I sit in the back corner of Professor Yang's Mystical Theory classroom, watching the golden morning light filter through windows that shimmer with protective enchantments. The glass ripples like water whenever a hover-car passes by outside, its magical engine sending waves of energy through the building's ward system.
Twenty-three other students fill the tiered seats in front of me, each one blessed with something I'll never have, the ability to touch the invisible forces that shape our world.
The Wuhan Academy of Mystical Arts towers sixty stories above the city's magical district, its crystal spires channeling ley line energy that makes the air itself taste of copper and ozone. From my seat, I can see the floating gardens that drift between the upper floors, their roots drinking directly from streams of pure magical current. It's beautiful in a way that makes my chest tight with longing.
"As we discussed yesterday," Professor Yang continues, her voice carrying the crisp authority of someone born to the Arcanocrat class, "magical energy flows through all living beings like blood through veins." She gestures, and silver threads of light spiral around her fingers, forming complex geometric patterns in the air. "For those with awakened abilities, this energy can be shaped, directed, and transformed into observable phenomena."
I know the theory by heart. I've memorized every textbook, every formula, every principle of magical manipulation that exists. Knowledge is the only weapon available to someone like me, someone born Cursed, forever cut off from the power that defines human worth in our world.
The silver threads in Professor Yang's hands begin to shift colors, cycling through the spectrum as she demonstrates basic elemental attunement. Red for fire, blue for water, green for earth, white for air. The other students lean forward, some unconsciously mirroring her hand movements as their own untrained abilities respond to her display.
"The key," she says, "lies not in forcing the energy to obey, but in harmonizing your will with its natural flow. Magic is partnership, not domination."
Easy words for someone who's never felt the crushing emptiness of being powerless. I've spent countless nights pressing my palms together, trying to feel even the faintest whisper of energy between them. Nothing. Always nothing.
A girl in the third row, Chen Lihua, daughter of a prominent Technomancer family, raises her hand. Sparks of electricity dance between her knuckles as she speaks. "Professor, what about those stories of people awakening magic later in life? Is that really possible?"
Professor Yang's expression softens slightly. "While extremely rare, delayed awakening has been documented. However, it typically occurs before the age of sixteen. After eighteen..." She shrugs diplomatically. "The neural pathways necessary for magical perception become fixed. Those born Cursed remain so."
The words hit like a physical blow, even though I've heard them a thousand times before. Eighteen. I turned eighteen three months ago, and with each passing day, the last threads of hope fray a little more.
"Now then," Professor Yang claps her hands, dispelling the light show around her fingers, "let's move to practical application. I want everyone to attempt basic energy manifestation. Don't worry about complexity, even a simple spark or glow is perfectly adequate for this exercise."
The classroom fills with the soft sounds of concentration. Whispered incantations, deep breathing, the gentle hum of awakening power. One by one, tiny lights begin to appear above the students' desks. Some manage steady flames, others produce swirling balls of colored light. A few of the more advanced students create small illusions, butterflies of pure energy that flutter around their heads before dissolving.
I close my eyes and try anyway, the way I always do. I picture the energy flowing through my body, imagine it pooling in my palms, willing it to take shape. My grandmother always told me that wanting something badly enough could make it real, that the universe rewards those who refuse to give up.
But the universe has never been kind to people like us.
"Liang Feng."
My eyes snap open. Professor Yang stands directly in front of my desk, her perfectly manicured eyebrows raised in expectation. The entire class has turned to stare at me, their various magical displays still flickering around them like accusatory fireflies.
"Yes, Professor?"
"Would you care to demonstrate for the class?"
My throat goes dry. This is the game we play every few weeks, the ritual humiliation disguised as encouragement. She knows I'm Void-Touched. Everyone knows. My admission records clearly state my condition, and yet...
"I'd rather observe today, if that's acceptable."
"Nonsense." Her smile doesn't reach her eyes. "Participation is mandatory in my classroom. Surely someone who scores so highly on theoretical exams can manage a basic energy manifestation?"
The trap closes around me. Refusing directly would mean detention, possibly suspension. My grandmother works herself to exhaustion just to keep me enrolled here, cleaning the homes of Arcanocrats who treat her like living furniture. I can't give them any excuse to take this opportunity away from us.
I stand slowly, every eye in the room tracking my movement. My hands shake as I raise them, positioning them the way the textbooks describe. Palm to palm, fingers slightly curved, creating a hollow space where energy should gather.
