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. And if these women were seen as breeders, men must have been the cattle. But like all cattle, they were still necessary for the world to function.

Casimir didn’t know who his parents were. He also didn’t 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 stopped smiling at the people who entered, but you also didn’t frown. Most of the time, Casimir just stood there, straightening his back and entering a half-hearted military posture. This was 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 four 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 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. She winced like a child afraid of dogs picking one out for her birthday. Maya was about 9 back then, with the same short messy hair and bright blue eyes—a black hair ribbon 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 and 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 describe it. Sure, stories sometimes portrayed these places as hellholes, but in reality, calling the orphanage anything less than “good enough” felt cruel. The beds. The toys. 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 that 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 a 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 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 worked. But he couldn’t. There was something about this girl that 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. 

“Sorry," 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.” Readying to push her again, Casimir found his efforts thwarted by Maya planting her feet in the sand.

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

Standing outside the house, Casimir looked up at the gray sky, maybe expecting that he could somehow sprout wings and fly away. But even if he made it out of the city—out of the country—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, Casimir squared his shoulders as the familiar footsteps of his adoptive mother got closer.

“Are you smoking?” she questioned. Using magic to keep herself young, Ms. Rhem looked the same as she did when first visiting the orphanage. She could make herself younger if she wanted, but this mature form carried a certain gravitas. 

“I am not, Mom,” Casimir responded, smirking to himself before turning around. Calling her a “mom” was a petty 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 nothing was hiding there. “I expect you not to bring shame to the family.”

“I won’t.” Casimir shook his head. “But can’t I-” He bit his tongue only to chew through it. “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, Casimir 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 Casimir 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” drove home the point that it was impossible to separate her from the surname.

“It’s me.” There was no need to identify himself as the only masculine voice in the house. 

“Just a moment!” Maya called out from behind the oak. It sounded like she was struggling with something.

Whatever.

Leaning against the walls, he looked at the ceiling. 

“Sup dude," a figure called out from his right.

It was Olivia.

Of course, it had to be Olivia.

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

“You flew in for this?” Casimir retreated from his older sister, readying for her to do something at his expense.

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

“Alright.” He shrugged despite his burning forehead. “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 wouldn't,” Casimir snapped. “And I don't need you babysitting me either.”

Olivia rolled her eyes. “Please. Casimir. You're like a lost puppy half the time. If it weren't for Maya and me, you'd probably still be 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 still worked. 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, Casimir 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?”

Casimir straightened up—his jaw clenched. 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 wiping 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. Your only purpose in life—your only job—is being alive. Zero expectations from mother or anyone else.” 

“I know my duties,” Casimir 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 other than 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. “Let’s hope you’ll be of use to sis at the academy.”

Casimir watched Olivia walk away—her confident stride echoing in the grand hallway. He resisted the urge to clench his fists again, instead focusing on his breath. 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. 

Casimir 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.

“How are you, big bro?” Maya grinned, flashing her bright blue eyes. Just like Ms. Rhem, she hadn’t changed 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, Casimir 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. “It’s my old swimming suit.” Pulling on the nylon, she allowed it to smack into place with a satisfying SNAP.

“Still…”

“Get over it!" Maya waved him off. "We literally used to bathe together. Plus, I don't want to crisp my uniform.” She bent down, leaning in and grinning while nudging to her right. Sure enough, a dark blue academy uniform with golden accents hung in the wardrobe. 

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

“We haven’t had a Non-Caster woman in our family yet. And 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-foot-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. Nonhuman. A familiar.

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

“Right now?” Casimir 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. You could think of it as ripping off a band-aid if that band-aid contained your very notion of self.

Casimir sat down on her bed with his hands on his knees, looking down at the round carpet in the center—his eyes tracing its geometric patterns, for he could not stand to look at her. “Hit me.”

The ceremony itself was always a private ordeal between the mistress and her sacrifice. 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—the ritual used to last a whole day.

Closing his eyes, Casimir allowed himself to burn for Maya—for her future. Even though women had power over his kind, 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 Casimir. 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.”

Casimir 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. The only thing he could see through the yellow mist was 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.

As the pain receded, Casimir found himself lying down below Maya. His sister. His mistress. She was a giantess—her silhouette looming above his tiny form. What was once the petite body of Maya now resembled some ancient depiction of a goddess. It could have his mind playing tricks on him, but her kind face seemed hidden by the ethereal glow that still danced around the room. He sought solace in those blue eyes just to discover that each now glowed with a sharp golden blaze. It was the light of a sorceress.

Extending her hand, Casimir felt his body freeze up again as he drifted into her palm. The woman’s fingers became huge alabaster pillars all around him as the Titaness continued to look at him like a child watching an odd bug. Resting his head down, he 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 fatigue persisted. He closed his eyes. Maybe if he fell asleep now, he’d never wake up—never need to deal with it all.

“Goodnight, big brother,” Maya whispered, pressing her cheek against his 3-inch-tall body. “I had to see them deny you of their love. Back then, I couldn’t do anything." She conjured a bright yellow flame in one hand while gently holding her brother in the other. “But now that I am your mistress, I’ll give you the love you deserve.”