The first pale rays of morning filtered through the rough wooden shutters of my small room, casting dim, patchy light over the few belongings that lined the cramped space. Today was the day—the one I'd been waiting for, dreaming of, ever since I could remember. Today, I would find out what set me apart, what made me different, what made me special.
Upon turning fifteen, every child was supposed to learn of their affinity, thus deciding their future pretty much.
My heart hammered in my chest, already wide awake, my mind buzzing with excitement and nerves. They felt like fire and ice churning in my stomach, a thrill of anticipation barely contained. Growing up, I'd heard stories of people blessed with incredible Affinities, with powerful mastery over them, allowing them to control fire, summon storms, mold the very earth beneath their feet. These people weren't just strong—they were respected, admired, even feared. They left behind simple village lives and became something far greater.
I couldn't stop myself from wondering what my Affinity might be. Maybe fire, like the warriors in the legends. Or maybe I'd be one of those who could control the earth, unearthing secrets buried deep below. The thought of possessing something powerful, something that could take me away from this tiny room, from this life, was intoxicating. I lay there, staring at the beams above, letting my mind drift into those fantasies until my mother's voice brought me back to reality.
"Tryston, breakfast!"
The smell of freshly baked bread drifted up from downstairs, and I shot out of bed, throwing on my worn tunic and trousers as quickly as I could. My father was already seated at the table by the time I bounded into the kitchen, his face shadowed with a look that mingled anticipation with a stern, quiet intensity. He rarely spoke about it, but I knew this day mattered to him too.
"You ready for this, son?" he asked, his voice gruff, though there was a softness there I rarely heard.
"Yes, Father. I'm ready."
I tried to keep my voice steady, though there was a tremor in it that betrayed the swirl of emotions inside me. I glanced at my mother, who was watching me with a look of pride mixed with worry. She set a plate before me, her hands wringing a cloth as she attempted a smile, but her lips pressed together tightly, as if even she felt the weight of this day pressing down on us all.
I couldn't help but wonder why they seemed so tense. As if they were expecting something bad?
We ate in silence, though the village's morning sounds filtered in from outside—the clink of metal as merchants opened their stalls, the calls of children already gathering to watch. The air in the square was electric with excitement, an anticipation that had been building all week. Families would be bringing their children to the village square, the place where the Affinity Test awaited, ready to define each child's future with a single, fateful glow. It was a rite of passage, a mark of destiny.
My mother placed a hand on my shoulder as we left the cottage and joined the crowd. Her grip was warm and steady, anchoring me as we walked toward the center of the village. In the square, the stone platform had been cleared, and a single figure waited—Elder Varra, one of the village's more prominent elders. She held the crystal orb that would reveal each child's Affinity, its faint, pulsing glow visible even from a distance. Elder Varra was a stern woman with sharp eyes that seemed to see straight through people, weighing them with her gaze long before they even stepped forward.
The orb itself was something of a mystery to me, as it was to most of the village. Covered with ancient runes that glowed softly, it was said to reveal not only one's Affinity but the strength of their Affinity. The test was twofold: first, to identify one's Affinity, and then, if that Affinity showed promise, to measure the child's potential.
For those lucky enough to receive high potential—marked by rare colors like Purple or even Crimson—a future of greatness seemed nearly guaranteed. Those with more common potential, the greens, blues, and occasional whites, would remain here or perhaps find work in nearby towns. It was a familiar path, one I'd seen others walk before, yet somehow I felt that my path would be different.
One by one, the children were called forward, placing their hands on the orb. The crowd reacted to each child with murmurs and nods, some offering polite applause, others whispering among themselves. Blue, for water. Green, for nature. Red, for fire. Each color brought its own promise, and each child received a smile or a nod from Elder Varra before stepping back.
Then came Lira Bairen, a girl whose family was well-known and respected in the village. She was popular, clever, and beautiful, and her parents had often spoken about her being destined for something more. As she stepped forward, Elder Varra's usually stern expression softened, a flicker of approval crossing her face as Lira placed her hand on the orb with quiet confidence.
The orb flared to life with a brilliant glow—a radiant silver streaked with purple, bright and mesmerizing. Gasps echoed through the square, and for a moment, it was as though everything else faded into that shimmering light.
"Spirit Affinity," Elder Varra announced, her tone laced with awe. "The power to commune with souls and channel spectral energies."
The crowd buzzed with admiration, a swell of pride and envy in the faces around me. Spirit Affinity was rare, something almost mythical. It was a gift that could elevate someone to greatness, opening doors that would never be available to a villager with common skills. As the orb continued to glow, Elder Varra's expression shifted, and she motioned for Lira to keep her hand on it.
"Potential test," she intoned solemnly, her voice echoing across the square.
