Stable Life From Birth? Seriously?

The sharp, high-pitched whinny of a horse pulled Rest from a fitful sleep. Another nudge at his hair confirmed the culprit—a curious mare tugging insistently at the hay-strewn strands.

"Alright, Jenny, I'm up," he murmured groggily, brushing off the straw that clung to his threadbare shirt. He sat up on the makeshift bed of hay in the stable, his movements slow and deliberate.

The morning light filtered through the wooden slats, casting soft, golden rays over the small, cluttered space. This was his home—a stable tucked away in the corner of his father's estate.

"I know, I know. Water's coming. Just give me a minute," he said, yawning as he climbed to his feet. Jenny huffed in response, stomping one hoof for emphasis.

The routine was familiar, almost comforting. He fetched water from the trough, filled the buckets, and ensured the horses were fed. Cleaning the stalls came next, followed by a careful brushing of their coats. Jenny and Lucy, the estate's two resident mares, neighed contentedly under his ministrations.

"Feeling good, huh?" Rest said, patting Lucy's side as her ears flicked happily. "I dreamed of my mom last night. First time in a while."

His voice softened at the memory. His mother's gentle smile lingered in his mind, a bittersweet echo of the warmth he'd lost. Two years had passed since her death—an epidemic, swift and unforgiving, had taken her. Rest had done everything he could, scrimping and saving for medicine, but it had been too late. At least she had passed peacefully, her pain dulled by the drugs he'd managed to buy.

He'd been ten then, too young to live alone. The law required orphans to be taken in by their closest relatives, and so he had been sent to the estate of Lucas Eberun, the father who had abandoned him and his mother.

"Well," Rest muttered, tossing fresh hay into the stalls, "it's not like he wanted me here."

Lucas Eberun was a court magician, a man of stature in the kingdom. Yet he had taken Rest in only out of obligation, not affection. Rest knew why. The king was a man of integrity, and Lucas's rivals would have seized on any hint of scandal. Abandoning his illegitimate son would have tarnished his carefully cultivated image.

Even so, Lucas had found ways to make his displeasure known. Assigning Rest to live in the stable had been his first act of pettiness, a decision likely encouraged by Liza, his vindictive wife.

"Time to face the day," Rest sighed, patting Jenny's neck one last time. "[Purity Clean]."

A wave of fresh air swept through the stable as the spell activated, clearing away the smells and germs. The horses whinnied their approval, and Rest smiled faintly. If Lucas knew his illegitimate son could wield magic, the man's carefully controlled world would tilt. But Rest had no intention of revealing his abilities. Not yet.

The estate's mansion loomed ahead, a polished facade that belied the decay within. Its modest size reflected Lucas's status as a second-generation noble, nouveau riche with aspirations of grandeur. For Rest, it was a gilded cage, no more welcoming than the stable he called home.

The servants—mostly commoners, like his mother had been—offered him quiet sympathy. The butler, an older man with kind eyes, patted Rest's shoulder as he passed.

"Morning," the man said softly.

"Morning," Rest replied. "The usual, I'm afraid."

"Hang in there."

Rest gave him a faint smile before continuing to the dining room. He paused outside the door, took a deep breath, and knocked.

"Come in," Lucas's voice called.

Rest entered cautiously. The dining room was pristine, the polished table laden with a lavish breakfast. His father sat at the head, regal and aloof. Liza, his wife, sipped tea with an air of disdain. Their son, Cedric, grinned as he spotted Rest.

"Good morning," Rest said quietly.

"Take that!" Cedric shouted, hurling a stone at him.

The rock struck Rest square on the forehead, and he staggered back, biting down a gasp of pain. Blood trickled down his temple, but Cedric only laughed, clapping his hands in triumph.

"Bullseye!" the boy crowed.

Rest pressed a rag—his only handkerchief—to the wound and bowed. "Good morning, sir. Ma'am. Cedric."

Lucas barely glanced at him, his face bored. Liza wrinkled her nose in exaggerated disgust.

"You look filthy," she said, her voice cutting. "Just being near you feels contagious."

Cedric laughed, kicking his feet against the chair. "Mom's right! Go on, eat your slop, mutt."

Rest's eyes flicked to the floor, where a plate of unidentifiable brown mush awaited him. His throat tightened, but he moved without protest. Crawling on all fours, he began to eat, ignoring the humiliation that burned in his chest.

"How pathetic," Liza sneered. "You're just like your mother—a worthless thief."

Rest bit back a retort. It wasn't worth it. Liza's hatred wasn't even about him. It was about her husband's infidelity, a wound she couldn't forgive. Trampling Rest's dignity was her way of clawing at Lucas.

Cedric, meanwhile, delighted in the sport of it. As Rest finished his "meal," Cedric stood, grinning down at him.

"Come to the garden when you're done," he said. "I need a practice dummy for my magic."

"Yes, Cedric," Rest replied.

The boy stomped on his hand for good measure before leaving the room, laughing all the way.

Rest stood slowly, his forehead still bleeding. With a murmured incantation, he healed the wound and wrapped a cloth around his head to cover the evidence.

He sighed as he made his way toward the garden. "Just another day in paradise," he muttered.

The morning sun was bright, but the mansion's shadow stretched long. Rest stepped into it, ready to endure whatever Cedric had planned. His time would come—but not today. For now, he could only bide his time and survive.