Hisirdoux Casperan (87)

At the age of 15, Hisirdoux Casperan already held a title in Camelot: the most clumsy and awkward apprentice Merlin ever had.

Everyone in the castle knew him. It was normal to see him around, carrying giant books, trying to cast spells to light torches, helping with repairs, or even levitating objects to clean the floor. He openly used magic, yes. Merlin had secured his place at court, so he had royal permission; it was official: he was the assistant to the king's great wizard. No one found it strange to see him perform magic… what they found strange was the fact that he was wrong 99% of the time.

He was tall, skinny, his clothes always a little crooked or stained with something he'd dropped. He tried to be serious, tried to be efficient… but it seemed his own magic liked to play tricks on him.

When he wanted to light a candle? He would release a ball of fire that would burn the curtain.
When he needed to levitate a book? He'd make all the books in the room fly and hit passersby on the head. Even when helping in battles or training, he did his part, using magic to defend or attack… but always in an awkward way, tripping over his own feet, making strange noises, and leaving everyone thinking: Merlin is the greatest genius, but his apprentice is a lost cause.

And that was exactly how Merlin wanted it to look.

Because the great truth, which no one—not King Arthur, not Morgana, not anyone—knew, was this: Douxie was no ordinary apprentice. He carried in his blood the strongest natural magic that existed, inherited from an ancient and powerful lineage, from parents who abandoned him and sacrificed themselves to keep him alive, because terrible enemies hunted anyone from that family.

Merlin took him in, gave him a place, gave him permission to use magic… but always taught him to hold back as much power as possible. He made Douxie use only the essentials, only the basics.