Kai stared at the sun as he held a bucket of water in his hand, his feet buried in warm sand, his eyes locked onto the burning orb above. The sun, immense and relentless, pulsed in the sky like a heart too great for the heavens to contain.
It dared him to look away. He refused.
Gold bled into his vision, shadows flickering at the edges of his sight. The heat pressed against his skin, turning the air into a shimmering veil between himself and the sky. But still, he watched.
To the world, the sun was power. It was life. It was the untouchable force that governed the rise and fall of nations, the slow march of time. To him, it was something more.
It was a challenge.
A whispered secret that only those brave—or foolish—enough to stare into its depths would ever begin to understand.
But he backed down from the challenge and went on his way, ignoring the sun and carrying the bucket of water down the hill and straight on into the village .
His skin was bronzed by the sun's relentless gaze, the faint shimmer of sweat tracing the curve of his cheekbones. His hair, wild and wind-touched, shifts like dark silk beneath the golden light, tangled yet defiant.
His eyes—oh, his eyes—were a storm trapped in flesh, flickering between awe and something sharper, more dangerous. It was if it held the sun's fire without flinching, as if daring it to blink first. Thick lashes caught the light, casting shadows over his sunburnt cheeks, while the sharp angles of his jawline seem carved by the very forces he challenges.
His clothes, worn and dust-streaked, cling to him like a second skin. The fabric is frayed at the edges, its original color long lost to the desert's ruthless embrace. His boots, cracked but sturdy, press into the sand, grounding him even as his spirit strains toward the sky.
He walked, his mind troubled as thoughts flew into his head. He had just gotten a message that will originally make him happy but it was the fate of him telling his mother that troubled him. He thought of the reactions she may give him. Would she be happy? Sad? Angry? It plagued his thoughts but he decided to leave it to fate alone.
His thoughts had made him realize that he had arrived at the village or if he could still remember if that was a village used to be.The village was once vibrant—a place where laughter echoed through cobbled streets and lanterns burned like captured stars. But that was before the droughts, before the warlords, before the magic that had once sustained them flickered and died.
Now, it lay in decay, a skeleton of its former glory. Cracked stone pathways twisted between leaning huts, their wooden beams warped and splintered. Roofs sagged beneath the weight of age and neglect, rain leaked through like whispered regrets. Once-proud banners, embroidered with sigils of forgotten houses, hang tattered from rusting poles, their colors long faded to ghosts of their former brilliance.
The well at the center of the village was dry, its stone walls crusted with moss and despair. A single bucket hanged from a frayed rope, swinging idly in the wind, as if mocking the empty basin below. The marketplace, once bursting with traders, was nothing more than abandoned stalls, their wares reduced to scraps—rotting fruit, broken trinkets, remnants of a prosperity that will never return.
Children darted through the shadows, eyes wide and hungry, their hands quick to snatch whatever they can from the weakened. The elders sat on crumbling steps, their gazes lost in a time when magic was abundant, when the fields grew golden with grain, when their land was more than just ruin.
At the village's edge, a solitary watchtower leaned precariously against the sky, its bell long silent. A warning unheeded, a promise undone.
The village still breathed —but only just.
He walked silently still carrying the bucket before reaching his house and pouring water into a huge basin that was filled with water. Kai had a chore and that was to fetch water from a stream untop of the hill. He had gone ten times making it the last and he was done with his chore.
He took a deep breath as he stared at his house with sadness.The house stood at the edge of the village like a forgotten relic, its walls bowed with age and hardship. The wooden beams, once strong and proud, were now riddled with cracks, gnawed at by time and neglect. Shingles hang loosed from the sagging roof, barely clinging to their duty against the creeping rain.
The door, uneven and scarred, swayed in the wind, its hinges rusted to a stubborn groan. Faded runes are carved into the threshold—perhaps remnants of protective enchantments, now long drained of their power. The windows, covered in grime, allowed only slivers of light to slip through, painting ghostly patterns on the dirt-streaked floor.
Inside, the air was thick with dust and the lingering scent of damp earth. A single wooden table, warped and missing a leg, leaned against the far wall, its surface scattered with broken plates and remnants of yesterday's meager meal. A fire pit sat at the center of the room, its embers weak and struggling—more ash than flame.
In the corner, a straw mattress lay on the cold floor, barely enough to shield against the chill that creeped through the cracks in the walls. A thin blanket, patched and threadbare, was folded neatly on top, the only sign of care in a place where survival leaves little time for comfort.
Shelves once brimming with supplies now held only a handful of chipped clay jars, their contents uncertain, their value diminishing. A single candle flickered on a wooden crate, fighting against the darkness that presses in, its flame trembling as if it knows how fragile hope can be in a place like this.
