Orion clenched his teeth, the muscles in his jaw tight enough to ache. The sharp tension was an unpleasant reminder of his own building frustration. He narrowed his eyes, half-expecting his vision to blur or deceive him, but the sight before him remained infuriatingly clear.
That tiny white raptor—barely larger than a housecat—was perched on the table, its head tilted just enough for both beady black eyes to lock onto him. Its gaze was unflinching, almost contemptuous, as though he had personally offended it in some grave, ancient manner. For something so small, it carried a surprising weight in its hostility. He could almost imagine it plotting his downfall.
How a creature that could probably fit in one of his boots was managing to glare at him like an archduke defending his throne was beyond him.
With effort, Orion broke the stare, forcing his eyes toward the doorway—only to see his grandfather standing there with that same infuriating smirk tugging at his weathered features. It was the kind of smile that said, I know something you don't, and I'm enjoying it far too much.
Forget it. I'll ignore both of them, Orion thought, shoving down the urge to comment. His face smoothed into a mask of forced calm.
"Your mother's made dinner," Kaelum said, falling into step behind him with unhurried confidence. "Let's eat."
Orion trudged toward the dining room, his pace deliberate. The sound of their footsteps echoed softly against the polished wooden floor. His movements lacked enthusiasm, as if the mere idea of sitting at the same table as that smug old man and the glaring bird was a chore in itself.
The table was set but bare of the main meal. Still, a small basket of fruit sat near the center, and Orion took the opportunity to pluck a few pieces—more to give himself something to do than because he was truly hungry. He kept his gaze firmly on the task,refusing to so much as glance toward Kaelum or the feathered menace.
Moments later, Cecily entered. Her steps were light but steady, each motion practiced from years of balancing trays. She carried several steaming platters, the rich aroma instantly reaching Orion's nose. It was a welcome distraction. The scent of seasoned meat, fresh bread, and a hint of herbs softened his guarded expression, drawing a faint smile despite himself.
They had barely begun eating when Cecily broke the quiet.
"Father," she began, turning toward Kaelum, "after Orion's awakening, what happens next?"
The words made Orion's stomach tighten. He'd been deliberately pushing the thought of the ceremony out of his mind, but her question dragged it to the forefront like a boulder crashing through calm water.
Kaelum didn't even pause to think. "I'll train him for three months to prepare him for admission to a magic academy."
Orion blinked, nearly choking on the bite he'd just taken. "Magic academy?" he mumbled, his words slightly muffled.
"It's an institution for training mages," Kaelum explained. "Not quite like a regular school, but with far higher stakes."
Orion frowned. "But… you could train me here." The thought of being thrown among strangers—most of them likely arrogant and judgmental—wasn't appealing in the slightest.
"I could," Kaelum admitted without hesitation. "But training here wouldn't offer the same resources, competition, or opportunities a magic academy provides—assuming you awaken, of course."
The unspoken weight behind that last phrase made Orion's appetite falter. If you awaken. The possibility of failure loomed larger than before. The ceremony was beginning to feel less like a milestone and more like a looming trial. Perhaps revisiting Awakening Anxieties—that dusty, overly clinical book—wasn't such a bad idea after all.
Dinner passed without further incident. Once the plates were cleared, Orion excused himself, making his way toward the library. He found the book exactly where he'd left it, its worn cover creased from years of handling, and carried it back to his room.
He had barely read more than a few pages when a soft knock came. Without waiting for his reply, Cecily stepped inside.
Her presence carried warmth, but there was a probing edge to her gaze. "How are you feeling about tomorrow?"
"I'm fine, just resting," Orion lied quickly. The book was half-hidden under his lap, his posture angled to keep it out of sight. No need for her to know what he was reading.
"Honey, relax," she said, moving to sit beside him. "Even if you don't awaken as a mage, you'll always be my son."
The sincerity in her tone made him pause. "…Thanks, Mom. I'll do my best." He managed a small smile, even though the knot of unease in his chest remained.
