Alan Wade knew he was going to fail.
Not the kind of failure that comes from lack of preparation—he'd spent eighteen years preparing for this moment. Not the kind that comes from bad luck or circumstance. No, this was the bone-deep certainty that reality was about to publicly humiliate him in front of everyone who mattered.
The pendant against his chest felt heavier than usual.
He stared at his reflection in the small mirror propped against his bedroom wall, studying the face that looked back at him. Neat dark brown hair that he'd actually bothered to comb for once. Slightly handsome features—a solid seven out of ten, he'd decided long ago with the self-aware amusement that came from living two lives. Not ugly, not striking, just... ordinary. The kind of face that blended into crowds.
Which is exactly the problem, he thought, adjusting the collar of his ceremony shirt. Protagonists don't blend.
The thought carried the bitter weight of eighteen years of expectations. Eighteen years in this world—his second chance at life, his reincarnation into a reality where magic was real and destiny supposedly waited for those special enough to grasp it. Eighteen years of knowing he was meant for something more, because why else would someone be given a second chance? Why else would he retain memories of Earth, of his previous mundane existence, unless those memories were preparation for something extraordinary?
Today was supposed to be the day it all made sense. The Awakening Ceremony. The moment when teenagers across Tornhaven discovered whether they were among the lucky one percent—the Elementalists, wielders of fire and water, earth and air, the powerful elite who shaped civilization itself.
Alan's hand drifted to the pendant without conscious thought, fingers tracing the geometric patterns etched into the strange metal. His mother had given it to him the day he was born—this life's birth, anyway. She'd said it would protect him, that it had been in their family for... well, she'd been vague about that part. But he'd worn it every day since, and it had become part of him. Warm against his skin, comforting in its constant presence.
Except today it felt heavy. Like it was trying to tell him something.
"Stop being paranoid," he muttered to his reflection. The boy in the mirror looked unconvinced.
A knock at his door made him turn.
"Alan? Breakfast is ready." His mother's voice, warm with barely concealed emotion. "Today's the day, sweetheart."
"Coming, Mom."
He took one last look at himself. The pendant caught the morning light streaming through his window, seeming to pulse with its own internal glow for just a moment. Alan blinked, but it was just ordinary metal again.
Nerves. Just nerves.
He straightened his shoulders, forcing confidence he didn't entirely feel. Today, he'd Awaken. Probably fire—it was always fire for protagonists, right? The offensive, flashy element that drew attention and inspired awe. Or maybe air, with its freedom and versatility. Earth would be fine too, solid and dependable. Even water, despite the support-role vibes, had its own elegance.
Something. Anything. Just let me Awaken.
Because the alternative—being dismissed as one of the ninety-nine percent, the unawakened masses, the ordinary people—was unthinkable. He'd been reincarnated for a reason. He'd been given memories of another world for a purpose. He was meant to be special.
He had to be.
The pendant pulsed again, warm against his chest.
Alan ignored the flutter of unease in his stomach and opened his door, heading downstairs to face his family. Today was going to change everything. He'd spent two lifetimes preparing for this moment.
What could possibly go wrong?
The kitchen smelled like fresh bread and honey, familiar scents that should have been comforting but instead made Alan's anxiety spike. His family was trying too hard to act normal, which only made the day feel more momentous.
His mother, Elara, was fussing over the breakfast table with the kind of manic energy that came from channeling worry into action. She'd made enough food for an army—bread, cheese, eggs, even the expensive smoked fish from the market. As if loading him up with calories would somehow increase his chances of Awakening.
His father, Thomas, sat at the head of the table with his carpenter's hands wrapped around a mug of tea, expression carefully neutral in that way that meant he was feeling everything but showing nothing. He'd been unawakened himself, had built a good life anyway, but Alan could see the hope in his eyes. The hope that his son would achieve what he never could.
And his sister, Lyra, fourteen and bouncing with an energy that had nothing to do with anxiety and everything to do with pure excitement, was practically vibrating in her seat.
"You're going to be amazing!" she said the moment Alan appeared. "Maybe you'll be like Marcus Ironhart! He's so cool, Mom, did you hear what he did last month? He created a fireball big enough to—"
"Lyra," their father said quietly, and she deflated slightly.
