The Awakening Ceremony had ended, and the village square slowly emptied. Some children walked with faces aglow, their hearts swelling with pride, knowing they had touched a power that would carry them far beyond the limits of mortal life. Families celebrated, chanting prayers of gratitude, boasting of their children's elements beneath the twin moons.
But others moved like shadows—heads bowed, footsteps heavy, weighed down by disappointment or shame. Some had awakened weak sparks that flickered faintly beside their peers' roaring flames and raging torrents. Parents scolded in anger, others whispered hollow comfort that couldn't warm the chill of failure.
Daniel stood apart. Silent. Still. His eyes lingered on the runic altar, its glow now fading into a dull, lifeless gray.
> "So this thing decides my entire future?"
"My destiny?"
His voice was barely a whisper. The night wind carried it away.
He clenched his fists. "No… I can't accept that. I won't."
The square emptied. The temple grounds grew still. Only the sigh of the wind and the soft chorus of night insects remained.
Daniel hesitated—then stepped forward again.
He placed his palm upon the cold surface of the altar.
"Still nothing, huh?" he muttered, frustration lacing his tone. "I guess… maybe I really am nothing."
He turned to leave.
Then the world exploded in silver.
A flash—pure, divine, and overwhelming—burst from the altar. It was not the fire of mortals nor the glow of elements. It was older. Wilder. The light didn't just illuminate the hall; it sang, a soundless resonance that vibrated through Daniel's bones, through the air, through reality itself.
"Huh—what's that?!" Daniel staggered back, shielding his eyes.
For a heartbeat, the entire hall shone like the heart of a star. Then the brilliance vanished—swallowed by silence.
When his vision cleared, his breath caught in his throat.
The altar—an ancient relic said to have endured since the Age of the Ancients—was cracked. A jagged fissure split its surface from end to end. The silver lid that had sealed its core lay shattered in glittering fragments on the marble floor.
Daniel's pulse raced. "I… I better leave this place. Now."
He ran—footsteps echoing through the temple, heart pounding with equal parts fear and awe. The air outside felt colder, heavier, as though the world itself had felt the altar's awakening. Somewhere deep inside, Daniel knew—this was no accident.
This was a summons.
---
By the time he reached home, the night sky stretched like an endless ocean of stars.
His mother stood at the doorway, worry clouding her soft eyes. Word of his "failed awakening" had spread quickly.
"Oh, Daniel…" she whispered, pulling him into her arms. "You did your best. Don't be sad. The heavens have a purpose for everyone."
Daniel smiled faintly, though his pulse still thundered. "Yeah, Mum. I know."
Her embrace lingered—warm, trembling, protective. Ever since his father had vanished, she'd been his only anchor in a world full of shifting sands.
When she finally let him go, Daniel slipped into his small room and closed the door. He fell onto his bed, staring at the ceiling as his thoughts spiraled back to that impossible flash of light.
The altar.
The silver energy.
The crack.
"I need to know what that was," he murmured. "Was it… even an element?"
His eyelids grew heavy.
"Oh well… I'll know tomorrow," he whispered.
Sleep claimed him—deep and dreamless.
And somewhere, far beyond the mortal veil, the echo of that silver light pulsed once more, as if the universe itself had just taken notice of his existence.