The light grew even brighter, shifting from silver to a deep, rich purple—a color so rare that few could even remember seeing it in our village. Lira's parents were practically glowing with pride, and even Elder Varra nodded with respect.
"Purple potential," Elder Varra said, her voice carrying a note of reverence. "A rare gift, indeed."
Lira stepped back, basking in the admiration that rippled through the crowd. Her future now lay wide open, filled with possibilities that few could dream of. She would be given special training, guidance that would help her wield her Spirit Affinity with skill and grace.
I felt my heart pounding as I watched her, a flicker of hope lighting up within me. Maybe I, too, would discover something incredible, something rare and powerful that would shape my life in ways I couldn't yet imagine.
"Tryston Nyuusen," Elder Varra's voice rang out, jolting me from my thoughts.
I took a deep breath, swallowing the nerves that had suddenly surged within me, and stepped forward. The crowd quieted, their eyes shifting to me, the curiosity and anticipation in their faces unmistakable. I placed my hand on the crystal, its cool, smooth surface tingling against my skin, humming softly.
For a moment, nothing happened. The orb remained dull and lifeless, its light absent. Elder Varra's brows knitted together, and she repeated the incantation, her voice a bit sharper this time. A faint glow began to emerge, but it was murky, a muted gray tinged with a sickly green. The orb pulsed weakly, struggling, as if it didn't quite know what to reveal.
"Erosion…" Elder Varra's voice was barely a whisper, but I caught the faint trace of disgust in her tone. "The Affinity of decay and ruin."
The words hit me like a blow, a chill sinking into my bones. Erosion. I'd heard whispers of it, a power associated with death, decay, and ruin. It was an Affinity spoken of in dark tones, seen as a curse rather than a gift. My heart sank, the excitement and hope from moments earlier collapsing into a void.
A ripple of murmurs spread through the crowd, their expressions shifting from curiosity to something darker, something that made me feel hollow. But Elder Varra wasn't done. Her frown deepened, and she muttered another incantation, her gaze narrowing on the crystal.
"There's… another," she said, her voice tinged with disbelief. She whispered a second command, and the crystal flickered, this time emitting a faint, almost invisible shimmer that was barely perceptible, like a ripple of sound.
"Echo," she said, the word dripping with disdain. "The Affinity of Echo."
A ripple of laughter spread through the crowd, laced with scorn and pity. Echo was hardly considered an Affinity at all—it was a faint ability to sense vibrations, to amplify sound, with no practical use to speak of. To possess both Erosion and Echo—a dual Affinity that was usually a mark of prestige—felt like a cruel joke. I could feel the weight of their laughter, their dismissive glances, pressing down on me.
Elder Varra shook her head, looking at my parents with cold finality. "There's no need to measure potential. Affinities like these are… insignificant. A burden, rather than a gift."
Her words were like ice, cutting deep and leaving me frozen in place. I slowly stumbled towards my parents, their gaze cold and hurtful. My father's hand was iron on my shoulder, his face hard as he steered me away, barely letting me keep up as we left the square. The silence stretched between us as we walked, thick and suffocating. When we entered the cottage, it felt like the walls were closing in, like the air itself had turned against me.
My father's voice was low, filled with anger he could barely control. "You've brought shame upon us," he said, his voice quivering. "Erosion… Echo… worthless, both of them. A son with such Affinities is no son of mine."
I looked to my mother, my last hope for understanding, but she turned her face away, her silence heavier than words.
"Get out," my father growled. "Leave. Go to the woods, to the mountains, anywhere but here."
"Please, I—"
"LEAVE!" The slap came fast and hard, snapping my head to the side, pain burning across my cheek. I stumbled back, crashing into the table, struggling to catch my breath. My father's voice was thick with venom, each word sinking in deeper than the last.
"You should have never been born."
I stared at him, my chest aching with a pain that went beyond the sting of his hand. He turned away, his rejection final. My mother stood in the corner, her back to me, her shoulders hunched, silent and unmoving.
The memories I had with my parents, ones of laughter, love, and care, slowly turned to ash, replaced with a gaping void. All that remained was the view of anger and disgust on my fathers face. The look of devastated disappointment on my mothers.
I turned slowly, the numbness spreading through me as I opened the door and stepped outside. The chill of the evening air bit into my skin, a cold that seeped deeper than any I'd felt before. The village was quiet, the excitement of the morning faded into shadows, leaving only an empty silence that pressed down on me like a weight.
The forest loomed before me, dark and endless, its shadow stretching out like the path that lay ahead. Without looking back, I began to move through the trees, only to feel a sudden hand on my shoulder. Wincing in slight pain, I turned my head upwards, only to freeze in fear.
A greasy old man who was missing several teeth stared at me with a sick grin. His slimy tongue ran over his lips once and he cackled.
"You'll be a fine piece of merchandise Mr. Useless."