Nobody wanted to give birth to a boy. It was a filthy thing to do—something for the lower-class wenches who were commissioned for each birth; breeders, essentially. And if these women were seen as breeders, men must have been the cattle. But just like any cattle, you needed them for the world to function. 

Casimir didn’t know who his parents were. He also just didn’t really care—or rather, lost the desire to care. Based on the fact that he was left at the orphanage rather than sold, he liked to imagine that they were good people (either that or bad with money).

At one point, you just stopped smiling at the people who entered, but you also didn’t frown either. Most of the time, Casimir just stood there, straightening his back and entering a half-hearted military posture. This is what the house matriarchs wanted: an obedient son to give up his Aether and fuel their real daughters. 

Magic had only been in this world for 4 generations, yet people had accepted it as a part of everyday life frighteningly quickly. They say that humans are slow to adapt to change. But when that change is so tactile—when women begin shaping the landscape with mere thought—you either adapt or you perish. For what it was worth, men like him became a little more valuable over the years, with the gender ratio going from a near-perfect 50:50 to 40:60 until it now rested at a steady 30:70.

He was 12 when the Rhem family visited the orphanage. The house matriarch seemed to mirror him, also putting on a blank face albeit for a different reason. Her daughter, however, observed the different boys with a certain apprehension, wincing like a child scared of dogs picking which one she wanted for her birthday. She was about 9 back then, with the same short messy white hair and bright blue eyes—a black hair ribbon contrasting against her silver locks.

“Hello. I am Maya.” The young girl fidgeted with the edge of her shirt as she walked up to Casimir. “Do you—do you want to come home with us?” She asked, looking up at her mother as if waiting for some cue. 

“Is that the one you want?” Her mother interjected, walking up to the boy. For what it was worth, he looked healthy. “Maya. Dear. We don’t have all day.” Ms. Rhem narrowed her bright golden eyes, squatting down in front of her daughter and repeating “Is that the one you want?”

“Can I play with him?” She inched towards Casimir's hand. After gently brushing past it and confirming that it didn’t hurt, she wrapped her fingers around his palm. In response, the boy just looked at the matriarch, appealing to authority and raising an eyebrow as if to say “is that allowed?”

The older woman pressed her lips together. “Very well. Be quick.” She ordered, taking a seat in the waiting area while taking out her phone.

The playground was a modest affair—a few swings, a slide, and some miscellaneous wooden structures which might have been castles. Maya released Casimir's hand and immediately darted towards the swing set. The boy watched her for a moment, unsure of what to do, before tentatively approaching from behind.

“Can you push me?” She jolted her head back—an upside-down smile looking back at him. 

“Sure.”

For a while, they swung in companionable silence, the only sound being the rhythmic creaking of the swings as Maya's body went up and down—up and down.

“Is the place nice?” Maya squeezed out, looking up at the blue sky. 

“The orphanage?” The boy replied in between gasps for air. “It’s good—good enough.” That was the only way he could really describe it. Sure, stories sometimes portrayed these places as hellholes. But in reality, calling the orphanage anything less than “good enough” felt cruel. That’s what it was: the bed, the toys, the books, the food. All of it was good enough for him.

“Do you want to come home with us?” She once again posed the big question, although now the family matriarch was no longer looming over her like a vulture. 

“I don’t know.” He blurted out, perhaps getting too tired of pushing her to think of a proper answer. “Do you want me there?”

“Mom said that I need to have a brother.” Maya looked down at her shoes while making a nasty face which Casimir couldn’t see. Shaking her head, she thought about something pleasant to distract herself. “I am going to be able to do magic. Isn’t that cool?” 

“That’s nice.” Casimir muffled his sigh of disappointment as he continued watching the girl swing. Most boys go through the phase when they wish that they’d be able to cast magic pretty early on in their lives—typically when the childish illusions of the world being fair and making sense shatter. 

“You know.” She once again moved her head back to face him. “I actually want to have a brother—and not just because mom says so. Because then, when I get magic, I’ll be able to protect him.” Glancing back at the sky, Maya lifted her chin with a sense of duty. “Girls need to protect boys.” 

