A child's eyes opened, bright, green and piercing.

Sitting up he looked around through narrowed glaring eyes, don’t be alarmed by the stare. The child actually was just sleepy, but even when wide awake and in a genuinely good mood he looks like he would backstab you.

Or front stab you nobody knew…

Well had people actually paid attention to the child they would.

His name was Aster Rosewood. The middle child of the Marquis of Calliope, he was average, not an idiot, not a genius, just average, even above average had he been the child of any other family he would be praised, maybe a pat on the back, someone telling him he did a good job.

But nooo~ 

Damn middle child syndrome.

He sat at the table quiet as always, staring making chills go down the spines of the help, it was the one good thing he had going for him, his intimidating face.

“Father, I'll be heading an expedition down south with the Sirius Team.  I'm going to be gone for a minimum of two months. I'll send a letter if I’m needed for longer.”

The older man nodded, smiling slightly, “Of course Tiberius I have no doubt that you will bring great honor to our name, act with noble intentions and a steady heart.”

The older man patted his son on the shoulder and the young man bowed his head in thanks, a girl with outrageously short hair and sharp eyes spoke up with an almost terrible nonchalance, that would be rude had she not been so utterly charming and loved,“Old man, I need more supplies, I asked the old man at the tower, but he said I ran out of funds. I'm in the middle of a breakthrough with the new alchemical equations…”

The older man laughed at her relaxed and blasé, “Of course my dearest Thalia, the Rosewoods will always support your exploration of the magical arts, be sure to bring about fruitful endeavors.”

She nodded seriously, “Of course.”

The one talking about an expedition with such a stern and no-nonsense tone was his older brother and heir to the Rosewood marquisate, while the one still rambling about equations, variables and other nonsense nobody at the table even came close to understanding was his younger sister.

Yeah that whole not being good enough thing, it’s because of these two.

Aster looked at them with narrowed eyes, but they both ignored him with ease, the eldest was the youngest captain of the guards in history. Competent, and with the respect of those below him, he was a true knight with a heart full of honor, and chivalry, but beyond that absolutely competent and wise.

While the younger  was the youngest mage in the magic tower, a genius that came about once in a lifetime. Making improvements on existing spells and conjurings and coming up with ways that made it easy for nearly anyone to learn magic just for fun. With an interest in alchemical equations which was one of the most obscure and unexplored branches of magic.

He said he was competent and above average.

Well he was, but compared to these two…

His eldest brother came first so everything he showed strength in the elder brother already did, and the younger sister likely did better than Aster ever could.

He was nothing.

And he was treated like it, which really hammered it home that he was practically useless other than being compared and seen left wanting.

He sighed as he arrived at his room, wincing in disgust at the clammy and sweaty hands that fell on his face, “God… I really am just a piece of shit huh…”

He looked at his hands with a nearly soft expression, sad and angry and whole other slew of half there, half not emotions that always seemed to follow him especially after having a meal with his family. He sniffled and he hated it, this weakness, this desire that would never be fulfilled, tears refused to fall, but he felt tired.

He tugged at his tie and set to undressing himself, he nearly laughed as he remembered the conversation at the dinner table…

“In a week a child from our northern region will be joining our staff and she will be your new personal maid.”

His father had ignored him after that, his mother doting on his sister  as she eked out word after terribly complicated word of jargon. While his father spoke to his elder brother in hushed serious tones.

Aster was so surprised didn’t even speak, for a second he actually thought he wanted to talk to him, he was filled with a bubbling sense of joy that he quickly hid once he figured out that wasn’t it.

A personal maid.

Personal staff.

He felt sick, he was fourteen and this was the first personal staff he had been gifted, he knew he was unimportant, but dear god his wing was covered in a thick layer of dust nearly all year round the only time it was properly cleaned and taken care of was the yearly cleaning.

While his eldest brother had a staff of three when he was younger by Aster’s age he had at least a dozen, and the main staff didn’t ignore him in favor of others so his wing was always spotless and his needs always met.

His younger sister already had a staff of five and it was only that small because that was the necessary number of assistants she needed for her experimentations and research, all of them some master or competents of their own craft.

Having staff was a show of power.

It was a show of trust between the master of the house and their children.

The first step in showing that you were competent and responsible and able to lead others, he was fourteen. He had never been given staff before, he had a wet nurse and a nanny when he was very young, but they left when he was six, and he never saw them again. In the beginning he had tried to gain attention by dirtying and living in his own filth, but they barely even noticed, only commenting that he looked like the dredges from the slums. Then once he realized nothing was going to change and he got tired of smelling like shit, he learned, he learned how to make use of things, he learned that nobody would help him if they could help it.

He learned to make delivery orders, to gain information, to clean, to cook, to dress himself.

By himself with no one.

As always.

Alone.

He was a deeply lonely person, starved for affection and understanding… as he lay there in bed he wished he could just sleep for a very, very long time.

It took three days for anyone to check on the boy, by then he was already gone and when Aster Rosewood opened up his sharp green eyes blearily looking around gone was the timid anger and loneliness, shy stoicness, the anxiety and need for affection.

In eyes that glared naturally was a flinty determination and understanding of oneself that the fourteen year old previously did not have.

He had woken up.

And he was fucking annoyed.