Rowan and Aelric walked side by side through the quiet stone corridors of the inner palace, royal guards trailing behind them. This was a special underground section of the palace. The walls pressed in close, their carved runes faintly glowing in the torchlight, and the air grew colder with every step.
Aelric had gone through it only a month earlier, when he'd turned twelve, emerging with a Rare Ice affinity and a High Fire affinity. It was considered excellent, though Aelric himself had carried the result with a shrug, almost as though he had expected nothing less.
Over the past year, whenever training left him a moment to breathe, Rowan had buried himself in books, trying to fill the gaps in his knowledge about this world. He had studied every scrap of lore he could find.
The world knew of ten Primary affinities: Fire, Water, Earth, Wind, Ice, Lightning, Nature, Metal, Light, and Darkness. Alongside them existed the five Mystic affinities: Time, Space, Gravity, Soul, and Blood.
Each affinity was ranked, its strength revealed through the size of the domain and the color of its sky. A gray sky marked a Low rank, the weakest. Blue signified Common. Green stood for High. Gold shone for Advanced. And purple burned for Rare, the peak most aspired to. That was all the world officially acknowledged.
He had always downplayed himself, half-convinced he would awaken with nothing worth noting. But deep down, he knew it wasn't just a lack of self-belief. It was more about keeping his expectations low, so he wouldn't be crushed when dreams inevitably shattered. After his experience in the Vexlaar family, where he was treated so harshly for his supposed low magical potential, even a single High-rank affinity would have been more than enough.
Finally, they reached the end of the corridor. Two armored guards stood rigid before a towering blackwood door carved with spiraling runes.
"Lord Rowan is here for his magic awakening," one of the guards behind him announced.
The gatekeepers straightened immediately. Recognizing the prince, they bowed and pressed their hands to the runes. With a low groan, the heavy doors swung inward.
Inside stretched a vast hall, dimly lit by floating lanterns that hovered like pale stars. At its center rose a raised altar of smooth gray stone, circles of carved glyphs spiraling outward from its base. The very air shimmered faintly, heavy with condensed mana.
A group of robed mages stood in solemn silence. From among them stepped an elder in crimson robes, his long white beard flowing down his chest. His back was bent with age, yet his eyes burned sharp and steady, as if nothing in the hall could escape his notice.
"You must be Lord Rowan," the elder said. His voice was calm, but it carried across the chamber with ease. "Greetings, young lord. My name is Derick Flynn. I will be overseeing your awakening today. If you have any questions, you may ask them now. If not…" His gaze lingered on Rowan, measured and expectant. "…the ceremony shall begin at once."
Rowan drew in a steadying breath. "Let's begin."
He walked toward the altar. The old mage followed closely behind, chanting under his breath. The words were soft, but they pressed against Rowan's ears like waves breaking upon stone. The air thickened, humming faintly with unseen weight.
Derick's voice grew firmer. "Once you place your hand upon the catalyst, I will chant a spell to open your inner gate. Then your magic core will stir, and visions of your Mana Core Realm will unfold within your mind. There, you will see orbs, each one representing an affinity. To know them fully, you must focus on them. Each orb contains a domain. If it is Fire, you will see a world of flames, ash, and volcanoes. If Water, you will stand in endless oceans. The rank of the affinity is revealed by two signs: the size of the domain and the color of its sky. Do you understand?"
Rowan nodded. He had read all this before, but hearing it spoken aloud, here at the altar, made his heart pound harder in his chest.
The cold chamber seemed to tighten around him as he climbed the short steps. The air smelled faintly of incense, mingled with the heavy tang of mana. At the center of the altar rested the catalyst: an oval of crystal-clear mana stone, polished until it gleamed like frozen water.
He had heard whispers about it. Once a mana stone was used to awaken someone, its light was spent forever. But this one was different. Ancient, purified countless times by the royal mages, it had served generation after generation.
"Place your hand upon the stone," Derick said, voice low but steady. His other hand tightened around a staff of worn oak, runes carved deep into its length.
