The sound of boots crunching over gravel echoed down the narrow street. It was morning in the eastern district of Nior, where the sky was still painted in streaks of pale gold. The smell of fresh bread drifted from the baker's shop, mixing with the metallic scent of the blacksmith's forge.
Kiro walked with his head low, hands shoved deep into his pockets, and the weight of his helmet pressing down on him. The old silver visor hid his face completely. Its edges were chipped, the left side dented from a long-forgotten accident.
"Hey, bucket-head!" a voice called from across the street.
Kiro sighed without looking. He didn't have to. He already knew that voice — Garron, a boy his age with the rare ability to throw sparks from his hands. Garron was a Wosbildung candidate, one of the "lucky ones."
"You hiding that ugly face again?" Garron smirked, walking up with two other boys behind him. "Or are you afraid your lack of Talent might infect the rest of us?"
Kiro's voice was calm. "Don't come too close. You might catch my stupidity."
The boys laughed — except Garron. "You think you're funny?"
"No," Kiro said, his tone flat. "I think you are. You're laughing, right?"
That earned him a shove. His boots scraped the dirt, but he didn't fall. He never gave them the satisfaction.
"Let's just go," one of Garron's friends muttered. "Classes start soon."
The three left, tossing one last insult over their shoulders.
Kiro stood there for a moment, adjusting the strap on his helmet. Beneath the visor, his gray eyes reflected the morning light — sharp, calculating. He'd learned long ago that words were just noise; what mattered was remembering everything. And Kiro remembered everything.
The academy's bell rang in the distance, its tone crisp and commanding. But Kiro wasn't heading for Wosbildung like most kids with Unique Talents. He was going to the common school — a place for those with house-keeping skills, filing speed, or the ability to organize shelves in perfect order.
As he entered the classroom, whispers began.
"That's the son of Valen Aserra, right? The fire wielder?"
"Yeah, and his mom can move things with her mind. But him? Nothing. Total zero."
Kiro dropped into his seat at the back and ignored them.
Miss Lira, the instructor, entered. She had the Talent of "Perfect Recall" — able to remember every student's mistakes. Her eyes landed on Kiro. "Mr. Aserra. Try to stay awake today?"
"I'll do my best, Miss," Kiro replied.
Halfway through the lesson on agricultural scheduling, his attention drifted. The sunlight through the window reflected in his visor, and for a second… the world dimmed.
And he was somewhere else.
The sound of the classroom faded. Voices blurred into an echo. Kiro was standing in a vast black space, with faint golden threads stretching in every direction. Some threads pulsed gently. Others were frayed.
"What is this…?" he murmured.
When he reached toward one glowing thread, a flood of emotions hit him — anger, shame, and fear. He jerked his hand back. The golden thread snapped, and he gasped.
The vision shattered.
"Kiro!" Miss Lira's voice snapped him back to reality. The class was staring at him. "Do you care to share what's so fascinating out that window?"
"No, ma'am," Kiro muttered.
She narrowed her eyes. "Then pay attention."
When the bell released them for lunch, Kiro headed to his usual spot behind the storage shed. He took off his helmet, rubbing at his messy black hair.
"What… was that?" he whispered to himself. "I wasn't dreaming. It felt real."
He thought of the golden threads. Of the emotions that weren't his.
Footsteps crunched nearby. "Skipping lunch again?"
Kiro looked up. It was Lian, one of the few people who actually talked to him without an insult. She had the Common Talent of "Perfect Balance" — useless in battle, but great for climbing trees and rooftop shortcuts.
"Not hungry," Kiro said.
Lian sat beside him. "You've been spacing out a lot lately."
Kiro shrugged. "Maybe I'm dying. Wouldn't that be exciting?"
"That's dark," she said, frowning.
Before he could answer, a loud bang came from the street. They both turned. Garron was there — and he was in trouble. A man in a hooded coat was holding him by the collar, sparks from Garron's hands fizzing weakly.
"Let him go!" Lian shouted.
The man glanced at them, sneering. "Stay out of this, girl."
Something inside Kiro shifted. The golden threads from earlier… he could almost see them again, faint and shimmering in the air between him and the stranger. Without thinking, he focused on one — the thread that seemed connected to the man's mind.
Stop.
The word wasn't spoken aloud. It was placed inside the man's thoughts. His grip loosened instantly. Garron dropped to the ground, scrambling away.
The man blinked in confusion, looking around like he'd forgotten where he was. Then he stumbled off without another word.
Lian stared at Kiro. "What… just happened?"
Kiro adjusted his helmet. "Nothing. Let's get back to class."
But inside, his heart was pounding.
It wasn't nothing.
That night, Kiro lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. His parents were downstairs, their voices muffled through the floor. They probably still wondered why their son had no Talent.
He closed his eyes. The black space returned — golden threads everywhere, weaving through the darkness.
He reached for one, testing it carefully. A flood of thoughts filled his mind — words that weren't his own. He pulled back quickly, breathless.
This was no Common Talent. This wasn't a Unique Talent either.
It was something else entirely.
Something dangerous.
Kiro smiled faintly under the shadow of his visor.
For the first time in his life, he wasn't nothing.