The morning bells tolled over Duskharrow, capital of the Empire, their hollow clang swallowed by the restless murmur of thousands.
Every year, the Awakening Ceremony drew the city together: merchants closing their stalls, priests locking their shrines, children climbing the crooked rooftops for a better view. On this day, every youth of sixteen stood before the Awakening Stone to have their Veil torn from the depths of their soul and made real.
For Corren Ashveil, it was a chance to finally prove he wasn't nothing. Or, more realistically, to remind everyone why he was.
He tugged at the fraying sleeve of his jacket as he shuffled through the crowd of initiates. His heart pounded like a war drum. Around him, other sixteen-year-olds whispered prayers, clenched their fists, or stood frozen with terror. This was it. The moment that would define the rest of their lives.
"Try not to faint this time," came the all-too-familiar voice.
Darius cut in front of him, tall and broad-shouldered, his flame-red hair catching stray sunlight like it was already burning. He moved with the kind of arrogance that came from knowing, knowing, that greatness was waiting for him on the other side of that Stone.
Corren sighed. "Morning to you too, Darius."
Darius smirked. "You know, some of us were born for this. Others..." He glanced at Corren's threadbare jacket, the oil stains still visible on the cuffs. "Well, they're just here to fill space." He clapped Corren on the shoulder hard enough to leave a bruise, then strode toward the plaza like he owned it.
A whip of flexible metal cracked against the flagstones between them.
"Ease up," Lyra said, pulling the steel back into a coil at her wrist. Her eyes, cool and dark as slate, flicked between the two boys. "Save it for after you both Awaken. Assuming the Stone doesn't spit you back out, Darius."
Darius gave a theatrical bow. "The Stone knows quality when it sees it."
"It'll know arrogance too," she said flatly.
Corren tried not to grin. Lyra had always been like this: blunt as a hammer, the only person in Duskharrow who didn't treat Darius like a young god. Her family owned half the Beast processing plants in the capital. She could've been insufferable. Instead, she'd spent her childhood wandering factory floors, asking workers questions nobles weren't supposed to care about.
That's where they'd met. Years ago. Back when he was just another kid trying not to die extracting cores from Beast corpses.
"You're wasted on him, Lyra," Corren said. "You should bully me instead. Easier target."
She raised a brow. "You bully yourself enough already."
That shut him up.
The crowd parted as the initiates were herded toward the center of the plaza. The Awakening Stone loomed there: a monolith of black crystal taller than three men, veins of white light pulsing beneath its surface like a heartbeat. The air around it thrummed, vibrating with power that made Corren's teeth ache.
Above the plaza, raised platforms held rows of seats draped in silk and embroidered with family crests. The Flamesworth banner hung bold and crimson. The Ironborne crest gleamed in polished steel. Other noble families filled the tiers, each vying for the best view, the highest seat, the loudest cheer when their children Awakened.
Corren spotted Lyra's mother in the Ironborne section, a tall woman with silver-streaked hair and a face like carved marble. No father. He was absent as expected. She sat alone, hands folded, watching her daughter with an expression Corren couldn't read.
In the Flamesworth seats, Darius's older brother lounged with casual arrogance, one leg draped over the armrest. Elric Flamesworth. He wasn't watching the Stone. He was watching Darius, a smirk playing at his lips.
The workers stood below, packed shoulder to shoulder in the plaza's edges. No seats. No banners. Just bodies and hope.
A figure in dark robes stepped onto the raised platform beside the Stone. The Arbiter. His face was hidden beneath a deep hood, but his presence silenced the crowd instantly. His voice, when it came, was like stone grinding against stone.
"Citizens of Duskharrow. Witnesses to the Awakening."
The plaza held its breath.
"Today, the children of the Empire will touch the Stone. Today, their Veils will be born. Torn from spirit. Made flesh. Made real." He raised one gloved hand toward the monolith. "The Stone does not lie. It does not care for lineage, for wealth, for hope. It shows only truth."
He turned to the initiates. "Step forward. Face your truth."
The first initiate stumbled toward the Stone, a stocky boy from the industrial district. His hands shook as he pressed them against the black crystal.
The Stone pulsed.
Light exploded outward. White. Blinding. The boy screamed as something tore out of him, ripping through his chest like a second heartbeat bursting free. His Veil erupted into existence: thick plates of stone-gray aura layering over his arms, his torso, solidifying into armor that gleamed like polished granite.
He collapsed to his knees, gasping. Blood trickled from his nose.
The crowd roared.
"Veil of Stone!" the Arbiter's voice boomed. "Born of earth! Tier: E-Awakened!"
The boy's family wept. His mother screamed his name. Workers around them clapped him on the back, shouting congratulations. E-Tier. Baseline. But it was something. He had a future now.
The next initiate, a girl with sharp features, approached. She touched the Stone.
The light came slower this time. Gentler. Her Veil unfurled like silk, pale feathered constructs blooming from her shoulders. Not wings. Not true flight. Just enough lift to let her drift a few inches off the ground before gravity pulled her back.
"Veil of Feathers! Tier: E-Awakened!"
Polite applause. Her family smiled, but Corren saw the disappointment in their eyes.
One by one, the initiates stepped forward. One by one, their Veils were ripped screaming into the world.
