The morning of the Lumina Aptitude Test marked the a milestone for all those who just turned sixteen. The Shenya orphanage abandoned its usual hush. It was as if every wooden floorboard and windowpane had been roused by the day's importance; even the ancient grandfather clock in the entryway ticked with a sharper authority, as though it would accept no dawdling or delays.
Kai had awoken hours earlier than necessary, and the quiet before sunrise had given him time to prepare—three full sets of pushups, a triplet of knuckle-bruising shadow drills behind the boys' dorm, and then a careful walk around the courtyard to still the thrum in his chest. But now, as the thin winter sunlight leaked through the frost-rimmed glass, he sat in the common room feeling a different sort of nerves: the eyes of every orphan in Shenya upon him
He stared at his hands, resting in his lap. He flexed them experimentally, as if testing whether the day would reveal any new strength. When he glanced up at the mirror, the rest of him looked no sturdier—narrow shoulders hunched against the chill, collarbone stark beneath the too-small tunic, green eyes in the glass wide and uncertain. He didn't look like a knight.
"Hold still." Maya's voice, a husky command, drifted from behind him. She appeared suddenly at his side, a brush in one hand, and swept his short brown hair back from his forehead with a quick, practiced motion. "You look like you slept in a hedgerow," she chided, but there was a gentleness in the way she pressed her palm to his crown and held it there a beat longer than necessary. Her hands always smelled faintly of pine resin and cloves, and the warmth of her touch banished, for a moment, the cold dread clinging to Kai's skin.
She set down the brush and took up the ceremonial tunic from the arm of the chair. "Stand." He did, and she slipped the fabric over his head, tugging it down to meet his belt. The tunic was two years too small, the sleeves riding high on his wrists and the hem revealing a strip of shin above his boots. Kai tried to tug them down discreetly, but Maya caught his hand mid-motion.
"It fits," she said, and that ended the matter.
The other orphans lined the walls, dressed in their patchwork best. They watched Kai with an odd, reverent silence, as if afraid that speaking might jinx his chances or anger the Church officials who'd be arriving soon. Tomas, who usually had a wisecrack for every occasion, just looked at his shoes. Even Jessa, the smallest girl, clutched her ragdoll tight to her chest and said nothing.
Maya knelt and began working at Kai's boots, tucking in the laces and wiping away the flecks of last night's mud. He wanted to protest—he was almost sixteen, not a child to be dressed by his guardian—but the truth was, he liked the attention. Today, more than ever, he needed someone to anchor him.
She rose to her full, unimpressive height (barely up to his chin now), and began straightening his collar. Her fingers moved with certainty, pausing only when she encountered the steel pendant that hung from Kai's neck. It was the last gift from his father, and Maya treated it with a gravity that made it seem like a holy relic.
She held the pendant between two fingers and looked at him, her brown eyes so fierce he almost flinched. "Remember," she said, low and steady, "no matter what that crystal says, you are Alaric Fischer's son. And you are my boy. That is your worth." Her thumb traced the disk, as if blessing it, and then she let go.
Kai nodded, unable to force words past the sudden ache in his throat. He pressed his palm over the pendant, feeling its odd, ambiguous temperature—cool on the skin, but somehow warm inside, like a memory of a hearth long dead.
There was a rustle as Maya turned to check the rest of his appearance. She swatted at a spot of lint on his shoulder and, apparently satisfied, gestured for him to spin around. "You look like a real squire. Maybe even a knight." She winked. "Try not to faint when you see the cathedral. Or the crystal."
"I won't," Kai said, though he wasn't sure if he was lying.
Maya's face softened, the strict lines dissolving into worry. She glanced over at the assembled children and then leaned in, voice pitched low. "You're going to be fine. You've always been fine. They're going to take one look at you and say, 'That boy has more Lumen than the old cathedral's chandelier.' I'd wager on it."
Kai managed a laugh, but it came out strangled. He thought of Instructor Vantis, of how the man's eyebrows would climb when presented with numbers higher than twenty. He rehearsed the scores in his head—fifteen would get him into the town guard, twenty might open a real apprenticeship, thirty would make him a local legend—but any number below five and he'd be back here, washing floors and making himself useful while the others grew up and left.
"Don't forget your cloak," Maya said, producing it with a flourish. She wrapped it around his shoulders, her hands lingering on the clasp. "And keep your chin up. Knights don't slouch."
