Chapter 16: James of the Light
James never thought much of his brother.
Not because of hate, at least, not in the beginning. It was simpler than that. Aleister was a problem that never solved itself. A blank card, a constant whisper in the corners of conversation, a reminder that not all things in Valedren came out right.
And James? He came out perfect.
The Light rune appeared on his card before the midwives even cut the cord. Golden, humming with radiance. The entire quarter celebrated. Their parents wept tears of pride. The records show his first pulse of energy broke a mirror. It was a good omen.
But Aleister's card hovered in the air beside his, silent and empty, like a question the world forgot to answer.
They shared a womb. Shared eyes. Shared bone. But nothing else. The older they got, the more people noticed. Where James sparkled in public forums, Aleister melted into walls. Where James's teachers praised his grace and growing control of Light projections, Aleister walked hallways filled with mocking laughter.
James told himself it was just how things worked. Some cards sang. Some cards didn't. And some people were born to carry the weight of those differences in silence.
He didn't know when the silence started to feel like guilt.
Valedren was unlike the other six nations. Born from the ruins of the old Enlightened Factions, it was both a sanctuary and a crucible. Light users were sacred here. Not because of power, but because of perception. They were expected to lead, to uplift, to be clean in spirit and conduct. Corruption was a stain. Doubt, a crack. Any Light user who failed morally was stripped of their rank and placed in the lower castes.
James had been born into expectation.
And he excelled.
At seventeen, he had already passed the first tier of Arc Discipline. At eighteen, he held the record for the fastest stabilization of a collapsed Arcfield. At nineteen, he led public rituals on behalf of the Sunward Priests, even though he himself had never pledged to the temple.
Now, at twenty, James stood before the Mirror Conclave in Valedren's tallest spire, his face pale and clean, his gloves folded behind his back. He had just finished giving his third formal statement on the incident known only as "The Null Crater."
A crater that, according to whispers, had been left behind by someone who looked very much like him.
"Aleister does not represent this house," he repeated, tone even. "He was exiled by Nethran decree. His actions are independent, and I bear no allegiance to them."
The Conclave chamber remained still. A dozen high-seated judges sat in golden half-circles above him. One of them, a thin woman with grey plaits and a sunbrand tattoo on her cheek, leaned forward.
"You deny him completely?"
James blinked. "In every way."
Another judge spoke. "And yet his energy signature mirrors yours, faintly. Our readings from the Arcflare data show Light traces beneath the morph imprint. Explain that."
James kept his posture. "I do not know the nature of his powers. I only know mine."
"Be careful, James," the sunbrand woman murmured. "You are of the Light. And Light leaves no room for shadows unexplored."
He bowed. "Of course."
The session ended. The golden doors creaked open behind him. Outside, assistants waited to escort him back to his chambers. Cameras hovered in the air, silent sentinels tracking every motion of his exit. Reporters didn't speak,they weren't allowed to but their eyes screamed questions.
Back in his quarters, James removed his gloves and sat alone at the edge of the bathing pool. The walls glowed with soft ambient Arclight. Incense burned somewhere overhead, faint citrus and stone.
He stared at the mark just beneath his wrist.
Not a rune. Not a scar. Just a thread of something that hadn't been there before.
He'd first noticed it three nights ago, after dreaming of a forest he hadn't seen in years. Moss. Roots. Stone faces with hollow mouths. His mother used to say he talked in his sleep as a child. Muttered words in a language she didn't understand.
When he touched the mark now, it pulsed once, faintly.
Like it was waiting.
James stood and crossed the room to the hidden compartment behind his mirror. He unlocked it with a whisper and withdrew the envelope.
He'd burned the first letter. The one their mother had sent years ago, just before Aleister was exiled. But she'd written another. This one he hadn't opened. Not until last night.
The paper was old. Folded and stained. But the words were sharp.
"He is older than you, James. Not by much. Just minutes. But enough to matter. You were born second. Your card came first. His... never did. But that doesn't mean it wasn't there. The doctors said his Arc pulse was dormant. But your father believed otherwise. He thought the card rejected visibility. He believed it was ancient. Too old for the systems to understand."
"They called him the Rootless. But he came from the same soil as you. Never forget that."
James closed his eyes.
Rootless.
Nullborn.
Now the name was spreading across the Seven Nations. In secret channels, in cultic graffiti, in rebellion tattoos inked on the forearms of kids born into no faction.
And the crater?
He'd seen the footage. Blurred, distorted, but real.
A figure with black wings of ash. Eyes not glowing, but dimming everything around them. The morph form didn't match any known profile. It broke Arcfield readings. It made stone melt.
And for a brief moment, before the footage cut out, the figure turned.
The face was his.
Not exactly. But close enough.
He reached for the gloves again. Light hummed faintly beneath his skin.
James had spent his life mastering control. Clean movements. Precise energy work. He never shouted. Never lost focus. Never allowed his power to overflow.
Aleister, if it truly was him, had done the opposite.
But the mark on his wrist still pulsed.
And for the first time in years, James felt unsure.
He would ask the Council for permission to leave the capital. Just for a week. An official Light Mission to one of the southern border cities. Maybe the ruins near Kaelshad. There were whispers of morph anomalies there. Unstable Arcveins. He could use it as cover.
He didn't say it out loud. Not even to himself.
But in the bottom of his thoughts, buried beneath layers of protocol and doctrine, something flickered.
If the figure in the footage was Aleister, and he had truly unlocked a form that no Arcglove could measure, then everything the Light Nation believed…
…was incomplete.
And James, son of Valedren, hero of protocol, twin of the blank…
Was no longer sure which side of the truth he stood on.