Game of Illusions: Vengeance of the Blind Heir

My name is Helio Hawthorn. I know. You think that name doesn’t suit me, but I am indeed part of the Hawthorn family. I am the third son of Marquess Alessio. Even if I’m the illegitimate child of a servant. Even if I was born blind. Even if I—well, the point is, I never chose to be born a Hawthorn under these circumstances.

Today is Tuesday. The day I turned eighteen. The day I finally meet the Sacred Tome.

The sun blazes at the edge of rain-bearing clouds, its heat pressing against my skin. The wind blows from the west, carrying the scent of roses from the mansion’s garden. As I walk toward the canopy where the Sacred Tome awaits me, I hear every guest whispering about me.

"Look at his bright red hair, just like a commoner’s. So different from his silver-haired, elegant siblings."

"Why are we even here? He’s just the third son, and he’s blind. He won’t play a role in noble society."

"Let’s hope the Sacred Tome is wise enough. A half-mortal like him shouldn’t receive the same magic as Marquess Alessio."

That last comment makes me smile. My father is an Illusionist—a rare and dangerous magical ability to manipulate reality. But to be an Illusionist, at the very least, you need to be able to see. The Sacred Tome wouldn't be foolish or cruel enough to grant me a power I cannot use. Besides, it didn’t give the same power to my three older siblings. There’s no guarantee that power will be bestowed upon me.

"Helio Hawthorn, are you ready?" The High Priest grasps my hand, pulling me toward the Sacred Tome. The book flaps its covers like a hawk flying without thermal currents, stirring up a gust of wind that tousles my hair and the heavy robes I wear.

I nod. "Apologies for my tardiness, Your Holiness." I extend my white cane, searching for the Sacred Tome’s stand—only to find nothing. Just as the rumors say, the Sacred Tome hovers in the air, alive.

"Then I shall begin the ritual," the High Priest announces. "Helio Hawthorn. The fourth child of Alessio Hawthorn. You turned eighteen exactly five hours ago, and—" He exhales as the Sacred Tome flips through its pages more frantically. "It is time for you, as a descendant of an esteemed mage, to receive your magic."

I wait patiently for whatever magic the Sacred Tome chooses for me. I've dreamed of this moment for months—I want to be a Healer. But I trust the Sacred Tome to know what’s best for me. So I stand as tall as I can in the storm of wind it creates, until suddenly, it stops.

Silence greets me. I exhale, both anxious and eager. "Your Holiness, has it made its decision?"

"My god..."

I blink, caught off guard by the unsteady, almost trembling tone in the High Priest’s voice. "What is it, Your Holiness? Did… did the Sacred Tome give me… revenant magic?"

Impossible. I imagined countless possibilities, but never the revenant curse. I can’t bear the thought of living forever, trapped in an eternal hell without ever touching heaven.

"Your Holiness, please. I didn’t receive the revenant curse, did I?"

The High Priest clears his throat, struggling to mask his panic—just as I am. "The Sacred Tome has just bestowed upon you the magic to…" He pauses before forcing out the words. "Manipulate reality through illusions. You are an Illusionist now, Helio Hawthorn. Congratulations."

⚔️

I remain silent as they take the Sacred Tome away. Or rather, I don’t know what to say. That object has blessed me with a power I cannot use—a rare and dangerous magic that my siblings desperately desire. It has proven itself to be powerful and selfish, listening to every word spoken and eager to demonstrate its own grandeur. Isn’t it fascinating? To grant a blind boy like me the power of illusion magic?

“I’m proud of you, son,” my father says, placing a firm hand on my shoulder. “I thought I would have to wait for Actavio to come of age before having a son who is an Illusionist.”

The sound of footsteps fills the space around us. I hear some of the guests growing impatient, eager to indulge in the feast in the great hall so they can return home as soon as possible.

I let out a frustrated sigh. “Tavvy would make a better Illusionist than me, Father,” I say. “I’m blind. I don’t even know the shape of anything in this world. I don’t even know the color of my own hair or Mother’s. So how am I supposed to manipulate reality? It feels like the Sacred Tome just slapped me in the face. It would’ve been better if it had just done that instead.”

For a moment, I hear nothing. Then, suddenly—something strikes my face. The impact sends me stumbling backward, landing on the damp grass. I fumble around for my white cane, but I can’t find it anywhere. A second later, my father presses the tip of it against my chest.

“An Illusionist never complains about fate, Helio,” he says, disappointment laced in his voice, before walking away and leaving me alone under the canopy.

Or at least, that’s what I think—until the High Priest speaks, his voice low and as calm as still water. “I do not know what it feels like to be born blind, Helio,” he murmurs. “But one thing you must understand—the Sacred Tome would never harm you. On the contrary, it has given you the magic you need the most. Trust me.”

I grip the grass beneath me, letting the moisture cool the anger surging through my veins. I don’t need to be told what I need most. No one knows that better than I do.

“Please leave me alone, Your Holiness,” I whisper.

⚔️

“It’s so annoying how we still have to study on such a busy day,” Demario grumbles as I step into the study room. He and two of our older siblings are already seated, comfortably waiting for our tutor to arrive.

“Yeah, I nearly choked laughing when I heard the Sacred Tome blessed him with illusion magic,” Zenthio scoffs. “Now I don’t have the energy to sit through another lesson on some stupid war from the past. I’m exhausted.”

“Oh, shut up, both of you. There’s nothing to complain about! We just sat around all day during Helio’s magic awakening ritual,” Lavinia snaps. Then, she calls out to me. “Hey, Helio, what are you doing over there? Come sit with us.”

I remain where I am, standing at the threshold. “I didn’t know there was a schedule change,” I say, my fingers unconsciously tightening around the braille book in my hand. “I thought we were studying the ancient language tonight. I’ll just go back to my room if Bernard will teach us about war.”

Zenthio laughs. “What, Helio? Skipping lessons again?” he sneers. I hear the screech of a chair being pushed back, then the sound of his footsteps as he strides toward me and shoves my shoulder. “You always talk about peace, justice, and all that nonsense. But, you know, the world doesn’t work that way. Oh, of course—you would know that best, wouldn’t you?”

I clench my jaw. “If you’re talking about the Sacred Tome’s decision, Zen, then we share the same disappointment,” I retort. “But I believe there’s a reason why it granted you healing magic. Even though we both know you don’t deserve it.”

“Shut your mouth before I shut it for you, Helio,” Zenthio threatens.

I hear another screech—from Lavinia’s chair. “Guys, enough!” she cries. “Can’t we just have a peaceful lesson tonight?”

None of us listen to her. I step forward, closing the distance between me and Zenthio, and then smile. “Then go ahead. Shut me up,” I challenge him. “Healer.”

If this were Demario, he wouldn’t have waited for permission to hit me. But this is Zenthio. He waits for the perfect moment, in the right place, to hurt me. And he never does it in front of others.

“Just wait until I become the next Marquess, Helio,” Zenthio whispers into my ear, patting my shoulder. “I’ll make sure you, Actavio, and that wretched mother of yours end up as beggars.”