The collective gasp of the Lumina nobility hung in the air, a physical weight that pressed down on Kaelen. It wasn't the awe of seeing a new, powerful spell; it was the chilling, primal fear of something dark and forbidden. Lord Valerius's face was no longer a mask of disappointment but a study in abject terror. He moved, not with the grace of a fire-bender, but with a stiff, unnatural haste, grabbing Kaelen's arm with a force that made him wince.
"What have you done?" his father hissed, his voice a low, strangled whisper. He didn't wait for an answer, instead pulling Kaelen away from the crowd and the writhing shadow that still coiled on the pedestal. The shadow wasn't fading; it was thickening, a small, inky puddle in the center of the radiant hall. It seemed to defy the very light that surrounded it.
Kaelen was a blur of motion, whisked through the astonished onlookers, past the guards who held their hands over their own hearthstones—the crystalline talismans that amplified their fire-weaving abilities. He was pushed into a side chamber, its heavy oaken doors thudding shut behind him, cutting off the noise and the prying eyes.
Inside, the silence was suffocating. Lord Valerius paced, a silent storm of fury and fear. He ran a hand through his hair, his perfect golden locks askew, a sign of his complete disarray.
"This is not a gift," Valerius finally spat, his voice trembling with rage. "This is a corruption. We are Lumina! We are children of light, of the sun's righteous flame! What you have done... that is the work of the Shadow Weavers. The forgotten. The exiled."
The words hit Kaelen like a physical blow. He had never heard of Shadow Weavers, only whispered tales of forgotten magics from a time before the Lumina reigned. They were myths, bogeymen used to scare unruly children. The idea that he was one of them, a monster, was a cold shock.
"I didn't mean to, Father! It just... happened," Kaelen pleaded, his own fear warring with a strange, burgeoning pride. The act of creating the shadow had felt so natural, so right, so much more potent than any failed attempt at pyrokinesis.
"Silence!" Valerius roared, his voice cracking. He turned, and Kaelen saw that his father's eyes were filled with tears. "My son. You are tainted. I have no choice. The Council... they must never know."
Kaelen's stomach plummeted. He knew what that meant. Exiled. A fate worse than death, to be cast out from the light and left to rot in the cold, dark world of the outlands. He felt the familiar shifting within, the tickle of the curse, but this time, it was different. It wasn't the physical change of his face, but a profound, internal shift. The shame was gone, replaced by a steel-hard resolve. He was no longer Kaelen, the disappointment. He was Kaelen, the Shadow Weaver.
He looked at his father, at the man who had always looked at him with veiled contempt, and for the first time, he saw something else. He saw a man terrified of the unknown. And in that moment, Kaelen understood he was alone.