In the kingdom of Arvenia, the wind carried more than just the scent of the sea or the whispers of the trees—it carried power.
Some were born with ears sharp enough to hear secrets spoken from miles away. They were called the Sonari. Others could see through the darkest caves, even in the absence of light—Visari, blessed with perfect sight. There were also those who could track people by scent, detect poison in a single breath, or taste the mood in a room. These were known as the Savorian.
These gifts were not learned. They could not be bought, stolen, or copied. They were given—bestowed by the unseen forces of the world. A whisper from the gods, perhaps. Or the echoes of old magic passed down through blood.
But among all of these gifts, there was one revered above all others.
The Healers.
Only those of noble lineage ever manifested this power. Healers could mend broken bones with a touch, soothe pain with a word, and cure sickness with a breath. They were not merely gifted—they were divine. People bowed before them. They brought hope where there was death. Light where there was shadow.
Every Sunday, just as the sun peeked through the mist-covered hills, villagers gathered outside the marble gates of House Ardent. From mothers with feverish babies to old men clinging to their last days, they came with offerings, prayers, and desperate eyes.
And the Ardents never turned them away.
Lord Eddric, tall and stern with silver in his hair, was known as the Hand of Mercy. His wife, Lady Maerina, once healed a village struck by plague. Their first son, Julian, healed his first wound when he was just eleven. A cut on a stable boy's hand vanished with a glow from his fingers.
They were the pride of the region. The divine house. The perfect family.
Until Jane was born.
She came into the world beneath a blood moon, wrapped in silence. Pale as snow, hair black as the night sky, with eyes that shimmered like forgotten amethysts. The midwives said she was beautiful. Too beautiful. Like something out of a fairytale.
Her parents smiled, then. Hopeful. Certain she would be the strongest Healer yet.
But years passed… and no light came from her hands.
No warmth. No blessing.
Only silence.
—
Jane was six when she first bit into a lemon.
She sat on the kitchen counter, legs swinging, a slice in her hand. The maid beside her giggled, expecting a sour face, a squeal.
But Jane simply blinked. Chewed.
"Sweet," she murmured.
The maid stared. "Sweet?"
Her mother rushed over, took the fruit, and pressed another slice to Jane's lips. "Try again, dear. This one's riper."
Jane obeyed. Still no reaction.
"It tastes like… nothing," she said finally. "Like water."
That night, they brought her to the best doctor in Arvenia. He ran tests, lit candles near her nose, offered herbs and spices. But Jane's face remained blank.
"She has no sense of smell," the doctor said gravely. "No sense of taste, either. It is not a curse, nor an illness. It is simply how she is. And… I am afraid it cannot be healed. Not even by magic."
Lord Eddric's face hardened. Lady Maerina wept.
A noble child, born without a gift. Without senses. Without use.
—
From that day forward, the great white mansion of the Ardents locked one of its windows.
Jane was hidden.
At fifteen, while her brother rode off to the royal academy in a shining carriage, Jane sat by her window, watching the birds.
She didn't cry.
She had stopped crying years ago.
The villagers were told she had gone to study abroad. That she was thriving, brilliant, beloved by foreign scholars.
But Jane hadn't stepped outside the mansion since she was six. She had never seen the town square. Never touched snow. Never walked beside the lake where her brother once learned to swim.
Her days were quiet. Long. Filled with books and shadows.
No friends. No tutors. No music, except the wind that slipped beneath her door.
She grew up like a ghost—present, but unseen.
—
Now, she was eighteen.
Her nineteenth birthday was only a few days away.
She didn't expect gifts. She didn't expect cake. In fact, she had come to expect nothing at all.
But the world, it seemed, had other plans.
—
Far from the polished halls of House Ardent, down a crooked alley where shadows never lifted, Lord and Lady Ardent entered a stone building with no sign.
Inside, dozens of young men and women stood in silence, chained only by duty. Each one wore a tag on their chest: a name, a price, and a brief list of talents.
Servants. Trained. Obedient. For sale.
They passed rows of Sonari and Visari. Some with shining eyes, others with glowing hands. But it wasn't until the end of the hall that Lord Eddric stopped.
There stood a boy—no, a young man—with skin the color of old bronze and eyes like still water. He didn't speak. Didn't flinch.
"What's your name?" Lord Eddric asked.
"John," the boy replied.
"Gift?"
"Savorian. I can detect rot, poison, and illness. I can tell when something is wrong."
Lady Maerina raised a brow. "We'll take him."
—
The next morning, Jane stood barefoot in the hallway, staring at the stranger standing in her home.
"You're new," she said, folding her arms. "Are you my birthday present?"
The young man bowed low. "I am your servant, Lady Jane."
She smirked. "That sounds so stiff. Do you always talk like that?"
"…I don't know how else to talk," he replied quietly.
Jane tilted her head, curious. "You can speak, though. Good. I was worried they sent me a statue."
She reached out and poked his arm.
"You're real. Huh. Alright then. Come on. You're mine now."
—
That night, when the mansion fell silent and the wind grew still, John stood in the study with Lord Eddric and Lady Maerina.
On the desk lay a parchment—old, gold-rimmed, and humming faintly with magic.
"A contract," Lord Eddric said. "She shows no sign of power by her twentieth birthday… we begin the rite. No hesitation. No mercy."
John didn't blink.
"You'll be there for it," Lady Maerina added. "But until then, you will protect her. Watch her. Report everything."
John stared at the glowing scroll.
"…Yes," he said softly.
Then he signed his name.
Not knowing his fate was now tied to hers—and to the dark flame that waited, just beneath her skin.