A faint groan escaped Orion's lips as the haze of unconsciousness loosened its grip on him. His awareness returned slowly, as though he were surfacing through thick water, each thought rising sluggishly to the surface. The dull throb at his temples pulsed in time with his heartbeat, each wave of discomfort making the edges of the world blur. He pressed two fingers against the sore spots, trying to coax the ache into submission.
His mind, however, refused to be still. Memories—some sharp, others hazy—spilled into the forefront of his thoughts. He could almost feel them sliding into place, like puzzle pieces finally finding their fit. A faint, almost involuntary smile tugged at his lips. In his mind's eye, he saw his mother's warm smile, the quiet strength in her eyes, and the deep, gruff chuckles of his grandfather—sounds that carried comfort as much as they did command. Despite the weakness that had plagued his body since birth, these two had wrapped his childhood in something resembling safety, stitching joy into days that might otherwise have been marred by constant illness.
Yes… by his measure, it had been a whole childhood. Fragile, perhaps, but whole.
The soft creak of the door hinges drew him out of his thoughts. He turned his head just as Cecily stepped into the room, balancing a wooden tray in her hands. The faint aroma of fresh fruit and roasted meat drifted toward him, mingling with the scent of polished wood that always clung to their home. Her eyes landed on him, and for a brief moment surprise flickered there before relief took over.
"Honey, you're up," she said warmly, her voice carrying the familiar, gentle cadence that always managed to soften his mood. She crossed the room in quiet steps and set the tray on the small bedside table, the sound of ceramic and metal settling into place punctuating the moment.
Orion pushed himself up a little, wincing as the motion made his headache flare again. "Yeah, Mom. Woke up just before you came in."
Her eyes scanned over him as if reading a list of ailments only she could see. "How do you feel? Any dizziness? Is your head still hurting?"
He forced a smile. "I'm fine, Mom. Really." He gave his arms and head an exaggerated shake as though to prove his point, ignoring the sharp pulse of pain that followed. The ache in his skull was still there—persistent, irritating—but it wasn't enough to make him admit weakness right now. She worried enough as it was.
Her lips curved into a fond, almost amused smile at his antics. "Alright, rascal. If you're that full of energy, I'll let you be. Eat your food and get some rest afterward. You need it." She smoothed her skirt as she rose, adding, "Oh, and before I forget—your grandfather wants to see you when you're ready."
"Thanks, Mom," Orion said as she left, her presence replaced by the quiet hum of the room.
He let out a slow breath once the door clicked shut. Too protective, he thought. But it wasn't bitterness—just an acknowledgment. Cecily's vigilance had kept him alive through the worst of his frail years. She'd been there through the fevers, the collapses, the days when breathing itself felt like a task. He owed her more than words could express. But sometimes… it felt like a cage made of love.
His gaze shifted to the tray. Neatly arranged slices of melon, berries with a faint frost on their surface, a wedge of soft cheese, several strips of roasted meat—likely goat or sheep—and a cup of deep red juice whose flavor he couldn't place. The utensils beside them gleamed faintly, the silver catching the morning light. A small detail, but telling—his family wasn't nobility, but neither were they scraping by.
He ate in silence, the act more mechanical than indulgent. When he was done, he set the tray back on the table. Normally, in a household without servants, he would have taken it to the kitchen himself, but the fatigue lingering in his bones argued otherwise. Sleep still called to him, warm and heavy, but the mention of his grandfather's summons gnawed at his curiosity.
---
Morning came with the clear trill of birdsong and a warm beam of sunlight slipping through the open window. The faint scent of dew-wet grass drifted in, mingling with the faint, metallic tang of the magic lanterns lining the walls—now dark in the day's light. He'd already grown accustomed to their existence; in his recovered memories, they were an oddity, but not one worth dwelling on now.
The tray was gone—likely taken away by his mother while he slept. He dressed quickly, each movement free of the heavy lethargy that had plagued him for days. His body felt lighter, more in tune with itself, though a small part of him couldn't help but wonder if it would last.
---
The field behind the house was wide and open, a patchwork of vibrant green grass broken here and there by low shrubs swaying in the soft breeze. At its heart stood a man—tall, broad-shouldered, and unmistakable.
His grandfather's presence seemed to command the space around him. Standing at least six and a half feet tall, his frame was lean but undeniably strong, a body tempered by decades of labor and battle alike. Brown hair, streaked generously with gray, caught the light as he moved. His eyes—pitch black and sharp as a raven's—carried the weight of experience. Age had not dulled them.
Orion's gaze briefly flicked to the bird perched on his grandfather's arm. It was no ordinary creature—white-feathered with a long, raptor-like beak and talons that gleamed faintly like polished steel. The sunlight made its feathers shimmer as though dusted with pearl. He'd never been allowed to touch it. In fact, there were rules: no touching the bird, no interrupting feeding time, and certainly no loud noises nearby.
He remembered the time it had vanished for weeks; his grandfather had been uncharacteristically quiet and restless during that period, as if a part of him were missing.
"Feeding your bird again, Grandpa?" Orion called as he approached, letting a hint of amusement color his tone.
His grandfather looked up briefly, one hand still smoothing the bird's neck feathers. "Ye're up, lad," he said, voice carrying its usual rough warmth. The bird's sharp gaze flicked to Orion, almost… judging.
"Mom said you wanted to see me."
"Aye, nothing urgent." His grandfather's tone shifted slightly as he turned to face Orion fully, the bird still balanced on his arm with unnatural steadiness. "Cecily says you're feeling better. That's good. Means it's time to tell ye about tomorrow."
Orion tilted his head. "Tomorrow?"
"The Awakening," his grandfather said simply.
The word stirred something in Orion's memory—a ceremonial rite, a test. It was vague, fragmented, but the weight of the term was undeniable. "Awakening?" he repeated, hoping to draw more details.
"The mage guild's holding the ceremony in town tomorrow," his grandfather explained. "Folk from all over the surrounding villages are already gatherin'. It's tradition—and more than that. Every youth of fifteen stands before the crystal to see if they've got magic in 'em."
Images formed in Orion's mind: a great crystal, light pouring from it, people watching in hushed expectation. "How does it work?"
"They channel mana from the crystal into ye. If your body takes to it, you're a mage. If it doesn't…" His grandfather's shrug was slight, but the implication was heavy.
Orion's chest tightened. So it really came down to something you couldn't train for—a talent written in your very blood. "So it's just… chance?" His voice dipped, quieter than intended.
His grandfather's eyes narrowed slightly, catching the unease beneath Orion's question. "Not entirely. Yer odds are better than most. Both yer mother and I are mages. That counts for a lot. Magic runs in bloodlines, lad. Doesn't guarantee it, but it tilts the scales."
Orion nodded slowly, the tension in his chest loosening just enough to let him breathe easier. Still, a flicker of doubt lingered. What if he failed? What would he be then?
The bird shifted on his grandfather's arm, letting out a low, piercing cry. For some reason, the sound made the air between them feel heavier.
His grandfather's next words cut through the moment. "Prepare yourself, Orion. Tomorrow's not just a test—it's the first step to finding out who you really are and there is also a possibility that one could fail even with mages parents ."