A boy Awakened fire, small flames dancing in his palms. E-Tier.
A girl manifested water, droplets orbiting her wrists like satellites. E-Tier.
Another summoned jagged shards of ice that melted within seconds. E-Tier.
The pattern held. Sixteen-year-olds always Awakened at E-Tier. Always. The Stone gave you the spark. Training gave you the flame.
Then Lyra stepped forward.
The crowd quieted. The Ironborne name carried weight.
She walked to the Stone without hesitation, her back straight, her expression unreadable. She pressed both palms against the crystal.
The Stone screamed.
Light detonated outward, silver and blinding. Lyra's body arched as her Veil tore free, not gently, but like a beast clawing its way out of a cage. Liquid metal erupted from her skin, hardening mid-air into streams of flowing steel. The constructs twisted around her like living serpents, shifting from razor-edged blades to flexible whips to solid chains in the span of a heartbeat.
One lash cracked the flagstones. The sound echoed like a thunderclap.
The crowd exploded.
"VEIL OF METAL!" the Arbiter roared. "BORN OF IRON AND WILL! TIER: E-AWAKENED!"
But everyone knew. E-Tier or not, that manifestation was dense. Controlled. She'd hit D-Tier within a year. Maybe C-Tier by eighteen.
Lyra's mother stood, just for a moment, her stoic mask cracking into the barest hint of a smile.
Lyra stepped back, pulling her Veil into tight coils at her wrists. She didn't look at the crowd. She looked at Corren and gave the smallest nod.
Your turn's coming.
And then it was Darius's turn.
He didn't walk to the Stone. He strode. Every step deliberate. Every movement designed to be watched. The Flamesworth heir. The prodigy. The boy everyone already knew would burn brighter than the rest.
He slammed his hand onto the Stone like he was daring it to deny him.
The Stone answered.
Crimson light erupted like a solar flare. The temperature in the plaza spiked so fast people gasped and stumbled back. Darius threw his head back and roared as his Veil exploded outward, flames coiling around him in a spiral of pure heat. The fire didn't flicker. It didn't waver. It raged, condensing into a spear of solid flame that shot fifteen feet into the air.
The flagstones beneath him cracked. The air shimmered. Someone in the crowd fainted from the heat.
"VEIL OF FLAME!" the Arbiter's voice shook with something Corren had never heard before. Awe. "BORN OF FIRE AND FURY! TIER: E-AWAKENED!"
The crowd didn't just cheer. They screamed. They chanted his name. Darius. Darius. DARIUS.
In the noble seats, Kael Flamesworn leaned forward, no longer smirking. His eyes were sharp. Calculating.
Darius raised the flaming spear high, drinking in the adoration like wine. His grin was savage. Triumphant.
His eyes found Corren in the crowd.
And that grin widened.
Corren's stomach twisted.
"Corren Ashveil," the Arbiter called.
The crowd quieted. Not out of respect. Out of curiosity. Who was this? No family in the seats. No crest. No name.
Corren forced his legs to move. Each step felt like walking to an execution. The Stone loomed before him, taller than a building, pulsing with light that seemed to see him.
He pressed his palm against the cold crystal.
Nothing.
The Stone pulsed once. Faint. Hesitant.
Then pain.
Not the tearing, screaming agony of a Veil being born. Something worse. Something wrong. It felt like his chest was cracking open, but nothing was coming out. Just cracks. Just breaking.
His Veil flickered into view.
A thin, fragile film clinging to his skin like frost. Pale light seeped through spiderweb fractures, bleeding into the air like smoke from shattered glass.
The crowd didn't cheer.
They stared.
"What... what is that?"
"It's breaking."
"Is it even a Veil?"
Corren tried to hold it together, tried to force it into shape, but the harder he pushed, the faster it unraveled. Light leaked through the cracks into nothing.
The Arbiter stepped closer. His hooded face tilted, studying the manifestation. For the first time all day, he hesitated.
"Candidate Corren Ashveil." His voice was careful. Clinical. "Veil... awakened. Structure: compromised. Manifestation: unstable."
A long pause.
"Classification: Fragile."
Someone laughed.
The Arbiter raised a hand for silence, but it didn't come. He continued anyway, his voice quieter now. Almost confused.
"Subtype: Porous."
The word dropped like a stone into water.
Silence. Then laughter. Then jeering.
"Porous? Like a sponge?"
"His Veil is leaking!"
"Defective!"
In the noble seats, someone whispered loud enough to carry. "One in a million. Poor bastard."
Corren's smile cracked. His vision blurred and he could feel his disappointment getting watery on his eyes.
He blinked. Gone.
The laughter roared back in.
The Arbiter's voice cut through. "Next."
Corren stumbled away from the Stone. His legs barely held him. The crowd parted around him like he was diseased.
Darius passed him, still wreathed in flame, still grinning. "Congratulations, Fragile. Try not to break before tomorrow."
Lyra caught his arm as he staggered past. "Corren."
He couldn't look at her. Couldn't speak.
She squeezed once, then let go.
Corren pushed through the crowd, through the whispers, through the stares, until he was alone at the plaza's edge.
His Veil flickered weakly around his skin. Fragile. Porous. Broken.
But in the cracks, he still felt it. something odd, something sentient, alive.
And for the first time in his life, Corren wondered if breaking open was the point.