He straightened, pulling himself to the full extent of his meager height. The room seemed to hush even more, if that was possible. For a second, he wanted to freeze time here—before the test, before the certainty of disappointment, before the world changed.
Maya gave him a nudge toward the door. "Go on, then. If you miss your slot, the Celebrant will have my head."
Kai turned to the children, half-expecting one last joke or a round of applause. Instead, Tomas raised a hand in silent salute, and Jessa offered her doll as a lucky talisman. Kai grinned and shook his head—he'd never been one for superstition—but he accepted both gestures as the only magic that mattered.
He stepped into the cold hallway, the pendant heavy against his chest. The hope in him was small and breakable, but it burned with all the intensity of a lantern on a winter's night. He clutched it close, repeating the numbers—fifteen, twenty, thirty—in time with his footsteps, each echo a promise to himself and to Maya.
Outside, the air was sharp and bright, and the bells of the cathedral had already begun to ring.
The Lumina Cathedral loomed over the town square, its silhouette slicing through the morning fog like the prow of a warship. When Kai reached its steps, he joined a silent procession of children and parents and lesser officials, all filing into the yawning mouth of the nave. The doors themselves were taller than any house in Shenya, reinforced with steel bands and etched all over with the sigil of the Source—a perfect, burning sun, radiating lines that somehow always felt aimed directly at the heart.
Inside, the world shrank to a chilly echo chamber of marble and shadow. The air was sharp with incense, and the only sound was the alternating click of hard-soled shoes and the soft shuffle of wool slippers on polished stone. It took a moment for Kai's eyes to adjust; the stained glass above cast a webwork of amber and blue across the far wall, but the highest arches were lost in a perpetual dusk.
The seating, as always, told you everything about your place in Shenya. The first rows, up near the dais, belonged to the Lumina-Touched—descendants of the old bloodlines, with hair and skin polished to a shine and Lumen scores that guaranteed at least a lifetime of command. Their children sat beside them, miniature versions of the adults, every head perfectly groomed, hands folded in anticipation.
The second section—larger and noticeably plainer—housed the Stalwart: shopkeepers, artisans, the better sort of farmer. The parents here wore practical clothes, but they'd ironed them for the occasion, and their children's hair was combed to a crisp. These were the people who kept Shenya running, who sent taxes and provisions up the chain, and who might, with a bit of luck, marry their line into the front rows some day.
The Dimmed filled the back: laborers, the odd peddler, and anyone who couldn't name their ancestors three generations back. The air was different here—warmer, spiced with nervous sweat and soap from hurried morning baths. No one made eye contact; most were here because the law required it, and they kept their hands busy mending old gloves or cleaning their children's faces with spit.
Kai was shepherded into the very last row, reserved for the wards of the Church. There were only four of them today; the rest of the orphans were either too young, or already off to work in the mills. Kai took his seat on the end, knees pressed together, cloak drawn tight, trying to look smaller than he was. He was aware of every glance that slid over him—none lingered, but all carried a weight, like a book being set quietly on a shelf.
A bell pealed from somewhere deep inside the cathedral, and the ceremony began. The golden-robed officials processed in a slow, measured line up the central aisle, led by the Head Celebrant. His beard was trimmed in a style that made his chin look perpetually lifted, and his eyes scanned the pews as if searching for a single, invisible flaw. Behind him came two Acolytes carrying the Lumina Shard: a fist-sized crystal of something that looked like diamond but pulsed gently with its own light. It was rumored to be a fragment of a giant Ley Line amplifier.
Kai had seen it only once before, at a funeral for one of the town's old guard. Then, it had been set high on the altar, catching the sun and refracting it in a thousand little rainbows. Today, the Crystal's glow was more subdued, and Kai wondered whether that was a trick of the glass, or a sign of the day's gravity.
One by one, the children were called forward.
First was Maris Holten, whose father ran the grain silos on the east edge of town. She walked with the brisk confidence of someone who'd rehearsed the trip a dozen times. At the base of the dais, she placed her hands on the Crystal, and the Acolyte intoned the words of measurement. The light flared, not blinding but definite, and a number hung in the air for all to see: "Twelve." There was a polite clap from the front rows, and Maris's mother beamed. Her father's face twitched—not disappointment, exactly, but the tight-lipped calculation of a man whose daughter would now have to settle for a less prestigious marriage.