"I'm just saying, Alan's going to be great."
"We know you will, sweetheart," their mother said, setting a plate in front of him with enough food to feed three people. "Whatever happens."
Whatever happens. The caveat that meant: Even if you don't Awaken.
"Thanks, Mom," Alan said, forcing a smile. He picked up his fork, though his stomach was doing acrobatics that made eating seem like a terrible idea.
Thomas cleared his throat. "Alan. You know your mother and I are proud of you regardless, yes?"
"Of course."
"The ninety-nine percent live good lives too." His father's voice was gentle but firm, carpenter's pragmatism applied to life philosophy. "Honest work, family, community. Those things have value beyond magic."
Alan nodded, though internally he was screaming. That's exactly what someone would say to prepare me for disappointment.
"I know, Dad. But I'm going to Awaken." He tried to sound confident rather than desperate. "I can feel it. Today's the day."
His mother touched the pendant at his neck, her fingers gentle. "Remember, this has always protected you. Whatever happens today, you're still you. Still our son."
Why did that sound like goodbye?
"Thanks, Mom. But you won't need to worry. Today's the day everything changes."
His father's expression said: That's what I'm afraid of.
They ate in uncomfortable silence after that, everyone trying to act normal while the weight of the Ceremony pressed down on them all. Lyra kept shooting him encouraging looks. His mother kept refilling his plate despite him barely touching the first serving. His father kept gripping his mug like it was the only solid thing in a shifting world.
Finally, mercifully, it was time to go.
Alan stood, and his mother pulled him into a crushing hug. "We love you," she whispered. "No matter what."
No matter what. No matter what. Why does everyone keep saying that?
"Love you too, Mom."
His father gripped his shoulder, carpenter's strength in the gesture. "Be yourself, Alan. That's all anyone can ask."
But what if myself isn't enough?
Lyra hugged him too, grinning. "You're going to be so awesome that they'll write songs about you!"
"I'll try to live up to that," he said, managing a real smile for her.
Then he was out the door, stepping into the late morning sun of Awakening Day, the most important day of his life, and he had absolutely no idea that in a few hours, the world would end.
But the pendant knew.
It pulsed once against his chest, warm and insistent, like a heartbeat.
Like a warning.
The streets of Tornhaven were alive with energy as Alan made his way toward the Grand Plaza. Everywhere he looked, people were heading in the same direction—families escorting their teenagers, older Elementalists going to observe, merchants hoping to see the next generation, children begging their parents to let them get closer.
The city itself seemed to lean toward the Plaza, buildings tilting their attention to the place where, for one day a year, ordinary teenagers might become extraordinary.
Tornhaven had always felt like a fantasy novel come to life, at least to Alan's Earth-trained eyes. Stone buildings with elemental theming—red-tinted stone and sharp angles in the districts where Fire Elementalists congregated, flowing curves and blue accents near the Water districts, heavy earthen construction in the craftsman quarters, tall spires with open architecture in the Air sections.
It was a city built by and for magic, and for someone who remembered a previous life of technology and mundane physics, it never stopped being slightly surreal.
"Alan! Wait up!"
He turned to see Joren Grey jogging toward him, his best friend's stocky frame moving with the gracelessness of someone too nervous to coordinate properly. Joren's sandy blonde hair was sticking up in multiple directions despite obvious attempts to tame it, and his face was flushed.
"Thought you'd left without me," Joren panted, falling into step beside Alan.
"Would never. We're in this together, remember?"
"Yeah." Joren's grin was shaky. "Today's the day. We're going to be Elementalists!"
"That's the plan."
"I mean, we have to, right? We've been preparing for this forever. The tutors, the history lessons, learning about all four elements so we'd be ready for whatever we Awakened to..." Joren's words came faster, anxiety talking. "My brother said everyone gets nervous before Awakening but it's fine, you either get it or you don't, can't force it, but I figure we've got good chances, I mean statistically one percent isn't that bad when you think about—"
"Joren. Breathe."
His friend sucked in a breath. "Right. Breathing. Good plan."
They walked in silence for a moment, the crowd thickening as they got closer to the Plaza. Alan could see other teens their age in the flow, some with the same nervous energy, others projecting supreme confidence.
