One evening, I found myself alone in the training grounds, my spells faltering as frustration bubbled to the surface. The memory of Kuzan’s mocking laugh echoed in my mind. Earlier that day, he had smirked at my failed barrier spell and muttered, “Looks like the emperor’s son isn’t invincible after all.” Calia, however, had simply observed from her corner, her gaze unreadable. Was she silently judging me, or did she see through my struggles?

"You’re letting them get to you," Speed’s voice cut through the silence. She leaned against a nearby post, her usual grin replaced by something softer.

I froze, the spell flickering out in my hands. "I’m not…"

"You are," she interrupted, stepping closer. Her tone was gentle, but there was steel beneath it. "And it’s okay to feel like that. But you can’t let their words define you."

I turned to her, my frustration spilling over. "It’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one they’re targeting."

Her grin returned, but it was tinged with sadness. "You think I’ve never been where you are? They laughed at me, said I wasn’t fit to be a mage. You think Lady didn’t get the same treatment for being too ‘perfect’? People will always find something to tear down. The trick is not letting them win."

Her words stayed with me long after she left. Maybe she was right, but it didn’t make it any easier.

The turning point came during a philosophy lecture with Master Toren, an older mage whose voice seemed to resonate through the very stones of the room.

"Magic," he said, pacing the room, "is not just a tool. It is an extension of the self, shaped by your emotions, your experiences, your very essence. To wield it properly, you must understand yourself. That is your greatest challenge."

His words struck a chord deep within me. I thought of my parents, their unwavering belief in me. I thought of Speed and Lady, their constant support despite my doubts. And I thought of the threads of magic I had touched, their quiet strength and harmony. Maybe I didn’t understand myself yet, but for the first time, I wanted to try.

That night, I sat by the window of my dormitory, the glass cool against my forehead. The whispers and stares would still be there tomorrow. The doubt might never fully leave. But as I stared out at the wards glowing softly in the distance, I felt something new. A flicker of hope, a spark of determination.

"Why me?" I whispered again, but this time, the question felt different. Not despairing, but curious. What could I become, despite it all?

Tears pricked at my eyes, but they weren’t just from sadness. There was something else there—a quiet strength I hadn’t noticed before. I wiped my face and straightened, my reflection catching in the glass. For the first time, I saw not just an emperor’s son, but someone who could rise above the noise.

"I’ll prove them wrong," I said softly, my voice steady. "Not just for them… but for me."