The house was not abandoned—but it might as well be.
He saw her through the wavering light of dusk, standing in the doorway of their crumbling home, a silhouette against the dying sun.
She was worn by time, by struggle, by the weight of keeping them alive when the world does not care if they survive. Her skin, kissed by the same merciless sun that watches them now, was lined with quiet resilience. Shadows pool beneath her eyes—deep, dark pools that have stared into too many empty nights, too many unanswered prayers.
Her hair, once long and proud, was bound in rough cloth, stray strands escaping to dance in the wind. Her robes, faded but clean, cling to her lean frame, their seams stitched again and again with quiet determination.
And her hands—weathered, strong, etched with countless hours of work—hovered at her sides, as if caught between reaching for him and holding onto the little strength she has left.
But in her gaze, he saw fire.
Not the fire of destruction, nor the reckless hunger of war, but the ember that refuses to die.
She looked at him, and for all the ruin that surrounded them, she was whole. She was unbreakable. She was home.
"You're back". She said, staring at him before walking past him and into the small space that was called kitchen.
"Yes I'm back". He answered as he sat in a old chair, watching his mother as she busied herself in the kitchen.
"Relax, food will be ready in a few minutes". He nodded as he watched her prepare, knowing that he was going to announce the news whether he liked it or not.
The dinner table was steeped in silence, the only sounds coming from the quiet clink of utensils against porcelain and the rhythmic ticking of the wall clock. Kai and his mother sat across from each other, their plates half-finished, but neither truly tasting the food.
The weight of unspoken words pressed against Kai's chest. He glanced at his mother, her face illuminated by the dim kitchen light, lines of quiet contemplation drawn across her features. She had always been like this—strong, yet withdrawn, carrying emotions with a kind of stoic grace he had never quite understood.
He set his fork down.
"I applied for the Awakening Test," he said, the words dropping between them like stones into still water. "I want to see if I'll awaken."
His mother didn't flinch. She simply stared at her plate, her fingers tightening slightly around her knife. The silence stretched.
The quiet between them was not just silence—it was history. It was the weight of memories neither of them could fully express, the echoes of a past Kai had only ever glimpsed in half-spoken stories and lingering gazes.
His mother had always carried her grief with dignity, never burdening him with sorrow, but never denying its presence either. Kai had grown up watching her tuck away the pain like an old photograph—visible only in the moments when she thought he wasn't looking.
Now, as she sat across from him at the dinner table, her fingers tightening around the utensils, he could see it—an old wound surfacing.
"Your father," she murmured, her voice deliberate, as if testing each word before committing to it. "He was strong. Determined. He wanted to awaken more than anything. Said it was his calling."
Kai had heard this before. His father had spent his youth chasing the dream of transformation, of becoming something greater. And yet, in the end, it hadn't saved him.
His mother's gaze lingered on her plate, but her mind was far away. "He was willing to risk everything. That was what made him… remarkable. And that was what took him from us."
Kai swallowed hard. He had never been told the full story—only hints, warnings, the occasional sorrowful look exchanged between his mother and those who had known his father. But this was the closest she had ever come to saying it outright: his father had lost himself to the same dream Kai was now pursuing.
"Do you think it was a mistake?" Kai asked, his voice quieter than he had intended.
His mother's lips pressed together, her eyes searching his face. And then—she shook her head.
"No," she said. "It was who he was." A breath, heavy, measured. "And if this is who you are, if this is what you need to do—then do it."
The words settled between them, shifting the air in the room.
Kai had expected resistance. He had braced himself for warnings, for arguments, for the desperate pleading of a mother who had already lost too much. But instead, she was giving him permission. Not because she wanted him to, but because she understood.
For the first time in his life, Kai felt closer to the father he had never known.
The dinner continued, heavy, but no longer uncertain.
Kai clenched his fists beneath the table, feeling the weight of his mother's words settle over him. He had expected doubt, had prepared himself for rejection—but instead, she had given him her blessing.
He took a breath, steadying himself. "I won't let you down," he said, his voice firm, unshaking.
His mother looked at him then, really looked at him, as if seeing him in a way she hadn't before. There was something in her gaze—a quiet recognition, an understanding that went beyond words.
She exhaled softly. "It's not about letting me down," she murmured. "It's about knowing who you are, and what you're willing to become."
Kai swallowed, nodding. He wasn't doing this out of recklessness, or to chase some fleeting dream—he was doing it because deep down, he had always known.
His mother studied him a moment longer before returning to her meal. The conversation was over, but something had shifted between them. The silence felt different now—no longer heavy, but filled with quiet acceptance.
Kai picked up his fork, the resolve in his chest stronger than ever.