Cassia Thorne passed them, her dark hair perfect despite the morning heat, moving with the fluid grace of someone who'd never doubted herself for a moment. She glanced at Alan, smirked slightly, and called out, "Try not to embarrass the Academy, Wade."
"I'll do my best," Alan replied, keeping his voice level despite the spike of irritation.
"Gods, I hate her," Joren muttered once she was out of earshot. "She's probably going to Awaken to something flashy and spend the rest of her life being insufferable about it."
"Probably."
"You feel that?" Joren asked suddenly, his voice dropping.
Alan paused. "Feel what?"
"I don't know. Like... something's off?" Joren frowned, looking around as if trying to identify what was bothering him. "The air feels weird. Too thick or something. And did you notice the birds?"
Now that Joren mentioned it, Alan did notice. The usual flocks of sparrows and crows that populated Tornhaven's rooftops were absent. The sky was strangely empty.
And the temperature... it had been warm when he left home, but now there was a chill that didn't match the sunny morning.
"Just nerves," Alan said, though he didn't entirely believe it. "Everyone gets them before Awakening. Your brother said so."
"Yeah. Yeah, you're right." Joren didn't sound convinced either. "It's just... everything feels like it's holding its breath, you know?"
Alan knew exactly what he meant. The whole city felt like it was poised on the edge of something, waiting.
But waiting for what?
The pendant pulsed against his chest again, and this time there was no mistaking it. It was warm—not painfully hot, but definitely, unmistakably warm. Like it was reacting to something.
Reacting to what?
He reached up to touch it, but Joren was already moving forward again, carried by the crowd's momentum.
"Come on," his friend said. "If we don't get there soon, we'll end up in the back, and I want to see everything."
Alan let himself be pulled along, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Joren had been right.
Something was off.
The birds were gone. The temperature was wrong. The air felt heavy with potential, like the moment before a thunderstorm.
And in his memories of Earth, in every fantasy novel he'd ever read in that previous life, he knew what these signs meant.
This would be foreshadowing. The calm before the catastrophe.
Stop it, he told himself firmly. You're being paranoid. Today's just the Awakening. That's all.
But as they rounded the corner and the Grand Plaza came into view, massive and filled with hundreds of people, Alan couldn't silence the voice in the back of his mind that whispered:
Something's coming. Something's wrong. The pendant knows. Why don't you?
He pushed the thought away and followed Joren into the crowd, toward his destiny, toward the moment that would define the rest of his life.
He had no idea how right and how terribly wrong his expectations were about to be.
The Grand Plaza waited.
And beneath their feet, unseen by anyone, dimensional barriers that had held for eons began their final fracture.
The Grand Plaza rose before them, already packed with hundreds of people. The ceremony grounds glittered with elemental displays from the officials—fire dancing in one corner, water fountains in another, earth pillars rising and falling in rhythm, and air currents visible only by the flower petals they carried. It should have been beautiful.
It was beautiful.
So why did Alan's chest feel tight? Why did the pendant against his skin feel less like a comfort and more like a warning?
"Holy shit," Joren breathed beside him, then clapped a hand over his mouth and looked around guiltily. "I mean—gods. This is really happening."
Alan managed a shaky laugh. "Yeah. It really is."
They joined the flow of people moving toward the plaza's center, where a raised platform had been erected. Officials in ceremonial robes stood at attention—Elder Torin with flames dancing around his weathered hands, Mistress Cersei with water spiraling in elegant helixes around her arms, Master Borin causing stone to rise and fall like breathing earth, and Dame Aliara with her hair streaming in winds that touched no one else.
The four elements. The powers that had shaped civilization, that separated the chosen from the mundane, that would determine whether Alan was special or just another disappointed teenager.
Special. Please, let me be special.
"There are so many people," Joren said, voice tight with nerves.
There were. Alan had known intellectually that two hundred teens would be testing today, but seeing them all together—a sea of sixteen- to eighteen-year-olds, each one hoping for their moment of transformation—was overwhelming. Their families filled the stands that had been erected around the plaza's edges, thousands of spectators come to witness the next generation's sorting into blessed and ordinary.
