Ever since he was a kid, Lorien Silverstone knew one thing; he wasn't normal. It wasn't one of those cliché plots where he was some sort of child legend who somehow managed to come in contact with some sort of mythical and rare power that nobody else had access to. In fact, it was for the opposite reason.
People who have been blessed by the gods, demigods as they are so often called, have a parent god. A god who the origins of their powers can be traced back to. For example, someone who can manipulate water or ice or something similar can be traced back to Sylphara, the goddess of nature. If one could create and cast illusions, they can be traced back to Verrakos, the god of tricksters. But Lorien Silverstone didn't have any powers to speak of for its origin to be traced back to a parent god. If not for the trademark tattoo of a throne on the chest of all demigods present in his body, he would just accepted his life and lived as a regular human.
"This sucks". Lorien muttered under his breath.
"I'm sorry Mr. Silverstone, next time you say something in my class then I expect you to say it out loud so everyone can hear your valuable contribution".
Lorien groaned internally. He was so lost in his thoughts that he had forgotten that he was in class.
'Fuck.'
"Sorry professor". Lorien said. "I was thinking out loud".
"Next time, let your thoughts stay in your head, where they should be"
"Yes sir". Lorien muttered under his breath.
As expected, in a world where there was a significant population of humans bearing supernatural powers, there were bound to be certain types of... measures put in place to ensure that they maximize their potentials, one of which was Luxarion Academy, one of many academic institutions strictly for demigods.
Lorien had no trouble getting into the academy as he was, well, he was a demigod. All he needed to do to gain admission was to show the tattoo on his chest and write a written test. He was a bit worried about the fact that he hadn't displayed any abilities yet but the professors assured him that some people were simply late bloomers.
Unfortunately, that was five years ago, when he was still ten years old. Now, they had lost their patience. Their anger towards him was further fueled by the fact that he was the best student in the class, as far as theory subjects were concerned of course. He would place first in the class, with there being a sizable margin between him and the second place. The more he did well, the angrier the professors were. He was the worst kind of genius, the one that couldn't amount to anything.
"Alright everyone. That's all for today". Thalior, the professor who confronted Lorien earlier on said as the sound of a bell ringing echoed in the classroom, bringing Lorien out of his thoughts.
Lorien didn't wait for anyone else to start moving. He stuffed his notebooks into his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and was already at the door before most of the other students had even stood up.
He marched out of the classroom and went straight towards his dorm room. The familiar whispers trailed behind him like a shadow. He could hear the murmurs as he passed—students too cowardly to speak directly but too curious to keep quiet.
"Still nothing from him?"
"Five years and not a single spark..."
"I heard he trains with a rusty sword. Who even does that?"
He didn't flinch. He was used to it. He had to be.
As expected, easily being the weakest in the school he didn't have many friends. He didn't mind the isolation though; friends took time, and time was one thing that he didn't have.
When he reached his dorm room, he unlocked the door and stepped inside. It was quiet. Peaceful. Just the way he liked it. A single bed tucked against the wall, a desk covered in textbooks, scrolls, and sharpened pencils. There were no decorations, no personal touches. Just function.
He removed his school uniform which consisted of a blue shirt with grey pants and a grey blazer with an emblem depicting Luxarion, the god of light, the god the academy was named after. The emblem glinted slightly as he tossed the blazer onto his bed, the golden threads catching the sunlight streaming through the window.
Once he finished taking off his clothes, he rushed into the bathroom and stared at his reflection on the mirror.
He was tall, at least for his age. Standing at 5'11'' his height was something that other boys could be jealous of. He had a lean physique. Well, not lean enough to be considered thin but at the same time not thick enough that he was considered bulky. He was muscular though, his biceps, chest and abdominal area could easily be mistaken for that of a god if they did not belong to a malnourished-looking teenager.
He owed his physique to the hours of training he undertook everyday. He didn't have any powers so unlike everyone else, he had to work hard and learn things like sword and martial arts. The scars on his knuckles, the calluses on his palms, the bruises lining his forearms—they were badges of effort in a world that didn't value effort without power.
His eyes currently had lots of dark circles around them, and his brown hair was long and scattered about giving him a very tattered appearance. Lorien didn't seemed to mind it though. He took one long look at himself—expressionless—then turned on the shower.
The cold water hit his skin like needles, but he didn't react. He stood still as it poured over him, his thoughts drifting once again. He wondered, as he often did, if he would ever awaken to anything. If some hidden potential lay buried deep inside him, waiting to be unlocked. Or if this was it—if he really was the one mistake the gods had made.
After a brief shower, Lorien put on his training outfit which was just a black leather overall which covered his entire body except for his face. He tightened the straps, adjusted the fit, and rolled his shoulders.
He took his trusty weapon, a rusty katana that didn't have a sheath. The blade was old and chipped in a few places, the handle wrapped in layers of cloth he had tied himself. It wasn't pretty, but it was balanced—deadly in the right hands.
He rested it on the wall in one of the corners of his room and paused. His fingers hovered over the grip. He didn't like bringing it out when he felt unstable. But right now, he needed it.
After grabbing his sword, he went to the training ground thinking that he was going to be the only one there as usual.
To his surprise, he wasn't alone.
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