The dormitory halls smelled faintly of candle wax and polished brass. Students filled them with chatter, their laughter spilling between the vaulted ceilings as doors slammed and beasts padded on polished stone floors.
Aaron trailed behind the others, clutching his satchel tight. His assigned room was at the far end of the corridor—always the far end. As if the academy itself wanted him tucked away, out of sight.
When he pushed the door open, two other boys were already inside. Both glanced up.
One had short blond hair and the confident smirk of someone born to wealth. A sleek silver-furred lynx lounged on his bed, its glowing eyes half-shut but alert. The other boy was quieter, dark-haired, with a sparrow-sized creature perched on his shoulder, its feathers glimmering faintly with sparks of lightning.
"You're Ward, aren't you?" the blond boy asked, his tone sharp. "The one who couldn't even light the crystal."
Aaron said nothing. He set his satchel on the smallest, barest bed and began to unpack.
The blond boy chuckled. "Figures. They really let anyone in these days."
The quiet boy said nothing, but his eyes lingered with an expression Aaron couldn't read. Pity? Curiosity? He wasn't sure, and he didn't care.
By the time night fell, the whispers had already spread.
The contractless boy. The sparkless one.
It followed him into lectures, into training halls, into the mess hall where food lost its taste under the weight of stares.
The next morning was worse.
"Energy shaping, first forms," the instructor barked, his voice like gravel. The training yard was alive with students practicing—flames arced into the air, water coiled in graceful ribbons, lightning cracked against wards that shimmered with protective runes. Beasts merged with their partners, students' bodies glowing as hybrid forms took shape: claws, wings, horns, glowing eyes.
Aaron stood at the edge, fists clenched at his sides. He tried again—he always tried—forcing his body to obey, to feel something. The same emptiness swallowed him whole.
"Ward!" The instructor's bark snapped across the yard. "What are you doing? Show us your element!"
"I…" Aaron's voice cracked. "I don't have one."
Snickers rippled through the students.
The blond boy from his dorm smirked, flames dancing easily in his palm. "Maybe he'll start glowing if we throw him in the fire."
Laughter erupted. Even the instructor's sigh cut deeper than words. "Stand aside, Ward. Don't waste my time."
Aaron's jaw trembled, but he obeyed, retreating to the shadows of the training yard. His fists burned from clenching so hard, nails digging into skin.
When the session ended, he slipped away early, wandering into the academy's outer courtyards. The towers loomed around him, their spires stabbing into the sky like accusations.
He sank onto a stone bench, staring at his empty hands again. He hated them—hated the stillness, the uselessness.
Why am I here?
His guardian's words echoed faintly in memory: "Even the smallest spark can light the darkest night, Aaron. Don't give up until you find yours."
Aaron shut his eyes. He felt no spark. No fire. Just the weight of failure pressing down.
But in the silence of that lonely courtyard, unseen by anyone else, the shadows shifted. A faint ripple in the air, like scales brushing against stone.
Something was watching.
Something old.
Something waiting.