Just a Pinch of Magic

by envoyea

Summary:

In their world, when a child reached the age of thirteen, they were chosen as a familiar for a mage. It was an honor, a bond that could last a lifetime, but it also meant leaving behind the only life he had ever known.

Not that Keith was going to be picked anyway. He's spent more time ditching class and sitting in a detention cell than actually learning about how to be a proper familiar. Whatever poor fool that gets stuck with him is definitely in for a hard time.

Chapter 1

Keith Kogan sat hunched over on a hard, plastic chair in the stark, fluorescent-lit room. His eyes stared blankly at the speckled linoleum floor, his mind racing with thoughts that seemed to have no end. He felt the heavy burden of the world pressing down on his shoulders, each breath a struggle to keep the walls of his chest from caving in. The air had the scent of stale coffee and the underlying metallic tang of fear that permeated the detention center.

The silence was suddenly pierced by the squeak of the door opening. His brother, Shiro, stepped into the room, his eyes filled with a mix of concern and disappointment. "Keith," he began, his voice strained, "I'm here." The tension in the room grew palpable as Keith felt his jaw tighten. He didn't need Shiro's pity, not now, not ever.

"What do you want?" Keith snapped, not bothering to look up. He heard his brother sigh heavily before taking a seat across from him.

Shiro leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I'm worried about you, Keith. You're not yourself lately."

Keith scoffed, finally meeting his brother's gaze. "What do you know about who I am?" His voice was laced with a bitterness that seemed to hang in the air like a noxious fume.

Shiro's expression remained steadfast, his eyes never wavering from Keith's. "I know that you're more than just a troublemaker. You're turning thirteen soon, and you know what that means."

Keith's heart skipped a beat at the mention of his upcoming birthday. In their world, when a child reached the age of thirteen, they were chosen as a familiar for a mage. It was an honor, a bond that could last a lifetime, but it also meant leaving behind the only life he had ever known. He had seen the way the other kids in the center talked about their futures with excitement, dreaming of the powerful mages they would serve. But Keith felt only dread.

He had always been the black sheep of the family, the one who didn't fit in, the one who couldn't control his powers. The thought of being passed over, of being deemed unworthy, was almost too much to bear. "Yeah," he muttered, "big brother knows best."

Shiro's expression softened, the corners of his eyes crinkling with sadness. "I just want you to be safe, Keith. You're going to be chosen soon, and I don't know what's going to happen to you out there."

Keith's eyes narrowed, the bitterness in his heart rising like bile. "You mean because I'm half Galra?" The words hung in the air, a painful reminder of the heritage that set him apart from everyone else, including his own brother. "You're not the one who has to sit here and wait for some stranger to pick me like a pet. You get to stay here, live your perfect life, while I'm shipped off to who knows where."

Shiro's gaze fell to his hands, clenched tightly in his lap. "I know it's not fair," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "But it's the way things are. You're stronger than you think, Keith. You'll find a mage who'll appreciate you, who'll help you control your powers."

Keith's eyes flashed with anger as he remembered the fight that had landed him in this cold, unforgiving place. "I punched that prick because I wanted to," he said through gritted teeth. "Not because I couldn't control my powers." The words seemed to echo in the small room, bouncing off the harsh, white walls. "He called you and Adam fags," he spat out, the fury in his voice unmistakable.

Shiro flinched at the slur but remained calm. "Keith," he began, his voice firm but gentle, "you know that's not the way to handle things.

Keith's eyes remained fixed on his brother, his anger a living, breathing entity between them. "What do you know?" he growled. "You're not the one who has to deal with their crap every day."

Shiro took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving Keith's. "I know you're better than this, Keith. You don't have to let them define you."

But Keith was already on his feet, his chair scraping against the floor. "Just get me out of here," he said, his voice thick with anger and despair. He stalked over to the corner of the cell, his hands balled into fists at his sides. The plastered wall was cool against his forehead as he leaned into it, his eyes squeezed shut, trying to block out the world.