Next came Berrick Dors, from the Stalwart section. He hesitated on the walk up, tripping a little on the steps, but managed to place his palms on the Crystal with only a minor tremor. The light was fainter this time; the number "Seven" hovered a heartbeat longer than the previous one, as if daring anyone to argue. Berrick's mother patted his shoulder and whispered something in his ear, but his father kept his eyes fixed on the floor, jaw set.
The Head Celebrant moved efficiently down the list, each name a little more ordinary, each number a little smaller. Every time the Crystal flared, Kai found his own hopes shrinking in proportion. He watched the faces of the children as they returned to their seats—some glowed with pride, some blinked back tears. The back rows watched in silence, every result a quiet rehearsal for their own fate.
When the "Dimmed" section was called, the atmosphere shifted. The children here approached the altar like prisoners, their postures already resigned. The Crystal rewarded them with numbers that barely registered, and the Celebrant's voice grew ever more perfunctory. At "Three," there was no applause, not even from the family. At "One," a boy named Jerrik simply stood motionless until an usher gently guided him back to his seat.
Kai barely heard the names as the officials worked through the rest of the list. His own heartbeat was so loud it seemed to shake the pew. He scanned the rows near the altar, searching for the one face he truly cared about.
There—among the chapter officials, standing stiff and upright, was Instructor Vantis. He wore his formal uniform, the blue trim stark against the gold and white of the Church functionaries. Vantis's arms were folded behind his back, but his eyes flickered constantly between the children at the Crystal and the back rows, as if he could will a higher score into existence by sheer force of concentration.
Kai felt his hope surge, foolish and stubborn. Instructor Vantis believed in him. Maya believed in him. All he needed was to show the Crystal that he belonged—maybe not at the front, but somewhere other than the absolute bottom.
The last name before Kai's was called: "Anya Mores, Wards Section." The girl ahead of him was ten, and her hands barely reached the edges of the Crystal. The Celebrant placed her palms more securely on the surface, and the light flickered just once, uncertain. "One," the Celebrant said, and for the first time, Kai saw the man's lips curl in faint distaste.
Anya's face went blank. She returned to her seat and stared straight ahead, eyes glazed. Kai wanted to say something, but he couldn't move—couldn't even blink. His own name was already in the air, echoing off the marble with the certainty of a final verdict.
"Kai Fischer, Wards Section."
There was a ripple then—a disturbance he felt rather than saw, as every head in the cathedral turned to fix on him. For the span of a single breath, he was the only soul in the world.
He stood, legs unsteady, and made his way up the aisle. Each step felt heavier than the last, as though the building itself wanted to root him in place. The faces blurred together: the Touched with their smug smiles, the Stalwart already looking past him, the Dimmed staring with a kind of hungry solidarity.
At the front, Instructor Vantis caught his eye and held it. The nod was slow, deliberate. Not a promise, but a challenge: Show them.
Kai mounted the steps, cloak whispering against the stone, and stood before the Lumina Shard. He could feel the thrum in the air—a tension already coiling in his chest, not fear but a strange, hollow gravity. His nerves weren't just raw; they were drawn tight, as if the world itself held its breath.
The Acolyte signaled, and Kai placed his hands on the Shard—palms flat, fingertips splayed, just as he'd practiced so many times before.
The Head Celebrant's voice rang out, sharp and ceremonial: "Let the Source reveal your worth."
Kai squeezed his eyes shut and braced for the expected warmth, the familiar glow he'd witnessed. But instead, the air around him shifted—an icy, unnatural stillness that rippled out from his skin.
With a sudden, breath-snatching jolt, the light in the room reacted—not just from the Shard, but from everywhere. The flames in the torches guttered, flickered, then began to bend, drawn toward him by a silent, impossible wind. The soft glow of the other students' crystals winked out, their color siphoned away in thin, trembling ribbons of luminescence.
Kai's eyes flew open. All around him, the light drained into the Shard beneath his hands, which darkened at its core until it became a starless black—a void that devoured every glint and shadow, swallowing the world's color in a single, terrifying heartbeat.
The silence was total.
Then, in a violent flash, the Shard convulsed with a sound like metal shrieking under strain—a sudden crackle, the unmistakable tang of ozone and burning copper flooding the air. The pedestal beneath his hands vibrated, twitching with an energy that felt sickening and wrong.
Kai staggered back, tearing his hands free just as the Shard shorted out. A thin wisp of smoke curled from the crystal's base. The entire cathedral seemed to reel from the aftershock; the candles guttered back to life, but their flames were feeble, shivering.