It was extremely childish of her to say stuff like this. Casimir wanted to get angry—to throw her off that swing and tell her how the world actually worked. But he couldn’t. There was something about this girl which made her sound genuine. When she said that all was well, you wanted to believe her. 

“Why did you stop?” She questioned, seeing the boy she was supposed to protect now standing there with his arms by his waist. 

“Oh. Sorry. I was thinking about something.” Casimir shook his head, once again placing his hands on the swing’s cold metal chain. 

“What’s your name?” Maya asked, maybe finally deciding that she liked this boy enough to take him home. 

“Doesn’t matter. Your Mother will probably give me a new one anyway.” Readying to push her again, Casimir found his efforts thawed by Maya planting her feet in the sand.

“Come on, tell me.” She looked into his eyes. “Please—oh please!”

Crossing his arms, he waited for her to eventually give up. She did not. Defeated, he caved in. “Casimir. My name is Casimir.”

Standing outside of the house, Aaron looked up at the gray sky, maybe somehow expecting that he could sprout wings to fly away. But even if he somehow made it out of the city—out of the country, even—they could always get a diviner to foretell his location. Plus, where would he even fly to? He wasn’t one of the Beaux—a small class of wealthy males— and getting a well-paid job as a Non-Caster was impossible. 

Taking a deep breath, Aaron squared his shoulders as the familiar footsteps of his adoptive mother got closer. The clicks of her heels were like the ticks of a clock ready to strike midnight.  

“Are you smoking?” She questioned. Using magic to keep herself young, Ms. Rhem looked virtually the same as she did when first visiting the orphanage—the exact same wonderfully mature woman in her early 40s with long blonde hair. She could probably make herself younger if she really wanted, but this form carried a certain gravitas. 

“I am not, mom.” Aaron responded, smirking to himself before turning around. Calling her a “mom” was a little act of rebellion—one she couldn’t do a damn thing about. 

“Your sister’s ceremony is today.” Ms. Rhem's golden eyes pierced through his soul, just to find that there was nothing hiding there. “I expect you to not bring shame to the family.”

“I won’t.” Aaron shook his head. “But can’t I-” He bit his tongue, only to chew through it fully and allow his words to escape. “But can’t I keep working? I have a job, don’t I? Even offered to pay rent from the moment I got hired.”

“I don’t need your scraps.” The matriarch lowered her eyebrows, scoffing. “And no. Absolutely not.” It was impressive how she could shout without raising her voice. “I will not have you ruining your sister’s future just because you want to keep working at some Beau’s corner store.”

Clenching his fist, Aaron allowed it to relax once he found no purpose for it. There was no way that he could even hurt a woman—much less one who had undergone a Ceremony of the First Flame. “Understood, mom.” There was poison in that last word. But like a snake, Ms. Rhem was immune to it. 

“Go.” She flicked her wrist. “Your sister wishes to see you.” 

As Aaron stepped through the grand hall of their opulent home, he couldn't help but feel a pang of bitterness—a slight stinging on his tongue. The extravagant decorations and the scent of expensive incense seemed to mock him. 

Knocking on the doors labeled “Maya Rhem” just drove home the point that it was impossible to separate her from the surname. “It’s me.” There was no need to identify himself; he was the only masculine voice in the whole house. 

“Give me a moment!” Maya’s called out from behind the oak. It sounded like she was struggling with something. Whatever. Leaning against the walls, Aaron looked at the ceiling. 

“Sup dude.” Suddenly, a figure called out from his right. Time seemed to solidify as Aaron slowly turned towards it, dreading what he would find. It was Olivia—of course, it had to be her. 

All in all, Olivia looked like a miniature version of their mother—her hair fashioned into a blonde bob. And just like their mother, her eyes were already golden. Apparently, she used her boyfriend as a sacrifice. Still keeps him in a shoe box somewhere.

“You flew all the way here?” Aaron retreated from his older sister, readying for her to do something (likely at his expense).

