Without wasting a second, Yinoh and I bolted the moment the final bell rang. We had to get ready, to look presentable, even if we were just guessing at what the heavens wanted to see.
Back in my room, I traded my heavy school boots and crisp trousers for an old pair of sneakers and an oversized hoodie. In my own clothes, stripped of the academy's insignias, I just looked like an ordinary kid. I leaned against my desk, eyes fixing on a wrinkled scrap of paper. It was my Whispering Rite, nearly illegible under a web of heavy graphite scratches and scribbled corrections.
Name of the Self – Hasphien Maxence.
Unveiling of the Soul – I fear I will not be useful in any way.
Vow of Use – I vow…
My pen hovered over the word, the ink threatening to bleed into a dark stain. I vow what? To be a weapon? A tool? Or just... someone who can finally help? The heavens demanded a purpose, but my mind was a vacuum. The emptiness of the line felt like a confession—a glaring proof that I had nothing of value to offer. Minutes passed, and it remained blank.
A heavy sigh escaped me, thick with defeat. "Forget it. I'll just say whatever comes to mind later." I folded the paper, hiding the evidence of my empty future deep in my pocket.
I was about to leave the room when I heard the door click shut downstairs. Hesitating, I stepped out to greet him.
"Hey, son," Dad called. "You ready for tonight?"
"Yeah. I think so," I mumbled, but the sudden knot in my throat betrayed me.
"Why the hesitation?" Dad set his trusted briefcase on the couch and stepped into my space. He placed both hands on my arms, a solid, reassuring weight.
I froze. Then lied. "Nothing."
He saw through it immediately—detecting the quiet panic I failed to mask. Instead of pressing, he just pulled me into a warm hug, letting me relax against him.
"You don't have to worry," he murmured, his voice a steady, grounding anchor. "As long as you know what your purpose is."
Purpose.
The word didn't comfort me; it felt like a sentence handed down from the heavens. My father's grip was warm, but inside, a cold dread settled deep into my chest. That was the trap. That was the single, terrifying truth I was hiding behind my teeth.
I didn't have one.
Dad's arms tightened slightly before he let go. He patted both my shoulders with steady hands—hands that spent years in sterile labs handling delicate instruments, hands that always found a way to support me, no matter how tired they were. He smiled, a genuine, radiant thing that crinkled the corners of his eyes.
"Go now," Dad said, his voice brimming with a quiet certainty that made my chest ache. "Get to the plaza early and find a good spot. This is your night."
I tried to swallow the lump in my throat and collect myself before turning for the door. I gave him a quick wave, but as I looked back, the pure, unblinking hope written across his face nearly pinned me to the floor. He didn't just believe in me; he was already looking at a hero.
I carried that heavy warmth out into the cool night air. The quiet of our street didn't last long, dissolving into a low, electrical hum the closer I got to the heart of Upper Iris. By the time the Central Plaza opened up before me, the transition was blinding. The plaza was already glowing, a massive basin catching the silver light, though actually moving through the dense, eager crowd was going to be an entirely different challenge.
Crowds jostled and shifted around me—citizens navigating the pathways, vendors balancing trays of glowing confections, tech-charms clattering against armor as people rushed past my shoulders. Above us, bioluminescent drone-lanterns hovered gently, their warm light dancing like stars against the dusk-tinted sky.
Thousands had gathered. The air buzzed with quiet hope, carrying the faint scent of ozone and the cool, crisp bite of night. Some whispered heartfelt wishes into charms; others stood hand-in-hand beneath flowering tech-terraces.
It was beautiful… and terrifying.
"There you are!"
A familiar arm slung over my shoulder, cutting through the noise. Yinoh's grin was infectious as he nudged me forward. "I found us a good spot. Come on, let's move."
He led me through the crowd to a space beneath a stone arch, where solar-fed vines glowed softly along the pillars. The Moon hung perfectly in view, serene and luminous. We sat. We waited.
Then, a clear, metallic chime rang across the plaza—the signal that the Moon had reached its zenith. The sound rippled through the crowd, soft but undeniable, sending a shiver of anticipation through everyone present.
And then—a single beam of silver light split the heavens.
One by one, the artificial lights around us dimmed, surrendering to the Moon's glow. A gentle pulse—like the heartbeat of the world—spread from the plaza's center, thrumming beneath our feet. A sacred stillness fell over us, soft as snowfall.
The mana thickened, heavy and viscous, saturating the air and filling my lungs like liquid fire. Every inhale sparked across my nerves; every exhale felt too small, too shallow. It was electricity and stardust and pressure all at once, humming beneath my skin. My heart hammered so loudly I could hear it in my ears.
Around me, the crowd began to murmur their prayers, whispers colliding in a low hum.
I began reciting my Whispering Rite, the words shaky but moving. But the second I hit the Vow of Use, my jaw locked. It felt like the atmosphere itself had turned to concrete, sealing my mouth.
Say something, I screamed internally, my mind spinning into a panic. Anything. Just give them a vow.
But nothing came out. My mind went entirely, brutally blank. The words twisted in my throat, turning into a knot of static that refused to form. What do I vow? To protect? The word felt empty, a hollow lie. To grow stronger? Selfish.Just a shield for my own ego. To bring Mom back? The thought hit like a physical blow—cruel, impossible, a fantasy for a child.
