In the heart of the Kingdom of Valerion, where the power of nobles ruled over everything, the House of Olivier stood as one of the most respected and influential families. Their status wasn't merely due to wealth, but to their formidable military strength and long-standing service to the crown.
Today, their vast estate pulsed with life, as nobles gathered to celebrate the twelfth birthday of Nevalis Olivier, the family's heir.
The grand hall glowed with hundreds of flickering candles, and crystal chandeliers sparkled as their light danced across the gold-embellished walls. The ivory marble floor reflected the guests like a giant mirror, while royal musicians, brought in especially for the occasion, filled the space with elegant melodies.
Amid this opulent scene stood Nevalis, dressed in a formal dark blue silk outfit, embroidered with golden threads, a reflection of his noble status.
His stark white hair contrasted with his deep blue eyes, which held a regal coldness unbefitting a child his age. Though small in stature, his posture was poised and confident—enough to draw both respect and subtle caution from the attending nobles.
Close to him stood his father, Count Alfred Olivier—a tall man with sharp features and garnet-red eyes. His slicked-back black hair and heavy black coat, trimmed with silver embroidery, added to his commanding presence. On
his chest gleamed the family crest, a symbol of Olivier's unbreakable might.
By his side stood his mother, Lady Elinor—the woman long praised as the jewel of noble society. Her golden hair flowed gracefully down her back, and her hazel eyes shimmered with intelligence. She wore a simple yet elegant royal blue dress, befitting her status. Yet, there was a strange coldness in her gaze when she looked at Nevalis—like she was staring at a stranger, not her only son.
Standing between Count Alfred and Lady Elinor, Nevalis seemed like a being from another tale. His pale features, silver hair, and blue eyes starkly contrasted with his parents'—as if the blood in his veins did not belong to the Olivier lineage.
The picture they formed together left no room for denial… this boy was not born of Olivier blood.
Just two years prior, the kingdom had buzzed with rumors: Count Alfred Olivier had adopted a mysterious child, a prodigy said to possess a rare gift—something not seen in generations, only spoken of in ancient texts. A gift so extraordinary, his name spread beyond the palace halls… across the entire kingdom, and even the continent.
Nobles lined up to greet the family, their smiles fake and words polished with hidden motives. Everyone knew that Nevalis was more than just a noble heir—he was a bearer of an unparalleled talent. Since childhood, he had demonstrated the ability to wield both aura and magic together—something virtually unheard of in the kingdom. This made him a figure of fascination; some sought to ally with him, others saw him as a threat that must be watched.
As the celebration continued, Nevalis was not blind to the exchanging glances and veiled gestures around him. Since his arrival at the estate two years ago, he had learned that nobles were masters of masks. Every word, every smile, every look… could hide a hundred meanings.
Despite his youth, he was already aware that his life among these nobles would never be easy—especially not with the gift he carried.
This was the world of the kingdom… a world that smiled at your face, yet hid a dagger behind its back.
"What an honor it is to be here today, my lord count,"
said one noble, bowing toward Nevalis.
"Young Nevalis shines brighter than the stars themselves!"
another chimed in, his smile syrupy.
"He's the embodiment of perfection,"
added a noblewoman, curtsying gracefully.
Nevalis knew well that these were empty compliments. Still, he took a degree of pleasure in his position—not out of vanity, but as a natural result of the rigorous teachings he'd endured over the past two years under Count Alfred's supervision.
His adoptive father had drilled into him the principles of nobility, constantly reminding him that nobles were the true elite, and that everyone beneath them were nothing but failures… the filth of society who had surrendered to weakness.
But Nevalis had never truly cared for these "principles" or the complex hierarchy of nobility.
To him, nobility wasn't found in blood or title—but in achievement and power.
And of course, he firmly believed that anyone who had failed in life was nothing but a failure—not even worth acknowledging.
A noble was someone who forged themselves, not someone born with a name.
As the flattery and forced laughter continued, a nobleman arrived late.
The man was slightly out of breath, trying to appear composed despite his tardiness. He approached the count and the family and offered a quick bow.
> "My apologies for being late, Lord Count. Something unexpected happened on the road."
One of the nearby nobles asked mockingly,
> "And what, pray tell, delayed you from such a grand occasion?"
The man chuckled and replied with theatrical contempt:
> "Oh, just a filthy commoner who collapsed in front of my carriage. I had to stop and teach him a lesson."
"I gave him a proper beating… just so he remembers his place."
The hall erupted in laughter. There was something in his tone that resonated with the rest—
a shared disdain for the lower classes.
> "Commoners never know their place in this world!"
one said.
"Why do they even exist?"
another sneered.
Standing beside his adoptive father, Nevalis heard every word.
He didn't fully understand how such behavior could be considered normal among nobles.
Yes, the commoner had made a mistake—but the punishment seemed excessive, cruel… even vile.
He despised such actions, which had nothing to do with true nobility.
They were twisting the meaning of nobility into nothing but a mask for hollow arrogance.
---
Three years had passed since that celebration, and Nevalis Olivier was now fifteen years old.
He had grown into a handsome young man, more mature, with a sharper understanding of the world. His white hair had grown longer and smoother, and his blue eyes had become colder and more assured—eyes that seemed to look down upon the world from above.
Over the years, his awareness of the gap between the classes had only grown.
The kingdom lived by the phrase:
> "Nobles were born to rule, and commoners born to serve."
But even now, Nevalis had yet to meet a true noble—none who embodied the values he read about in the ancient books.
He saw no nobility of the soul… only masks and deception.
One day, as Nevalis strolled through the palace gardens, surrounded by servants tending to his every need, he observed the beautiful, living tapestry of flowers, fruit trees, and wandering nobles.
During his walk, one of the laborers stumbled while carrying a heavy crate.
It fell with a crash, scattering its contents across the ground.
Nevalis stopped and stared in silence for a moment, then pursed his lips in cold disdain:
> "You idiot."
The worker looked up, trembling, hands clasped in a terrified plea:
> "I'm so sorry, Lord Nevalis! I didn't mean—"
But Nevalis cut him off with an icy tone:
> "I can't believe filth like you breathes the same air as I do."
The man shivered as he scrambled to gather the fallen contents, hands shaking, gasping in panic.
The other servants stood still, not daring to interfere.
Nevalis turned away, leaving the man behind, struggling to clean up the mess.
And deep inside, he smiled calmly:
"I've become quite the actor… just as expected of me."