“Flew.” She snicker. “No, dumbass.” Raising her hand, she flicked Aaron on the forehead. “I learned how to teleport last month.”

“Alright.” He shrugged. “So. Are you here for Maya’s ceremony?”

“I am here to make sure you don’t do anything stupid.” Olivia took a step forward, clasping her hands behind her back. “She’s too soft. I don’t want you to take advantage of that.”

"I'm not going to." Aaron snapped. "And I don't need you babysitting me either."

Olivia rolled her eyes. "Please, Aaron. You're like a lost puppy half the time. If it weren't for Maya and me, you'd probably be living on the streets."

“I wasn’t on the streets. I was in an-” He exhaled sharply through his teeth. “You know what? No. Just…shut up.”

“Hmm.” Olivia extended her fingers. “Not loving your tone, dude.” The simple act of her clenching her fist was enough for his entire body to freeze. It was like an uncomfortable muscle spasm quickly jolting through his every limb.

“Mom said no magic in the house.” Good, at least his mouth wasn’t paralyzed. The last time his big sister did this, his throat and lungs were also frozen and he was nearly asphyxiated.

Olivia lowered her eyebrows. “Don’t call her that.” Flicking her wrist, Aaron rose in the air like a stiff marionette. “I know that you may think that I am an asshole, but I am just trying to make you understand your place in this ‘family.’ All that talk about continuing to work? It’s not going to fly.” She did however relax her grasp, allowing the man to drop like a sack of potatoes. “We each have our duties. So why don’t you—I don’t know—fulfill yours?”

As Aaron landed back on the ground, he straightened himself up—his jaw clenched. Olivia's words hung in the air like a heavy fog. Duties. Responsibilities. Roles. He wanted to scream—to lash out against it all. But it would be futile. 

“Oh—oh. I can’t do magic!” She made a faux crying sound, lifting her clenched fists to her cheeks and whipping away imaginary tears. “Oh—oh! Being a guy is so hard!" Clicking her tongue, Olivia dropped the act. “Grow up. All that you have to do is sacrifice yourself for your sister. Ergo, your only purpose in life—your only job—is being alive. Zero expectations from mother or anyone else anyone.” 

"I know my duties." Aaron said through gritted teeth. "Doesn't mean I have to like them."

"Doesn’t matter if you like them or not. Just obey.” There was no response from Aaron, just a weak murmur—like watching an industrial furnace from the outside. And that’s exactly what she wanted. "Good boy." Olivia said while ruffling his hair before turning to leave. "Now try not to embarrass me. I am still legally your big sister.” She flicked her wrist with her back turned to him. “Hope you’ll be of some use to sis in the academy.”

Aaron watched as Olivia walked away—her confident stride echoing in the grand hallway. He resisted the urge to clench his fists again, instead focusing on his own breathing. Couldn't let her get to him. Not now. Not ever.

"Come in, big bro!” Maya called out softly; her words were the only thing here louder than his heartbeat. 

Aaron pushed the door open and stepped in. The room was adorned with soft pastel colors and filled with the delicate scent of lavender. In the center, there stood Maya, quickly running up to him and forcing her brother into a hug as soon as he closed the door behind him; her body was soft and warm.

“How are you, big bro?” Maya grinned, forcing him to look into those bright blue eyes of hers. Just like the Ms, she hadn’t changed that much since they first met. Sure, she had grown, but it was still that same girl who asked him to push her on the swing. 

“I am doing well.” He lied. Gazing down, Aaron noticed a dark black one-piece swimsuit tightly hugging her pear-shaped figure. One of his old white shirts was thrown over it unbuttoned like a cloak. “Maya? Why are you—uh—wearing that?”

“Oh, this thing.” She turned around, showing him a thin strap which separated her firm ass in half. Her pale skin seemed to glisten as the woman looked at him from behind her shoulder. “I just wanted something that I could throw away in case the ceremony goes wrong. It’s my old swimming suit.” Pulling on the nylon, she allowed it to smack into place with a satisfying SNAP. 