Shiro watched him, his heart heavy with the weight of his brother's pain. He knew the system wasn't perfect, that it often left those with less desirable heritages like Keith's to fend for themselves. But he also knew that Keith's temper was his own worst enemy. "I'll talk to the council," he said, his voice firm. "I'll do everything I can to make sure you get placed with a good mage."

Keith didn't respond, his body tense and unyielding against the wall. The silence stretched out between them, a yawning chasm of unspoken words and fears. Finally, with a sigh, Shiro stood up. "I'll be back," he said, his hand on the door handle. "We'll get through this."

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving Keith alone with his thoughts once again. He slammed his fist into the wall, the pain a welcome distraction from the turmoil inside. The plaster cracked under the force, leaving a small cloud of dust that danced in the harsh light. He felt the warmth of his own blood trickle down his knuckles, but the pain was a comforting reminder that he was still in control, still had some semblance of power in this place where he felt so powerless.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions that raged within him. The thought of being chosen as a familiar was a constant source of anxiety. He had heard the horror stories, the whispers of mages who treated their familiars as mere tools, with no care for their feelings or well-being. The fear of the unknown was a heavy weight that seemed to grow heavier with each passing day.

As Keith leaned against the cold, unforgiving wall, his mind drifted to the days before he had discovered his Galra heritage. Days filled with laughter and simple joys that now felt like a distant memory. His fists tightened against the plaster, creating small indentations as he wished for a way to change his fate. The anticipation of his upcoming birthday was a countdown to a future he didn't want, a future where he might be forced to leave behind everything he knew and loved.

He missed his dad, the man who had always been there for him, who had taught him how to stand tall in the face of adversity. The thought of his father's strong, comforting embrace brought a lump to his throat. But he was gone now, taken from him too soon, leaving Keith to navigate the complexities of a world that didn't understand him. And as much as he hated to admit it, he also missed the mother he had never met, the mysterious Galra woman who had given him life and the unruly powers that came with it. What would she have told him? Would she have known how to help him control the beast that raged within?

He slammed his fist into the wall again, the pain a temporary salve for the ache in his heart. He had so many questions, so many things he wanted to say to both of his parents. Why did they leave him here, in this place? Why did they leave him to deal with the cruel familiar magic society ?

Keith couldn't help but think of Shiro, the mage who had taken on the role of a older brother figure since his dad's passing. A mage of considerable power and compassion, Shiro had made a name for himself on the High Council, advocating for the rights and well-being of young familiars. Keith knew that Shiro had done his best to protect him, to ensure he had a fair shot at a good life. But here he was, in a detention center, his fist bleeding from his futile rage against the wall.

He pictured Shiro's face, the furrowed brow and the creases around his eyes that appeared whenever he was worried. The thought brought a pang of guilt to Keith's chest. He knew his brother had only ever wanted the best for him, and yet here he was, bringing him nothing but trouble. The council had placed a great deal of faith in Shiro, trusting him to look after the vulnerable, and Keith couldn't help but feel like he had failed him.

He hated himself for his lack of control, for the way his temper had led him here. He hated the way his Galra blood made him feel like an outsider, like a ticking time bomb waiting to go off. It was a constant reminder of the mother he never knew, the woman whose heritage had painted a target on his back from the day he was born.

Keith felt the burn of his brother's disappointment, the unspoken words that hung in the air like a thick fog. He knew that Shiro believed in him, that he had faith in Keith's ability to become something great, but in this moment, all he could see was his own failure. He had let his emotions get the better of him, lashing out at the very people who were trying to help him.

As the days ticked by, each one bringing him closer to his thirteenth birthday, Keith's dread grew. He could feel it in the pit of his stomach, a constant, gnawing presence that made him dizzy. He lay on the thin, uncomfortable mattress in his cell, staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows dance with the flickering lights outside. The anticipation of the upcoming ceremony was like a noose tightening around his neck, each day a little tighter, each night a little harder to breathe.

He knew that his brother had done everything he could to help him, had probably pulled every string and called in every favor to ensure he'd be placed with a decent mage. But it was the not knowing that ate away at him. Would he be chosen by someone kind, someone who would help him control his powers? Or would he end up with a monster who would use him and throw him away when he was no longer of use? The uncertainty was a constant torment, like a thorn stuck in his mind, refusing to be plucked out.

