The grand hall of the Valerius house was hushed in silence as if everyone had collectively held their breath, and out of the shadows, a hundred pairs of eyes watched silently.
Kaelen Valerius stood barefoot on the cold obsidian disc before the Awakening Font, and the ancient stone pulsed with a latent energy that he could feel humming up through the soles of his feet, a promise of the fire that was his birthright.
He was finally nineteen, and at nineteen years, every lesson he learned, every breath he took and every dream had been funneled toward this single but defining moment.
From the back of the hall, a pair of molten gold eyes watched him unblinkingly. Lord Valerius, his father, stood with a posture so rigid it seemed carved from stone. His authority was not to be missed in the room, and remotely had something to do with the chill that had nothing to do with the stone and everything to do with his crushing expectations.
Beside him, Lyren Valerius Kaelen's younger brother by two years watched with an unnerving placidity with his curiosity a thin veil over something malicious that glinted in his eyes whenever he thought no one was looking.
The Arch-Scryer, a man who was perhaps the oldest in the kingdom, with a face covered with wrinkles and whose voice was as dry as old parchment, raised a skeletal hand.
"Kaelen of House Valerius. The Font awaits. Present yourself to your future."
Kaelen's heart pounded strongly in his chest against the hall's expectant hush, and he took a steadying breath. This was the culmination of his entire existence.
He could already imagine the feeling, the searing heat, and the eruption of power that would brand him as a true Valerius. He lifted his hands with palms trembling slightly and placed them flat against the Font's polished surface.
He closed his eyes searching for the spark, and he waited for the torrent.
Nothing.
The hum beneath his feet continued, but it was distant and impersonal. It was the stone's own life and not his. There was no connection, no surge of welcoming heat, and no whisper of ancient power claiming him as its own. There was only the cold and smooth feel of obsidian under his palms and the beat of his own blood in his ears.
He pressed harder with a desperate plea running through his mind. Anything. A flicker. A wisp of smoke. Please…
A full minute passed, and the silence in the hall curdled, shifting from anticipation to confusion. A cough echoed from the gallery, and someone shuffled their feet. The collective breath of the family was being held so tightly that Kaelen felt he might suffocate from it.
The Arch-Scryer leaned forward with his brow furrowed. He placed his own gnarled fingers near Kaelen's with his eyes closing in concentration.
He stayed that way for a long moment before pulling back as if stung. He looked not at Kaelen but at Lord Valerius in disbelief and grim finality.
"Arch-Scryer?" Kaelen's voice cracked in the stillness. "What is it? Is something wrong?"
The old man's gaze finally fell upon him, devoid of warmth or pity.
"The Font is silent," he proclaimed, his voice carrying to every corner of the hall. "The energies of the Valerius line… they do not answer your touch. There is no affinity. No fire. No spark." He paused, letting the words hang. "The scrying is complete. The boy is Ashen!"
Ashen.. Void... Empty... He was a dead ember in a line of roaring infernos!
The word struck Kaelen pretty badly, and the air rushed from his lungs. The whispers in the hall erupted into a low and venomous murmur. He could feel Lyren's satisfaction from across the room, far warmer than anything the Font had offered.
He snatched his hands back from the stone as if it had burned him after all. He stumbled back a step, shaking his head.
"No. That's not possible. Try again. There must be a mistake!"
A heavy and deliberate footstep silenced the hall instantly. Lord Valerius moved from the shadows at the back with his golden eyes blazing with a cold fury that was more terrifying than any fire. The crowd of relatives and retainers parted for him as if by instinct. He stopped directly in front of the dais, his gaze boring into Kaelen.
"A mistake?" Lord Valerius's voice was deceptively soft. "The Font has tested our line for a thousand years. It has never made a mistake. Explain yourself, boy!"
"Father, I… I don't know," Kaelen stammered. "I did everything I was told. Every meditation, every trial…"
"You did nothing," his father snarled, the softness vanishing and replaced by contempt. "You have stood here and disgraced our name in front of our entire house. You have proven yourself to be a hollow shell. A genetic dead end!"
"Father, perhaps it is merely a delay," Lyren's voice cut in, and he stepped forward, placing a hand on their father's arm. "Sometimes in rare cases, the affinity awakens later. It is not unheard of."
Lord Valerius swatted the hand away without looking at him.
"Do not make excuses for this… this failure," he spat out, his glare remaining fixed on Kaelen. "The blood of Valerius is fire. It burns bright from the moment it is called, or it does not exist at all. There is no 'delay.' There is only power or there is this." He gestured a dismissive hand at Kaelen as if indicating a piece of filth on the floor.
Kaelen felt tears welling hot with shame.
"Father, please. There must be something. Another way."
"There is no other way for you," Lord Valerius declared. "You are a blight. A shame I will not tolerate. You will not carry the name Valerius into the dirt. You will not carry it at all!"
He turned to face the stunned audience, his arms spread wide as if he were an emperor making a decree.
"Let all here bear witness! This boy, once known as Kaelen, is hereby disowned. He is stripped of the name Valerius. He is stripped of his inheritance, his title, and his place within this family. He is no son of mine!"
Each word hit differently, and Kaelen swayed on his feet with the world dissolving into a blur of horrified faces and the golden glare of his father's eyes.
"You are Ashen," Lord Valerius continued, turning his searing gaze back on Kaelen. "And you will be cast out into a place fit for nothingness. You are banished. The guards will escort you to the edge of the Whispering Marches. You will be left there to find whatever fate the unforgiving wilds have for one so… empty."
"No," Kaelen cried. "Father you can't. The Marches… no one survives the Marches."
"A true Valerius would," his father said with a final cruelty. "Perhaps you will find a spark of it when a cliff-cat is tearing out your throat. Guards!"
Two hulking men in the Valerius crimson-and-gold colors stepped forward. They grabbed Kaelen's arms in iron grips. He didn't struggle. There was no strength left in him.
"Take him," Lord Valerius commanded. "Give him a loaf of bread and the clothes he wears. It is more than he deserves."
He turned his back on Kaelen then a gesture of ultimate dismissal. He walked over to Lyren, placing a heavy hand on his younger son's shoulder.
"Lyren," he announced to the hall, "your Awakening will be moved to tomorrow. This family requires a true heir. We will not wait."
The guards dragged Kaelen from the hall, and he caught one last glimpse of Lyren's face over their father's shoulder. The feigned concern was gone, replaced by a triumphant smile. He had won!
Kaelen was hauled through the corridors of the house past portraits of his fiery ancestors whose painted eyes now seemed to mock him. He was shoved out a side door where another guard thrust a coarse sack into his hands. Inside, he could feel the hard shape of stale bread and a small waterskin.
The walk to the city gates of Luminis was full of averted gazes and whispers from the few townsfolk they passed. He was no longer a young lord; he was a pariah and a ghost being exorcised from his own life.
Finally, they reached the massive northern gate, the one that opened onto the untamed wilderness, and the guards shoved him through.
"The Whispering Marches lie that way," one of them grunted, pointing toward a grim mist-shrouded treeline in the distance. "Good luck, Ashen. You'll need it."
With a groan of metal, the great iron-banded gates of Luminis began to close behind him.
Kaelen stood alone on the dusty road with the meager sack clutched in his hand. He turned and looked back, not at the gate but over it toward the distant, gleaming spire of the Valerius house. His home. The place where he was born and the place where his life had effectively ended. It was a golden jewel under the afternoon sun, beautiful and now forever out of reach.
A cold wind swept down from the Marches carrying the scent of damp earth and decay. His father's words echoed in the wind, sharp and clear in his memory.
"You are no son of mine!"