The bells tolled at dawn, deep and resonant, rolling through the valley like the heartbeat of an ancient giant. Their sound echoed off the cliffs, slipped down into the crowded blocks of the lower wards, and reached even the poorest of homes. Today, the bells did not just mark time. They carried fate.
Neel Sharma woke to their tolling. The sound rattled the thin walls of his family's home, shaking dust loose from the rafters. He sat up from his mat, staring at the ceiling, his chest tight with a mix of dread and excitement.
Today was the Ceremony of Light.
He pushed himself to his feet and crossed the small room. His satchel lay ready by the door, packed the night before with little more than a worn slate and the quill stub his mother had managed to buy him. His robes were plain compared to those of the wealthier families—patched twice at the hem, faded at the sleeves—but they were clean. His mother had worked half the night to scrub them spotless.
The smell of paratha drifted from the kitchen corner. His mother looked up from the hearth, her face lined but gentle. "Eat something, Neel. You'll need strength."
"I can't," Neel muttered. His stomach felt knotted tight.
From the doorway, his father's voice was harder. "He'll need more than strength. He'll need luck."
Neel turned. His father leaned against the frame, arms crossed, his face shadowed with weariness. He was a man of the orchards, his back bent from years of labor. "Don't look at me like that," he said when Neel's eyes narrowed. "I'm only telling the truth. We are not Rajputs or Deshmukhs. We are nobodies. When has fortune ever smiled on a Sharma?"
"Maybe today," Neel said quietly, forcing steadiness into his voice. "Maybe today, everything changes."
His father grunted, unconvinced, and stepped away. His mother reached across the hearth, touching Neel's wrist. "Ignore him. Just… go with hope, my son. That is all I can give you."
–––
The path to the Academy wound upward through the valley, its stones worn smooth by centuries of initiates who had climbed it before. Neel adjusted the strap of his satchel and set off, his pulse keeping time with the tolling bells.
"Oi, Sharma!"
The shout carried down the path. Aarav Menon jogged up beside him, grinning wide, his crimson-trimmed robes crisp and new. Aarav had been Neel's neighbor since childhood. They had once been inseparable, racing barefoot through the alleys, carving wooden swords, daring each other into trouble.
But things had changed. Aarav's parents had scraped and saved to buy him tutors, pushing him toward greatness. Neel had watched the shift happen slowly: Aarav trained, Neel studied scraps; Aarav dreamed of glory, Neel of survival. By the time they stood on the same path toward the Academy, envy had hollowed their friendship into something sharper.
"Try not to embarrass the block when you faint in front of the Crystal," Aarav said, clapping Neel's shoulder a little too hard. His grin was easy, but his eyes glittered with something else. "Some of us have worked for this day. Not everyone can get away with stumbling into power."
Neel said nothing. The words stung, but he had grown used to their edge.
"Enough, Aarav," came a gentler voice.
Leela Deshmukh caught up to them, her braid swinging over one shoulder. She wore robes of pale blue, simple but dignified, her family's healer crest stitched on the hem. The Deshmukhs were well-respected in the block, known for mending wounds and brewing remedies. Leela carried that same calm in her voice, that same steadiness in her gaze.
"You're just nervous," she said softly to Aarav. Then she turned to Neel, her hand brushing his wrist, grounding him. "Don't listen. You'll be fine. You always are."
Aarav scoffed, but didn't argue. He quickened his pace, striding ahead. Neel glanced sideways at Leela. She offered him a small smile, warm enough to ease the knot in his chest, if only for a moment.
–––
The Academy rose ahead, carved into the cliffs like a fortress of knowledge. Towers speared the sky, banners rippling with elemental sigils. The gates yawned open, swallowing the flood of initiates.
Inside, the Hall of the Crystal waited. Its ceiling arched like the heavens themselves, carved with constellations that glowed faintly in the dim. At the far end rose the Origin Crystal—a towering shard of living light, taller than any spire, pulsing with colors that shimmered from flame-red to storm-silver to shadow-black.
The Elders stood at its base, their robes shimmering with enchantments. Their eyes swept over the crowd like blades. Among them, one figure drew every gaze: Keshav Rao, Master of Fire. His reputation was whispered in every corridor. Stern. Unforgiving. Relentless.
They said he had once reduced a duel arena to ash just to prove a lesson. They said his eyes could pierce weakness like flame through parchment. When his gaze passed over Neel, it burned like a torch. Neel's breath caught.
–––
The Ceremony began.
One by one, names were called. Students stepped forward, touched the Crystal, and were crowned with the light of their element. Some wept with relief. Others cheered with triumph. The hall murmured and shifted with each display.
Aarav's name was called. He swaggered to the Crystal, his hand steady as he pressed it to the surface. The shard blazed scarlet, fire erupting around him in a pillar that coiled like a dragon. The hall roared approval. Aarav basked in it, grinning wide, his eyes finding Neel in the crowd with mocking pride.
Next came Leela. She moved with quiet grace, pressing her palm gently to the Crystal. A ripple of blue spread outward, water flowing like a tide. The hall hushed, awed by the calm beauty of it. Leela bowed, her eyes flicking briefly to Neel, warm with encouragement.
Then came a name that carried its own weight.
"Shanaya Rajput."
Whispers rippled instantly through the hall. The Rajputs were an old family, famed for their mastery of flame. Shanaya walked with her chin high, her crimson robes trailing like banners of war. She placed her hand on the Crystal without hesitation.
It did not flicker. It blazed.
Scarlet fire erupted, soaring higher than any before her, shaping itself into a phoenix that circled the chamber before dissolving in sparks. Gasps and cheers filled the hall. Even the Elders inclined their heads in approval.
Shanaya lowered her hand, her smirk sharp as a blade. For a heartbeat, her gaze swept the crowd—and lingered on Neel. Not in kindness. In challenge.
His chest tightened. Aarav scowled. Leela's fingers brushed his wrist again, grounding him.
And then, the name was called that changed everything.
"Neel Sharma."
–––
His legs felt heavy as he crossed the hall. Whispers followed him—poor boy, no chance, another failure. He set his jaw and pressed his palm to the Crystal.
The world shattered.
Fire burst from one palm, lightning from the other, colliding violently. The hall shook. Students screamed, Elders shouted wards. The Crystal itself cracked, fissures glowing across its surface.
And through it all, a whisper slithered into Neel's mind.
"Shattered one… awaken…"
He staggered back, chest burning, sparks leaping across his skin. The hall was silent, stunned. The Crystal dimmed, fractured but still pulsing.
Keshav Rao's voice rang out, sharp and cold.
"Impossible. Two elements—Fire and Storm."
The whispers erupted instantly. Cursed. Dangerous. Shattered Core.
Aarav's envy burned hotter than flame. Shanaya's smirk deepened, intrigued. Leela gripped Neel's arm, protective despite the fear in her eyes.
Neel's breath came ragged. The whisper in his skull purred again.
"Awaken…"
–––