"Alan Wade? Joren Grey?"
They turned to find an official approaching—a middle-aged woman with the blue-tinged robes of a Water Elementalist assistant. "I'm Coordinator Vasa. You'll need to report to Section C for processing." She gestured toward one corner of the plaza where teens were gathering in organized lines.
"Processing?" Alan asked.
"Documentation, final verification of age and eligibility, assignment of ceremony order." Her tone was brisk, professional. "The ceremony begins in two hours. Please report immediately."
They joined the queue, Alan's heart hammering harder with each step closer. Around them, other teens chatted nervously or stood in determined silence. He recognized some faces from the Academy—Cassia Thorne looking supremely confident as always, Bren Ashford fidgeting with what looked like prayer beads, Mira Clearwater standing perfectly still with her eyes closed as if meditating.
All of them hoping for the same thing. All of them about to face the same test.
But only one in five would pass.
"Next!"
Joren stepped up to the registration table, providing his name and family information to a bored-looking clerk. Alan watched his friend's hands shake slightly as he signed the required documents. When it was Alan's turn, his own signature came out as barely more than a scrawl.
"Alan Wade," the clerk read from his paper, then looked up. "Son of Thomas and Elara Wade, Craftsman Quarter, age eighteen as of last month. Correct?"
"Yes, sir."
"Any family history of elemental awakening?"
"No, sir." The standard question that always stung a little. His parents were good people, hardworking and kind, but neither had ever shown so much as a spark of elemental power.
"You'll be in Group Seven, position forty-three. Report to Staging Area B one hour before your group is called." The clerk handed him a wooden token marked with the number 43. "Next!"
Alan stepped away, clutching the token. Group Seven. That meant he'd be somewhere in the middle of the ceremony, not first but not last either. Enough time to watch others succeed or fail before his own moment came.
Forty-three. Lucky number? Unlucky?
Stop it. Numbers don't matter. Either you have it or you don't.
But as he and Joren made their way toward the staging area, Alan couldn't shake the feeling that something was fundamentally wrong with this day. The temperature kept fluctuating—warm sun one moment, sudden chill the next, as if the weather couldn't make up its mind. The birds were still absent, the sky unnaturally empty. And the pendant against his chest seemed to pulse with a rhythm that didn't match his heartbeat.
"Joren," he said quietly. "Do you feel that?"
"Feel what?"
"Like... like the air is holding its breath?"
Joren paused, looking around. For a moment, his expression was uncertain. Then he shrugged. "Just ceremony nerves, probably. Everyone's tense. It affects the atmosphere, you know?"
Maybe. But Alan had lived through one life's worth of ordinary tension, ordinary anticipation. This felt different. This felt like standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down into something vast and unknowable.
This felt like foreshadowing.
Stop thinking like that, he told himself firmly. This isn't a story. This is your life. Today you Awaken, you discover your element, you begin your real journey. That's all.
But as they settled into the staging area to wait for their turn, Alan caught himself scanning the horizon as if expecting something to appear. Some threat, some change, some sign that the world was about to shift on its axis.
The pendant pulsed again. Warmer now, almost hot.
What are you trying to tell me?
Around them, the ceremony preparations continued. Officials tested their displays, making sure the elemental showcases would inspire rather than terrify the candidates. Families found their seats, programs rustling in hands both excited and nervous. Other teens practiced breathing exercises or reviewed what they'd learned about the awakening process.
Normal. Everything looked normal.
So why did Alan feel like he was about to fall off the edge of the world?
One hour until Group Seven was called. One hour until his moment of truth.
The pendant burned against his chest like a brand, and somewhere in the distance, reality began its final countdown to catastrophe.
But Alan didn't know that yet. All he knew was that he was eighteen years old, he'd spent two lifetimes preparing for this moment, and he was more terrified than he'd ever been.
Please, he prayed to whatever cosmic force had given him this second chance at life. Please let me be special. Let me matter. Let me be worth the gift of reincarnation.
The world heard his prayer.
And in its infinite cosmic irony, decided to give him exactly what he asked for—just not in any way he could have imagined.
The ceremony was about to begin.
And with it, the end of everything Alan thought he knew about power, purpose, and what it truly meant to be special.