The morning sun spilled over the rooftops, painting the academy gates in gold. Dozens of students filed in, laughing, arguing, or showing off their powers in casual bursts — sparks of flame, ripples of water, shifting stones. The air practically buzzed with energy.
Michael walked among them in silence. He carried no flame at his fingertips, no misty aura at his back. His uniform hung plain on his frame, shoes scuffed from too many walks through mud instead of air-stepping like half his classmates. In this world, sixty percent of humanity manifested powers. He belonged to the other forty.
The powerless.
It didn't sting, not anymore. Being overlooked had its uses. While the gifted sparred and postured, Michael slipped through crowds without effort, like a shadow cast by brighter lights.
"Hey, lightning rod!" someone shouted ahead. A boy with crackling hands grinned, arcs of blue dancing between his fingers as his friends chuckled.
Michael raised a brow. "Lightning rod? That's a new one. Points for creativity."
The boy blinked, caught off guard. Insults usually worked better when the target flinched. Michael offered a polite nod and kept walking. By the time the boy thought of a retort, Michael was already through the gate.
Stephanie was waiting there, perched on the low stone wall like she owned it. Sunlight caught her hair — a rich auburn that seemed almost aflame when the wind tossed it — and her uniform looked sharper than anyone else's, though Michael knew she never cared about fashion. Her presence turned heads, not only because of her looks, but because everyone knew what she was.
Prophet. Timeweaver. The girl whose eyes saw further than anyone else's.
"You took your time," Stephanie said, dropping down beside him. "Let me guess. Thunder-boy tried his comedy routine again?"
"Something like that," Michael replied. "He needs practice."
Her laugh was short and bright, chasing away the weight of the morning. "You really don't care, do you? If it were me, I'd fry him."
"You'd fry everyone if you could."
"Fair," she admitted, grin widening.
The crowd parted naturally for her as they walked — not out of respect, but wariness. People knew Stephanie's visions could make or break reputations. Being seen in her future was either a blessing or a curse.
But Michael? The crowd barely noticed him at all.
Classes began with the usual blur of announcements and lectures. Elemental students practiced channeling energy into controlled bursts; transmuters reshaped blocks of clay into precise structures; healers tested their limits under the watchful eye of instructors.
Michael sat quietly, pen scratching across paper, taking notes he'd never need for abilities he didn't have. To most, it seemed pointless. But he liked learning the logic of it. Powers weren't random — they followed principles. Rules. Patterns.
And patterns could be predicted.
The teacher droned on about thermal control when Stephanie leaned toward him, her voice barely a whisper.
"Michael," she said. "You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"That… stillness. Like you're fading out of the room."
He gave her a puzzled look. "I'm literally sitting here."
"No." Her eyes narrowed, silver-gray irises gleaming faintly — the mark of her sight. "It's like… when I look at you, the future blurs. Everyone else, I see their paths stretching ahead. But you? You're just… void."
Michael frowned, uncomfortable under the intensity of her gaze. "You probably need sleep. Didn't you stay up scrying last night?"
Stephanie didn't laugh. She rarely joked about her visions. "Maybe. Or maybe you're not as ordinary as you think."
He forced a chuckle. "Trust me. If I had powers, I'd have noticed by now."
But her words stuck, even as the lesson dragged on.
When the final bell rang, Michael walked home alone, cutting across the older part of the city where streets narrowed and walls leaned close. The noise of students showing off their abilities faded behind him.
Here, in the quiet, his thoughts grew louder.
Stephanie's visions had never failed before. She once warned a neighbor's son not to take the river road — and hours later, a landslide blocked it. She predicted a storm that the weathercasters missed. She even foresaw their teacher's sudden resignation.
But when she looked at him, all she saw was nothing.
Michael paused by a broken fountain, staring at the stagnant water. He flexed his hands, half-expecting sparks, flames, something to appear. Nothing, as always.
Yet…
Back in class, when the lightning student had practiced a discharge, Michael thought he'd felt it. Not just the hairs-on-end prickle of static, but something deeper — like his skin hummed in resonance.
It was gone in an instant. He'd shaken it off. But now, alone, the memory nagged.
He sighed, shoving it away. Imagination. That was all.
Because he was powerless. Just one of the crowd.
And sometimes, being nobody was safer than being seen.