"You'd better," she teased, standing. "Goodnight." She left as quickly as she had come. Orion waited until her footsteps faded before exhaling, pulling the book back into the open, and returning to the dense paragraphs.
---
Cecily's own expression softened as she walked down the hallway toward her room. She had seen straight through her son's attempt at hiding the book. It wasn't worth calling him out on it—his pride would only bristle.
She was halfway to her door when she stopped, her senses catching on something most people would never have noticed. To an ordinary eye, the corridor was empty. But she was not ordinary.
"Sneaking around, Father?" she said evenly.
The shadows at the edge of the hallway wavered, shifting like restless smoke. He didn't step out immediately. Instead, his voice came first, low and edged with something sharper than his usual gruffness. "Why did you check on him?"
"Come now, Father," she replied, her tone half reproach, half challenge. "He's my son. I'm not so heartless."
"He doesn't need coddling," Kaelum said, the shadows peeling away to reveal his form. His presence still carried the faint chill of darkness magic—an aura that had unsettled her even after all these years. "And you know exactly what I mean."She met his gaze without flinching. "I know he's that man's son. That doesn't mean he can't fail."
Kaelum's eyes narrowed. "He won't. Not with that blood in him." Then, as suddenly as he had appeared, his form unraveled into shadow and vanished, leaving only the faint echo of his words.
---
"Come on, Sunny, we're late already!" Kaelum's voice cut through the morning air, laced with impatience. It had to be the tenth time he'd called in the last twenty minutes.
Orion descended the stairs at a pace deliberately slower than necessary, his expression betraying none of the irritation he felt. If the gods really existed, they clearly had no interest in granting him a small mercy—like, say, striking the mage that will be coming from Silverdale to host the ceremony with a conveniently timed bolt of lightning.
"I've got a carriage prepared," Kaelum said once they stepped outside, the green fields around their home glistening faintly from the early dew.
"Wait, it's not far," Orion pointed out, glancing toward the distant center hall of the town. "We could walk there in a few minutes."
"The carriage isn't just for travel," Cecily interjected from behind them. "It's a sign of status. Father called the Silverdale Mage Guild to conduct the awakening here in Wysteria."
Orion's steps faltered. A guild from a city, summoned here? That wasn't common. Kaelum's influence—or reputation—must run deeper than he had thought.
They didn't have to walk far before the carriage came into view. Its body was crafted from dark-stained wood, polished to a soft sheen, with faint silver inlays curling into intricate patterns along its frame. The wheels were reinforced with thick metal rims—likely a magical alloy—and supported by sturdy, well-oiled spokes.
Two mules stood at the front, their coats a rich, almost glossy brown. Their size and stature marked them as hybrids between horse and donkey, a combination that lent them the endurance of one and the carrying strength of the other. The harnesses were fitted with precision, and even those straps bore small engraved runes, faintly glowing in the daylight.
The coachman, dressed in a neat grey coat, stepped forward and bowed. "My lord, young lady, young master—please, step in." He swung the door open, revealing an interior lined with deep emerald-green velvet. The seats looked almost too lavish for practical travel, their silk cushions catching the light with a faint shimmer.
Orion climbed in after his mother, settling into the seat as Kaelum followed. The door clicked shut, and with a subtle flick of the reins, the mules set into motion. The scenery began to slide past—rows of weathered houses, narrow cobblestone streets, and the faint bustle of townsfolk starting their morning routines.
Wysteria was no major power in the Thorvyr Empire. It wasn't even close. That was precisely why the Magic Association had never built a mage guild here. Many smaller towns across the empire faced the same reality: mages and non-mages alike living side by side without any formal local oversight.
The absence of a guild meant that, traditionally, those hoping to awaken their magic had to travel to the nearest city. Towns and villages alike sent their youths in small caravans, braving the journey to stand before the city guilds' awakening chambers.
But today, that ritual had been reversed. The city was coming to them.