The silence stretches. I close my eyes again, pouring every ounce of concentration into that empty space between my hands. I think of my grandmother's tired smile when she leaves for work each morning. I think of the bills piling up on our rickety kitchen table. I think of the way the other students' parents drive hover-cars that cost more than we see in a year.
I want this so badly it feels like my chest might crack open.
Nothing happens.
The first snicker comes from somewhere behind me. Then another. Soon the entire class is fighting back laughter, some more successfully than others. I keep my hands raised for another few seconds, a pathetic display of stubborn hope, before finally dropping them to my sides.
"Well," Professor Yang says, her voice carrying false sympathy, "perhaps we should focus on your theoretical strengths instead. Can you explain to the class why manifestation failed?"
The clinical dissection of my humiliation. This is the part where I'm supposed to recite the textbook explanation of Void-Touched physiology, turning my disability into a learning moment for those blessed with actual potential.
"Cursed individuals lack the neural pathways necessary to perceive or manipulate magical energy," I recite, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "Our nervous systems cannot interface with the quantum fields that"
"Yes, yes." She waves dismissively. "A textbook answer, as expected. Class, note how theoretical knowledge cannot substitute for practical application. Magic is not an academic exercise, it is a lived experience that requires innate capability."
In the third row, I spot Yu Chen watching me with undisguised amusement. Unlike the others, her smile holds no embarrassment or pity, just pure, cruel entertainment. She whispers something to the girl beside her, and they both dissolve into giggles.
Yu Chen. Daughter of the family that employs my grandmother as a nanny for their younger children. She's seen me before, during the rare occasions when my grandmother brings me to work with her. I've watched through kitchen windows as Yu practices magic in their garden, summoning flowers from nothing and painting the air with streams of liquid light.
She knows exactly what this moment costs me, and she's enjoying every second of it.
The rest of the class passes in a blur of shame and burning cheeks. When the dismissal bell finally rings, a crystal chime that resonates through the magical sound system, I grab my worn backpack and head for the door. The other students flow around me like water around a stone, their conversations already moving on to lunch plans and weekend parties I'll never be invited to.
"Feng, wait."
I turn to find Li Wei jogging to catch up with me. He's one of the few students who's ever bothered to learn my name, probably because his own magical abilities are barely above average. In a school full of prodigies, mediocrity creates its own form of kinship.
"Don't let Yang get to you," he says, falling into step beside me as we enter the corridor. "She does that to everyone eventually. Remember when she made Zhang recite his family's entire magical lineage after he failed the transmutation exam?"
"It's different for Zhang." I adjust my backpack straps, the weight of textbooks I've memorized pulling at my shoulders. "He can actually do magic."
"Yeah, but barely. His fire sprites look like dying candles."
Li Wei means well, but his attempt at comfort only makes things worse. Even the worst magical student in our class can create something from nothing. They can touch the invisible currents that flow through everything, bend reality to their will in small but meaningful ways. I can't even light a match with magic.
We walk through the Academy's main hall, our footsteps echoing off walls lined with portraits of famous graduates. Legendary mages who've shaped the course of human history stare down at us from gilded frames, their painted eyes seeming to follow my movement with disappointment. The centerpiece of the collection is a massive painting of Archmage Chen Tianlong, founder of the modern magical education system and Yu Chen's great-great-grandfather.
Even the dead seem to judge me here.
"You heading home?" Li Wei asks as we reach the main entrance.
"Yeah. Grandmother's making dumplings tonight."
It's a lie. We can't afford the ingredients for dumplings. Dinner will probably be rice porridge with whatever vegetables my grandmother manages to bring home from her employer's kitchen, the small portions they consider "surplus" but never quite throw away.
Li Wei nods and heads toward the student parking area where his family's hover-car waits. I take the stairs down to street level, beginning the long walk home to Lower Wuhan.
The descent from the Academy district to the slums takes forty-five minutes on foot, following a winding path through increasingly shabby neighborhoods. The gleaming crystal towers give way to concrete apartment blocks, then to converted factories, and finally to the ramshackle maze of the undercity where people like us survive.
Each level down, the air grows thicker and more acrid. The magical runoff from the upper districts pools in the lower areas like invisible smog, creating an environment toxic to anyone without natural magical resistance. Most Cursed don't live past fifty here. The constant exposure to energies we can't process slowly poisons our systems from the inside out.