Chapter 2

The Galras were said to be creatures of the wild. He had heard the legends, the whispers of their once-great empire, and the fierce independence that had been bred into their very bones. It was said that they could live for thousands of years, their power unmatched by any other creature in the magical realm. But that was before the Altaeans had come, the ones who had brought order and civilization, the ones who had banished the Galras to the fringes of society.

Keith had always felt that wildness in himself, that burning desire to be free of the constraints that held him down. And now, as he stepped out of the detention center, the cool morning air kissing his face, he felt a newfound determination. He would not be a burden to Shiro. He would not be a liability to whatever mage was foolish enough to choose him. He would become something more, something greater than the sum of his parts.

Shiro had worked tirelessly behind the scenes, convincing the council that Keith's potential as a familiar was worth the risk.

"You can't just ignore his Altaean heritage," Shiro had argued, his voice steady despite the tremble in his hands. "He's more than just his Galra blood. He's part of our family, part of us."

It was a lie. He was half human not Altaean. But the ruse worked.

 

Shiro had managed to convince the council to give Keith a chance, to see him not just as a volatile half-Galra but as a potential familiar with Altaean lineage. It wasn't the truth, but it was the only way to ensure Keith wouldn't be cast aside into the shadows of the familiar world. The council had agreed, albeit tentatively, that Keith would be allowed to participate in the choosing ceremony.

That was over five years ago. He used to be excited to start his new life as a familiar-in-training back then.

But as Keith grew older, the whispers and the stares grew more pointed. The other children, who had once been curious about his exotic lineage, had turned into bullies. They would taunt him during meals, shove him in the hallways, and even go so far as to leave threatening notes in his locker. The teachers turned a blind eye.

The bullying started small, with petty name-calling and the occasional shove. But as the years went by, it grew more vicious. The other children, fueled by the prejudices of their parents and the ignorance of their peers, saw Keith as an easy target.

But one day, something within Keith snapped. He had had enough of the whispers and the taunts, the feeling of dirt beneath his nails that came from being treated like a second-class citizen. He had been bottling up his anger and frustration for so long that it had become a living, breathing entity inside of him, demanding to be released.

 

It was during a particularly nasty encounter with a group of older familiars-in-training that he had had enough. They had cornered him in the library, their eyes gleaming with malicious intent. One of them, a tall, lanky boy with a smug smirk, had told him, "You're so pathetic. That's why daddy left huh"

Keith had felt a surge of anger so intense it was almost blinding. He didn't know how, but somehow, he had tapped into a well of power that he hadn't even known existed within him. His eyes had flashed a fiery red, and his body had grown warm with the sudden influx of energy.

He had lunged at the boy, his fists flying with a strength that surprised even him. The others had stumbled back, their smirks replaced with looks of shock and fear. The boy had gone down with a sickening crunch, and the others had quickly dispersed, leaving Keith standing in the dusty, book-scented silence, his chest heaving with rage.

It was only when the librarian had rushed over, her eyes wide with terror, that he had noticed the knife in his hand. He had no clue how it had gotten there. It was a sleek, silver blade, the handle etched with ancient Galra runes that seemed to pulse with a dark energy. His heart had pounded in his chest as he stared at it, the weight of the weapon feeling both foreign and eerily familiar.

Keith had dropped the knife as if it burned his skin, his eyes darting around the room to find the source of the weapon. But there was no one else in the vicinity, no one who could have planted it in his grasp. The room had spun around him, the books on the shelves blurring into a sea of ink and paper. He had felt a strange pull towards the blade, an unexplainable yearning that made his skin crawl.

When he picked it up again, the knife disappeared with a poof, leaving him holding nothing but air. His heart skipped a beat as he stared at his empty hand, his mind racing with questions. What kind of power did he possess? And why was it only now revealing itself?

