quickly took shape.
Before him stood the item he needed—one his father had shown him long ago. It was meant to seal his brother, the king, of his power if he ever went mad.
But he would not use this item on his brother. No… it would be for his own son—to seal his power until he could control it.
The duke had many questions about his newborn, but no one could—or would—give him answers. For now, sealing his son's power was the only option.
His brother, the king, would never allow anyone to surpass his own children. The throne was not meant for the weak—only the best could be king. If the duke's son was discovered to possess the kind of powers he had just demonstrated, the king would not hesitate to have the boy killed. And knowing his brother… he would go further. He would kill the boy's mother. He would kill the duke himself—his own brother.
The duke was certain of this. And to prevent it, he would have to make his son appear to be the weakest—until he came of age or, with luck, grew strong enough to stop his dreams from affecting reality, and break the seal on his own.
It was the power of those who ruled this kingdom—the Dreamweavers. Those who could reshape reality from dreams. One of the Twelve most powerful bloodlines, rare even among the nobility, and very dangerous.
Dreams in this world had brought humanity great advances—leaps in technology, civilization, and understanding. But dreams had also birthed horrors: incurable diseases, monsters summoned from nightmares, some of which still roamed the land, and to this day they were still hunted for wiping out entire villages and towns.
The duke's hands trembled as he picked up the bracelet meant to suppress that power. He didn't want this fate for his son. This would brand him from the very start of his life. He knew the hardship the boy would face before mastering his power—but this was all he could do to keep his newborn safe.
He picked up the bracelet meant for an adult. Its silver body shone brilliantly, ethereal in the moonlight. He placed it in the boy's tiny hand and activated it with a quiet chant, one that embedded the limitations and conditions under which the seal would fade. The bracelet then coiled itself around the baby's arm, flashing one final time before marking him—leaving behind only what looked like a silver tattoo.
The duke clenched his teeth through every second of the process. Finally, he let out a long sigh and gently patted the baby's small head. He looked closely at the boy's features—so much like his own, and like his wife's.
He walked toward the window and looked out from the mansion. The sky was dark, but the moonlight was strong tonight.