Rowan pressed his palm against the cool surface. For an instant, nothing happened. Then the stone pulsed faintly with light.
Derick's chant deepened. Low syllables rolled from his lips, each one weaving into the air like threads of fire and shadow. The sound bypassed Rowan's ears and sank straight into his bones. With every word, the atmosphere grew heavier, until Rowan felt as though the entire world were leaning down to watch.
The final word struck like a hammer.
Rowan's breath caught. His vision blurred.
Silence. Darkness. Then light.
He stood, or thought he stood, in a vast circle of pale radiance, his Mana Core Realm. It wasn't his body that had moved, only his mind's eye, a vision painted directly upon his soul. Around him shimmered faint orbs of light, glowing softly like distant stars.
Rowan blinked. Five.
There were five orbs.
His breath faltered. No one had ever spoken of awakening with five affinities.
The first orb drew him in.
A forest erupted around him. Towering trees reached for the heavens, vines coiled upward, and the air was damp with earth and rain. It pulsed with life, steady and nourishing. His chest eased at the sight. The domain stretched wide, so wide it could have swallowed the palace grounds whole. Above it, the sky gleamed gold, brilliant and warm.
Nature affinity. And a golden sky. Advanced rank.
Relief flickered in his chest. But before he could embrace it, the second orb seized him.
Darkness. A suffocating void swallowed him whole. Thicker than ink, heavier than stone, it spread without end. No air. No sound. Only silence that pressed against his chest like a weight. Above, the sky was black, black that devoured even its own edges.
Rowan stumbled back, panic rising. Black skies? He had never read of such a rank.
Before thought could take root, another orb pulled him in.
Lightning split the heavens. Jagged bolts lashed endlessly, blinding in their fury. A storm raged eternal, wild and merciless. The domain stretched endlessly, its horizon crackling with relentless energy. Above it, too, the sky was black.
Rowan's breath quickened. Another affinity, yet the same impossible color.
The next orb caught him before he could recover.
Space folded and cracked. Stars flared and vanished. Horizons bent into spirals that defied sense. The world twisted inward and outward at once, infinite yet suffocating. Overhead, a crimson glow bled through the fractured heavens, searing the warped sky with its alien light.
Rowan's eyes widened. Space affinity. He knew it instantly. But crimson skies? He had never read of such a thing. What rank could that mean?
The final orb pulsed.
Blood. The metallic tang filled his mouth. The ground rippled like living veins, crimson waves beating in rhythm with a colossal unseen heart. The air throbbed with heat and life. Above, the sky shimmered a blinding silver-white, dazzling and divine.
Rowan gasped. Blood affinity. He knew the lore, the fear surrounding it. But silver skies? No book had ever spoken of such a rank.
Then, just as suddenly, it all shattered.
Rowan's eyes opened. He was back on the altar, hand pressed to the cold stone, his body trembling. Five affinities. Each one stranger, more impossible than the last.
"Tell me, child," the old mage continued. "What did you see?"
Rowan's lips parted, but no words came. If he told the truth—black skies, crimson skies, silver heavens—what would happen to him? Revealing ranks of affinities not mentioned in any book? He would be a fool to do that.
In that split moment, he decided he had to keep it a secret.
But what should he say?
He remembered the first orb, the green, lush forest under a brilliant golden sky. Advanced Nature affinity. Ordinary enough, safe enough. That would be his answer.
"…I saw a green orb," Rowan said quietly. "A world of forest. Trees and vines."
Derick leaned forward slightly. "How large was the domain?"
Rowan steadied his voice. "…Large. Perhaps as big as the palace. Maybe larger."
"And the color of its sky?"
"Gold," Rowan said.
There was a pause. Then the old mage's voice rang with approval.
"Excellent. An Advanced Nature affinity. You may step down, the ritual is complete."
Rowan lowered his hand, hiding the tremor in his fingers. He forced a small, polite nod in return.
But inside, his heart raced. He had seen five affinities and skies in colors no book had ever described.
And now he carried them in silence.
Powers that this world had long since forgotten.