There is a place, across the ocean, across the wide forests and curving valleys where magic began. It started in a secret, hushed and locked away, until a King broke the chains that bound it and took it for himself. He bestowed it on his sons, having three at the time and it sunk into their hearts, caging them with its power. The King ordered his three sons to tell no one, and destroyed anyone who found the knowledge.
His sons, he called them Meriya, Scolte and Skie, entranced by the power they began to learn of, turned a blind eye to the darkening soul of their father.
Years past, with the King's heart filling with want for power. He plotted to use magic against the rest of his sons, born after the third. Tymoth, Rigedeir, Methel, Walance, Aroan, Caten, Kieth, Quiont, Uorial. The King listed off their names as each was born, pasting sounds and motions together, only remembering the number. Nine, nine more sons to make into magiced soldiers. The queen, sickly and confined to her chamber, wept for her children that she never saw and wept double over for her husband who was fading into darkness. A miracle of sorts happened when the world looked bleak. The king searched his land but could not find magic again. He sent armies and tore apart towns in search, but he could not find a hint of magic to give to the nine sons.
In anger the King sat on his throne for days, pondering on how to satisfy his greed. He left months after, some say to another land in search for riches, others say for magic, once again but for which ever reason, the queen beckoned her sons. She arranged marriages for seven, and sent the two youngest to their studies.
"I can see what you cannot. So you must do what I cannot." She begged the three oldest sons. "Hide what you can, do not follow in your father's footsteps. Run if you must, but please." She had sent seven of her sons away in marriage, away from the King that she so dearly loved by feared. The youngest she could send to study in other castles in a short amount of time. She feared for the eldest, their powers had grown strong.
"He will not stay away, not with your powers here." The two eldest would not listen, Meriya and Scolte gathered there powers and strengthened them, but the third in line, Skie opened a window from his heart and found his mother's weeping face.
"What would you have me do?" He asked although he already knew that she wished for him to run, to be free of his father. "I will not leave. I will not discard my honor and the honor of this family." She shook her head idly. If not run, what could he do? She shook her head again with damp cheeks.
With the same silence, the King returned, finding his sons in other castles, or harnessing their powers and his wife pregnant with another child for him to capture. His attention turned from the sons that had left to chaos as he built his sons' power.
The queen called him Hans, praying over him and whispering ideas of justice. He husband did not visit the baby, did not acknowledge him more than he did a speck of dust. He was overwhelmed with the power his elder sons gave him.
Hans grew older, barely seeing his brothers, never meeting his father and as he read and studied he became used to the idea that his family has falling apart, and would likely take the kingdom with it.
"God is gracious" His mother repeated as she watched him turn into a men. "God is gracious". She died when he was thirteen.