The lowest born in a world of inherited thrones.
---
Bloodlines were everything.
At Aetherhold Royal Academy, your blood determined your dorm, your future, and the very way the world addressed you. Born with the might of a Drakeheart or the whisper of a Sylphshade? You were royalty before you even opened your mouth.
But Cain Everheart had nothing.
No heritage. No lineage. No known origin.
A Null-Class.
His student record had been publicly stamped in crimson ink:
> "No Ancestral Signature Detected."
Even the registry sigil—a magical seal that usually shimmered with a noble crest—had cracked into dust when they tried to bind his name.
---
"Out of the way, mudblood."
A polished boot slammed into his ribs. Cain hit the corridor wall with a dull thud, papers scattering like dead leaves. Laughter trailed behind him—three second-year elites adorned in house colors. Lions. Falcons. Phoenixes.
All better. All above him.
He didn't groan. Didn't stand. Didn't speak.
Words, he'd learned, didn't matter. The moment he opened his mouth, someone either laughed or flinched like he'd spat disease.
Better to be a ghost than a joke.
---
In class, he was a test dummy.
Not by choice. The Battle Arts instructor used him to demonstrate how non-awakened bodies suffered under pressure.
The Blood Theory lecturer had once said, without irony, "Observe the Null-Class cain when discussing mana rejection. A perfect biological specimen of failure."
Students called him Corpse Cain.
Some bet on when he'd die.
---
Lunches were skipped more often than eaten. Not by intention. The academy's food enchantments only activated for registered bloodlines. For Nulls like Cain? The tray remained empty unless a sympathetic kitchen worker slipped him something past curfew—which happened less and less as the rumors grew.
"Nulls drain mana by proximity," someone whispered once.
That rumor spread faster than fire in dry grass.
---
His dormitory was a cracked spire on the farthest edge of campus. No heating sigils. No cleansing runes. No bed frame.
The mattress was damp straw.
The walls wept during rain.
The only window faced the graveyard reserved for noble scions killed in blood duels.
Cain once counted the tombs just to pass time.
There were 417.
---
He remembered the first time he'd bled from the nose during meditation. His roommate at the time—an earthblood named Dorran—had screamed, thinking Cain was "leaking death." He was reassigned the next morning.
No one replaced him.
That was a year ago.
No one had spoken to him willingly since.
---
Then came the incident in Spell Fundamentals.
Professor Lenvar, known for his precision, let a Mana Spear drift half a second longer during a demonstration. It tore through Cain's thigh like parchment.
He hadn't screamed. Not because of bravery.
Just because he was tired.
The professor didn't even pause. "A lesson in concentration," he said.
The class clapped for the evil demonstration.
---
That night, Cain didn't cry.
He didn't rage. No tantrum. No dramatic fist toward the stars.
He simply wrote a note no one would read, climbed the west bell tower, and tied a rope from the rusted beam used for ceremonial flags.
He stepped off.
There was no resistance. No divine voice. No guardian spirit.
Only gravity. And silence.
Then—
A flicker.
A pulse behind his eyes, like lightning inside his skull.
> "System initializing…"
"Host status: Deceased. Error. Unauthorized Blood Termination detected."
"Awakening Sovereign Genebreak Interface—Version 0.01."
Cain's heart lurched.
Or… restarted?
His body spasmed violently.
> "Vital spark recovered. Resurrection Protocol: Active."
"Host: Cain Everheart."
"Designation: Null-Class."
"Correction: Bloodline Override in progress…"
He landed.
Not with a snap—but a shudder.
The rope had torn.
Or something had torn it.
He coughed, wheezing, limbs numb and burning. The tower spun. The air sizzled around him. Something crawled through his veins—hot, cold, endless.
Then came the voice again.
Clear. Icy. Absolute.
> "You have no bloodline. No birthright. No place."
"You will now take what others were born with."
"Welcome, Sovereign. Begin the Genebreak."
Cain smiled.
For the first time in seventeen years.