For a moment, there was only stunned silence. Then the whispers began, as thin and cold as the darkness that had just devoured the room.
"Zero?"
"Lumen-Null—?"
"A hollow—? Is that possible?"
Someone, somewhere in the Touched section, let out a single, high-pitched laugh that was quickly stifled. The Stalwart exchanged glances, suddenly grateful for their own meager scores. The Dimmed just stared, eyes wide with something like awe—or fear.
Kai stood frozen, the echo of the void still roaring in his ears. His hands shook, his heart pounding. He looked down at the Shard, which was now merely a dead thing—gray, inert, faintly smoking.
The Head Celebrant's expression shifted from patience to outright alarm, then soured into something darker. He stepped back, almost tripping over his own robe, and spat out the verdict: "Zero," he said, but the word was a curse. "Lumen-Null."
The world seemed to tilt. Kai barely remembered stumbling down the steps, the shame and terror pressing in from all sides. Wherever he looked, people's faces were lit by the memory of that darkness, their eyes skittish, their bodies drawn protectively inward.
Maya waited for him at the foot of the aisle, her face crumpling into an expression that looked less like fear and more like she was seeing a ghost. Her eyes held a depth of sorrow, a realization of the weight Kai would bear as a Lumen-Null. Kai sidestepped her embrace, muttering, "I can't—I'm sorry—" before breaking into a flat run.
He pushed through the doors and into the cold, the stink of burnt metal still clinging to his skin, the judgment and horror of the crowd heavy on his back. He ran, vision blurred, breath ragged, as if he could outpace the hole inside him—the emptiness that had, for one impossible moment, swallowed all the light in the world.
He ran until the world blurred, until the rows of houses with their half-frozen gardens and smoky chimneys were nothing but streaks of color. Every alley, every market stall, every archway that once welcomed him now seemed to lean away, recoiling from his presence. He took back ways and shortcuts, cutting through the old mill yard and across the frozen creek, desperate to put distance between himself and the weight of all those eyes.
He didn't stop until the cobblestones gave way to rutted dirt, then to the soft, forgiving carpet of last year's pine needles. He stumbled once, hard, and let himself tumble down a shallow embankment into the hollow where he'd learned to fight, where his father had once shown him how to snare a rabbit without getting caught on the thorns.
Here, finally, there was no one to see.
Kai knelt, breath burning in his throat, and tried to steady himself. But the words from the cathedral followed, sticking to the back of his teeth: Zero. Lumen-Null. Hollow. A vessel not only empty but wrong.
He pulled at the pendant, almost tearing the leather cord from his neck. He gripped the cold steel disk in his fist, fingers white with effort, and for a moment thought he could rip it off, hurl it into the dark line of trees where nothing could ever find it again. But his hand refused to open. It clenched tighter, and the pain of it—of holding on to the last thing that meant anything—was sharper than the cold.
The silence was absolute. In the distance, a hawk cried, and somewhere a branch snapped under the weight of new snow. But in the hollow, there was only Kai, and the weight of his father's name, and the echo of the world's judgment.
"Hollow," he whispered, letting the word fill him. "Null. Nothing."
He pressed his forehead to the frozen ground and let the forest swallow the rest.
The cold eventually numbed his hands and knees, and Kai let himself sag against the mossy bank. He stared at the ground, waiting for some piece of himself to float to the surface—anger, maybe, or the old hunger to prove them all wrong—but there was nothing left but the ache in his chest and the knowledge that he'd lost the only thing that ever belonged to him.
Above, the branches laced together in a gray web, filtering what little light the day had left. He wondered if anyone would notice he was gone. Maya, maybe, but she had the others to care for, and even her faith had its limits. Instructor Vantis would report the result to the Council, and then he'd be a footnote, a warning to future hopefuls. Don't be like the Fischer boy.
The silence pressed in. He closed his eyes, he wished his father had never brought him to the woods, never taught him to track or run or fight. Maybe then the disappointment would have been easier—quieter, less like a blade and more like a slow, painless fade.
But the world was rarely so kind.
He might have stayed there forever, frozen into the hillside, but a movement at the edge of hearing made him look up. Just a whisper of wind, he told himself, or a rabbit. There were no other possibilities; he was alone at the end of all things.
Kai huddled deeper into his cloak, eyes red and stinging, and waited for the darkness to finish its work.