My breathing fractured into ragged, trembling gasps. My fingers scraped desperately against the rough stone beneath me, drawing ghost-pains across my skin. Suddenly, I wasn't in the glowing plaza anymore. I was back in that dim alley, the walls closing in, laughter ringing in my ears as the bigger kids shoved me against the cold, unyielding bricks. I remembered the exact taste of copper in my mouth, the terrifying realization that I had nothing to fight back with. Nothing to defend myself.
Powerless.
The memory coiled like a cold snake in my stomach, squeezing the air right out of me. I couldn't go back to that. I couldn't let the heavens see that I was still just that helpless kid on the ground.
A shoulder hard-checked mine, snapping me violently back to reality. The alleyway vanished, and I was back on my knees in the freezing, crowded plaza. Beside me, Yinoh's eyes were shut tight, his brow furrowed in a prayer of unwavering focus. He knew exactly what he wanted. Even if his dream was as simple as becoming a skewer seller, he had a direction.
But my lips still felt heavy, as if the air itself resisted my existence. Everyone else had spoken. Their words had floated up into the night, leaving behind a silence that pressed against my chest like a physical weight.
I stayed on my knees, caught in a paralyzing vice—desperate to scream something, anything, into the quiet, yet utterly terrified that the wrong word would ruin me forever.
Then, the atmosphere shifted.
The air began to hum—a low, reverent frequency that vibrated in the soles of my feet. A sudden, breathtaking warmth rippled through the Central Plaza, a gentle thrum passing from person to person like a wildfire of silent sparks.
Gasps echoed nearby—soft, awed, completely overwhelmed by the divine. Someone to my left burst into ragged, happy sobs. To my right, someone laughed under their breath, a sound of pure, disbelief-fueled ecstasy.
The blessings were falling. The heavens were answering. The Arkans had begun to choose.
I forced my eyes open, and the sheer majesty of it nearly blinded me. It was a symphony of light. One by one, the people around me were being pulled into the future—a grizzled veteran, a young girl, a merchant from the stalls. Shimmering, translucent energy began to manifest, wrapping them in halos of brilliance. Strangers and classmates alike were transforming right before my eyes—called by fate, painted in glory, ascending into heroes.
I stayed completely motionless—lips parted, chest heaving, trapped in a pocket of pitch-black shadow that felt like it was actively shrinking around me.
Just a few more seconds, I told myself. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic, echoing countdown. Any moment now.
I waited. I forced my eyes to stay wide, staring into the blinding silver brilliance of the plaza, begging for a single stray spark to drift my way. I waited for that heavy, comforting warmth of my father's hug to finally ignite into a miracle. Please, I whispered silently to the empty air. Please, just give me something to tell him.
Another second ticked by. Then another.
The agonizing silence stretched out inside my head, even as the world around me roared with the ecstasy of the chosen. The light continued to wash over the crowd, a tidal wave of silver that illuminated every crying, laughing face—but whenever a beam drifted near my silhouette, it seemed to die out. It actively curved around my outline, refusing to touch my skin, leaving me entirely in the dark.
The seconds bled into an eternity. The burning hope in my chest suffocated slowly, cooling down degree by agonizing degree until it felt like a block of ice in my stomach.
The frantic panic slowly began to quiet down, replaced by a hollow, dead weight. There were no more seconds to count. No more miracles to beg for. The desperate tension in my shoulders gave way, slumping under a sudden, exhausting gravity.
Then, the end arrived.
The silver glow of the moon began to dim, retreating into the night sky. One by one, the plaza's grid lights flickered back to life, their artificial, buzzing yellow a harsh insult to the fading magic. The divine warmth vanished, replaced by a heavy, clinical chill.
I let out a ragged, broken breath. It was over. I had failed.
And then—a spark.
In the dead quiet of my despair, a faint, crystalline light bloomed right beside me. My heart leaped into my throat as I turned, desperately praying the warmth had finally found me.
But the silver radiance wasn't reflecting off my skin. It was illuminating the face of the boy kneeling next to me.
Yinoh.
Brilliant threadlight wrapped around him like liquid starlight—soft, serene, and absolute. Yinoh's eyes fluttered open as the divine warmth sank into his skin, sealing his fate. When he looked at me, his face was glowing with that new, celestial radiance. I forced my mouth to move, trying to smile at him, but my lips felt like a mask made of lead.
He started to smile back—until he actually saw me.
I watched the joy slowly die in his eyes as he realized I was still kneeling, trapped in the cold. He said nothing. He didn't have to. The heavy, suffocating shadow draped around my shoulders spoke for itself.
As the last strands of moonlight unraveled from the plaza and drifted back into the sky, the world plunged back into ordinary darkness. But I stayed exactly as I was. Unchanged. Hollow.
The truth settled into my bones, slow and agonizing. I hadn't just failed the rite. It was worse than that. I realized I had come to the Celestial Weave with nothing but a void in my chest.
What kind of fool kneels before the heavens with nothing to offer but doubt?
The Arkan hadn't missed me in the crowd. It hadn't been an oversight.
The sky had looked directly at me. It had searched me, weighed me, and found absolutely nothing worth taking.