“Still…”

“Come on bro, get over it. I didn’t want you to crisp up my academy uniform.” She bent down, leaning in and grinning while nudging to her right. Sure enough, a dark blue uniform with golden accents hung in the wardrobe. 

“Mother seems to be confident you’ll get in.” Aaron crossed his arms, cracking a smile. It was a poor attempt at trying to take control of the conversation—perhaps for the last time in his life.

“We didn’t have a Non-Caster woman in our family yet." She said it as if it were a given. "Besides.” Her hug tightened, with Maya pressing her chest against his as if worried that he’d try pulling away. “You’ll be there to help me, big bro.”

Maya. She was such a precious little thing. Barely standing at 5 feet 2, she was his little ball of white light in the void. He just wanted to enjoy being her brother for the few minutes they had together, hugging her back while ruffling her silky hair. After the ritual, he would be nothing: an unhuman—a familiar.

“Are you ready?” She finally let go, stepping back and giving him a weak bow. 

“Right now?” Aaron asked, looking down at his soon-to-be mistress.

“Right now.” Maya echoed, already reaching for her grimoire. It was a bulky book produced somewhere in the early 20th century—the red cover having long ago been bleached to a pale shade of pink. A certain sinking feeling appeared in his stomach as its cover was lifted and his sister searched for the right page. It was like visiting a doctor and waiting for his diagnosis, except infinitely more intense. You could think of it as ripping off a bandaid if that bandaid contained your very notion of self. 

“Sure.” It needed to happen. Aaron sat down on her bed with his hands on his knees, looking down at the soft round carpet in the center—his eyes tracing its geometric patterns, for he could not stand to look at her. “Let’s do it.”

The ceremony itself was always a private ordeal between the mistress and her sacrifice. All the actual “celebration” typically happened afterward, with the women guiding their newly empowered sisters on what to expect. In the past—when having magic was special and not just expected of any adult woman—the ritual apparently used to last a whole day.

Closing his eyes, Aaron allowed himself to burn for Maya—for her future. Even though women had power over his kind in most cases, giving up your flame was not something that could be forced. You couldn't sap the strength out of your sacrifice by chanting louder or focusing on the scripture harder. They needed to release it themselves.

“You with the fair eyes—you who are lost and alone.”

Maya's hand trembled slightly as she held her grimoire aloft, her eyes fixed on Aaron. A golden light began encompassing him as a flame quickly spread to his entire body. There was no reason for her to be worried about the house catching on fire. This flame—this golden, cruel flame—only craved flesh.

“Imprint yourself upon me—serve me.”

Aaron clenched his teeth, feeling the horrible burning sensation as the energy was sapped from his body. Staying awake became a challenge, with him having to physically focus on not passing out. Through the yellow mist, the only thing he could see were Maya’s blue eyes. 

“Burn in the Golden Flame—and become my pyre.”

“It’s something a brother ought to do.” He repeated the mantra, allowing himself one yell before succumbing to the fire. “There is nothing more noble than setting yourself on fire to keep your sister warm.” As the pain receded, Aaron found himself lying down below Maya: his sister and mistress. Loyalty was etched into the very core of his being, with the weight of his new role settling upon him like a heavy shroud—clear yet heavy.

Extending her hand, Aaron felt his body freeze up again as he slowly floated into her palm. The woman’s fingers became huge alabaster pillars all around him as the Titaness continued to look at him with curiosity—like a child watching an odd bug.

Resting his head down, Aaron felt warm palm pads—a perfect set of pillows. There was so much that he wanted to tell her. But while the pain disappeared, the tiredness persisted like an invisible force pulling him down. Losing the battle against consciousness, he closed his eyes. Maybe if he falls asleep now, he’ll never wake up — never need to deal with it all.

“Goodnight, big brother.” Maya whispered, pressing her cheek against his 2-inch tall body. “I had to see them deny you of their love. Back then, I couldn’t do anything. But now that I am your mistress?” She produced a bright blue flame in one hand while gently holding her brother in the other. “ I’ll give you the love you deserve.”