CH:26
The Misbuttoned Thread
It was an era in which the power of wizards was fading.
Once able to summon rain from a clear sky and move mountains with a wave of their hand, the omnipotent magicians had long since disappeared. The earliest mages, once revered as godlike beings for their overwhelming abilities, now existed only in written records.
And it was the mages themselves who first noticed this decline. With each passing generation, the emergence of exceptional talents grew alarmingly rare.
“The standard of today’s mages is just… embarrassing. It’s a wonder how some of them even made it into the Tower.”
“We need a solution. What if we become no better than the common folk?”
“Don’t be absurd! How could we, the enlightened, be compared to the ignorant masses?”
“Indeed. This generation is just particularly lacking, that’s all.”
Heated debates broke out even among their own ranks. Some argued for urgent measures, while others insisted it was just a temporary lull. But beneath their words, they all shared the same concern—what if the prestige of the mage began to crumble?
Magic was an innate gift. Countless attempts had been made to uncover when, how, or why this power manifested, but all had ended in failure. The only conclusion reached was that it simply was—a power one was born with, without clear origin.
That uncertainty was a constant source of anxiety for wizards. If they didn’t know how the power came to them, then it could just as easily vanish without warning.
The societal need for wizards was also dwindling. With wars and land disputes between nations decreasing, the number of mages—once the ultimate measure of strength—was no longer of critical importance. Centuries of technological advancement had begun to replace the need for costly magical labor.
At best, wizards maintained their image by hunting monsters that had begun to reappear in certain regions, and by the honor of being able to serve as royal affiliates. But for mages who had once been heroes of myth and close advisers to kings, that kind of honor felt painfully inadequate.
People still revered mages—but not as they once did. Their prestige had undeniably declined.
“What’s the situation in Ingelos? Shouldn’t we reach out to them?”
“I doubt they’d respond. From what I hear, their heir is promising enough—they probably aren’t too worried.”
“But isn’t the current heir still just a child? They can’t flaunt their luck over one decent successor.”
“Well, compared to the name Ingelos, even that seems underwhelming.”
Those concerned with the future of wizardry turned their attention to Ingelos.
The descendants of Ingelos—the greatest Grand Mage in the history of the Kingdom of Gaios—had consistently produced powerful mages for generations. But even their prowess had begun to decline.
Among the already reclusive wizarding society, the Ingelos family was considered an even more isolated breed. They kept to themselves and refused outside contact, only appearing at royal banquets upon direct invitation from the crown.
Even other mages found the Ingelos family insufferable. But if asked to name the greatest magical house, everyone would answer the same: Ingelos.
“Do you think the new heir of Ingelos will join the Mage Tower?”
“Highly unlikely. It would be a waste of effort.”
“Still, it’s Ingelos. We should at least try to establish ties…”
No matter how arrogant the Ingelos family appeared, talk always circled back to wanting to bring them into the fold. Their vast archive of magical research and innate power made them simply too valuable to ignore.
Such was the magical community’s assessment of Ingelos.
But what about the Ingelos family themselves?
Now it was time to look at their side of the story.
Even while being hailed as the final stronghold of the magical world, the Ingelos family was facing struggles of their own.
They, too, were painfully aware of the diminishing power in each successive generation.
As descendants of a Grand Mage, their bloodline still placed them well above average. But they were far from replicating the glory of old.
The Ingelos family had long given up waiting for a new prodigy to emerge. Instead, they spent years researching ways to make their current mages stronger.
When endless studies and experiments failed, leaving them with only a mountain of debt, they returned to a more primitive solution: their own bloodline—the source of their greatest strength.
“Richard just doesn’t cut it. He’s already eight years old and still needs to draw circles to cast spells.”
“Compared to how we were at his age, he’s definitely slower.”
Richard Ingelos.
Firstborn of the Ingelos duke family and the heir at eight years old, he had shown early promise and cast spells from a young age. But he wasn’t a once-in-a-century genius.
The duke and duchess, both acclaimed prodigies in their youth, had high hopes for a child born of their union. Their disappointment in Richard was therefore sharp and immediate.
Not that Richard lacked talent—among his peers, he was exceptional. The problem was that he simply didn’t live up to the towering expectations set by his parents’ union.
“Is that child really our best possible outcome?”
“Perhaps not.”
The two reached agreement quickly. Their marriage and the child that followed had always been something of an experiment. Rather than dwell on a failed trial, they prepared for the next one.
“Great mages are born from great mages.”
This timeless axiom became the basis of their next attempt. If magical power was hereditary, then timing that conception perfectly could be the key.
They hypothesized that a child conceived when both parents’ magic was at its peak would possess stronger magical potential.
Using past research, they examined their magical fluctuations by time of day and season. Over three years of tracking their magical states, they discovered distinct recurring patterns.
Although similar studies had been done before, none had tied this research to conception.
Based on their findings, they selected the first day of Almorius (January) four years in the future as their ideal date. On that day, the couple’s magical energies would intersect at their strongest.
For four years, they prepared—gathering potions to enhance fertility, arranging magical rituals, and calculating backup dates should the first attempt fail.
Then, finally, the day arrived. The couple entered their chambers.
Approximately ten months later, a child was born.
Alesia Ingelos was born amid such calculated expectations.
With luminous silver hair like moonlight and vivid red eyes, she entered the world at the beginning of winter, healthy and whole.
They had conceived on the precise day, and now the result was in their arms. But whether the experiment was a success remained to be seen.
To find out, the Duke prepared a massive mana stone.
The stone was designed to both draw out and react to magical energy, emitting light based on the strength it detected. It could provide an early estimate of the child’s potential.
In front of the key family members, the Duke placed the newborn beside the mana stone.
Curious and skeptical gazes shifted between the child and the artifact. As time passed, frowns began to appear, as if silently resigning to failure.
Then—suddenly.
“…!”
The silent stone began to glow.
Faint threads of light extended outward like strands of silk, then multiplied. Beam after beam branched out from the center of the stone. The soft glow rapidly grew into a radiance too bright to look at, flooding the room with blinding white light.
As the stunned crowd watched in awe, sixteen-year-old Richard swiftly snatched the mana stone away from the infant’s side.
The moment the stone was separated, the light vanished as if it had never been, and the stone returned to its original dark hue.
“Did everyone see that? That light—did you see it?!”
“It’s a success! A huge success!”
“Aah… at last!”
Cries of triumph followed as the others snapped out of their daze. Some were even overwhelmed with emotion.
For a newborn to exhibit such powerful magic was almost unheard of. Even children with magical aptitude rarely produced enough mana at that age to trigger any reaction from the stone.
But this child had overwhelmed the mana stone—as if devouring it.
The Duke and Duchess, overjoyed by a result beyond their expectations, gifted her a name taken from the middle name of the original Duke Ingelos.
Word of the child’s birth and her remarkable power quickly spread across the main and branch families.
Alesia Ingelos.
A name filled with the family’s glory, one they believed would shine just as brightly as the mana stone had.
At least, that’s what everyone believed—at the time.