The incident had landed him in detention, despite his protests of innocence. The teachers had taken the word of the bullies over his, and from that day forward, Keith had been labeled a troublemaker. His stays at the detention center grew more frequent, his reputation preceding him wherever he went. Each time, the stories grew more exaggerated, the whispers louder. They said he was dangerous, that he was going to end up hurting someone.

The first few times, the stays were short, a slap on the wrist for his outbursts. But as the years went by and the incidents grew more severe, the punishments grew longer. The detention center had become a second home, the cold, sterile walls a prison for his rage. He could feel the other kids' fear when he walked down the hallways, their eyes darting away from his, their voices dropping to hushed whispers.

He liked it better this way, he began to convince himself. At least here, he was away from their mocking smiles and hushed conversations. At least here, he could be alone with his thoughts, his anger a constant, comforting companion. But as the days in detention turned into weeks, and the whispers grew into a cacophony that haunted his dreams, Keith began to doubt his own resolve. Was this really the life he wanted? To be feared and shunned by everyone around him?

He thought back to the first time he had seen Shiro in action, his brother casting spells with an ease that seemed almost magical. The way the other children had looked up to him, their eyes filled with admiration and awe. Keith had felt a pang of jealousy, a yearning to be like him. To be accepted. To be powerful. But now, as he sat in his cold cell, he wondered if that was even possible for someone like him.

In the quiet of the detention center, Keith's thoughts grew darker. He liked the solitude, the way it allowed him to feel something other than the constant pressure to conform. It was a perverse comfort, the isolation, the knowledge that he could lash out and no one would be there to see it. It was easier to be the monster they all believed him to be when there was no one around to challenge that image.

The other kids talked about their mages-to-be with excitement, dreaming of the day they would be chosen and whisked away to a life of adventure and purpose. But Keith knew that for him, it would be different. His Galra blood was a stain that no amount of Altaean upbringing could erase. He would be chosen by someone who saw him as a tool, a weapon to be wielded, not a companion to be cherished.

Shiro had come to visit him often, bringing him books and tales of his own adventures. He spoke of a future where Keith would find happiness, where he would be treated with the respect and kindness that he deserved. But every time Keith looked into his brother's eyes, he saw the doubt, the fear that he would never truly belong.

"You're going to be okay," Shiro had said to him, his voice filled with a confidence that Keith couldn't quite mirror. "You're going to get through this, and you're going to find a mage who sees you for who you are."

Keith had scoffed, unable to muster the same optimism. "Yeah, and pigs might fly."

Shiro's eyes had searched his, as if trying to peer into the depths of Keith's soul. "Keith, I believe in you. You just need to believe in yourself."

Keith had rolled his eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, sure. That's all I need. A little self-belief and everything will be sunshine and rainbows."

Shiro's expression remained earnest. "I'm serious, Keith. You're turning thirteen soon. It's a big deal. At least promise me you'll try. I'm worried..."

Keith's anger deflated like a popped balloon, leaving only the sadness behind. He turned to face the wall, his shoulders slumping. "What do you want from me?" he mumbled.

Shiro's voice was gentle when he spoke again. "I just want you to be happy, Keith. That's all I've ever wanted."

Keith felt a lump form in his throat, the anger dissipating like mist in the morning sun. He knew Shiro was right, but the fear was too great to voice. "I'll try," he murmured, his voice barely audible.

Shiro's expression brightened, and he leaned in closer. "That's all I'm asking, Keith. Just try." He paused, his eyes searching Keith's for any sign of the hope that had been snuffed out. "And I have some good news," he said, his voice tentative. "I managed to convince the council to let you out early. Your thirteenth birthday is approaching, and a mage must choose you soon."

Keith's eyes snapped to his brother's, disbelief etched on his face. "Really?" he croaked out, his voice hoarse from days of disuse. "How did you do that?"

Shiro leaned back in his chair, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Just a pinch of magic," he said, wiggling his fingers. "And a whole lot of persuasion."

Notes:

Hiii its been a while since I've written. Gonna be pretty wonky at first but please bear with me. I’m gonna try to update weekly... but no promises. Anyway I hope y'all have a great day. Bye Byeee <3