My grandmother is already showing the signs, the persistent cough, the way her hands shake when she thinks I'm not looking, the gray pallor that no amount of rest seems to cure. The doctors in the free clinic can't do anything for magical poisoning except recommend moving to a non-magical zone. As if we have that choice.
The narrow alley that leads to our building is filled with the usual crowd of day laborers returning from work. Most are Cursed like us, carrying the tools of jobs that don't require magical ability, cleaning supplies, maintenance equipment, the physical instruments of manual labor. A few have minor magical gifts they use for simple tasks, but not enough ability to rise above their circumstances.
Our building is a converted warehouse that's been divided into dozens of tiny apartments. The walls are thin enough that I can hear Mrs. Liu arguing with her teenage son about his grades, and the sound of Mr. Zhou's persistent cough echoing through the ventilation system. The elevator hasn't worked in months, so I climb five flights of stairs to reach our door.
The apartment consists of two rooms and a shared bathroom down the hall. The main room serves as kitchen, living room, and dining area, dominated by a table my grandmother found in a dumpster and repaired with wire and determination. My bedroom is barely large enough for a single bed and a desk where I do homework by the light of a dying lamp.
I can hear my grandmother moving around in the kitchen area, the soft clink of dishes and the whisper of her slippers on the worn linoleum floor. She's probably preparing for her evening shift at the Chen estate, where she'll spend the next twelve hours watching their children while the family attends social functions in the magical district.
"Feng?" Her voice carries the exhaustion of someone who's been working since dawn. "How was school today?"
I drop my backpack by the door and join her in the kitchen. She stands at our tiny stove, stirring a pot of rice porridge that smells faintly of ginger and hope. Her gray hair is pulled back in a neat bun, and despite her weariness, she's made an effort to look presentable for work.
"The same as always, Nai Nai." I lean against the counter, watching her move with the practiced efficiency of someone who's learned to waste no motion. "Professor Yang had us work on energy manifestation again."
She doesn't ask how it went. She doesn't need to. Instead, she reaches up and touches my cheek with a hand that smells like cleaning solution and industrial soap.
"Your worth isn't measured by what magic you can or cannot do," she says, the same words she's spoken countless times before. "A good heart matters more than a strong gift."
I want to believe her. I want to live in a world where kindness and intelligence matter more than magical ability. But we don't live in that world. We live in a place where power determines everything, where the Void-Touched exist only to serve those blessed with gifts we'll never understand.
"I should let you get ready for work," I say, stepping back from her touch.
She nods and returns to the stove, ladling porridge into two chipped bowls. We eat in comfortable silence, the way we do most evenings. There's not much to say about days spent in humiliation and nights spent worrying about bills we can't pay.
After dinner, I help her gather her things for work—the small bag that holds her uniform, a thermos of tea that will have to last her through the night, and the key ring with more keys than doors in our entire building. The Chen family trusts her with access to every room in their estate, a responsibility that pays barely enough to keep us fed.
"Don't wait up," she says, kissing my forehead before heading for the door. "I'll try not to wake you when I get home."
"Be careful, Nai Nai."
She smiles and disappears into the hallway, her footsteps echoing down the stairwell. I listen until the sound fades completely, then lock the door behind her.
Alone in our tiny apartment, I sit at the kitchen table with my homework spread before me. Advanced Magical Theory, Historical Applications of Thaumaturgy, Comparative Analysis of Elemental Systems. Subjects I excel at precisely because I can never put them into practice.
But tonight, the words blur together on the page. Instead of reading about magical principles I'll never use, I find myself staring out our single window at the lights of the upper city. Somewhere up there, in towers that scrape the sky itself, the Arcanocrat families are enjoying dinners that cost more than my grandmother makes in a month. Their children practice magic as casually as breathing, never knowing what it feels like to want something so desperately and be forever denied.
Tomorrow will bring another day of humiliation, another reminder of everything I can never be. Professor Yang will find new ways to showcase my inadequacy. Yu Chen will continue to find amusement in my suffering. And I'll come home to this apartment where my grandmother slowly poisons herself just to keep me in school.
I close my eyes and press my palms together one more time, the way I do every night before bed. A small, desperate ritual that accomplishes nothing but somehow feels necessary.
As always, there's only emptiness between my hands.
But somewhere in that emptiness, something watches me. Something that understands the weight of powerlessness and the hunger for change.
Something that's been waiting for the right moment to offer a different path.
I don't know it yet, but that moment is coming soon.