The sun began to sink below the western horizon like an ember slowly fading, painting the sky in shades of purple and orange. With it came the twilight—that fleeting, almost magical instant where light and darkness meet, stirring new emotions and shifting shadows. It was the day's final breath, preparing the world for what was to come.
Inside a grand oval hall, where the high ceiling seemed to swallow the torchlight, restless murmurs echoed from every side, vibrating against the polished stone walls. Dozens of adolescents stood side by side, awaiting the start of the coming-of-age ritual. This was no ordinary rite; for these youths, the weight of the day was immense. Just as they had reached physical maturity, this was the decisive moment to discover where their mana gate—or their nucleus—would lead them. Each of their fates was about to be sealed by the awakening of their own essence.
A few of the newly minted adults, dressed in elegant clothes that shimmered under the flickering light, spoke in small groups near the entrance, attempting to mask their nerves with an air of superiority. Among them, one girl stood out in a sky-blue dress that seemed to capture what little light remained in the hall. Her eyes were a deep blue, matching her silk, and her golden, curly hair cascaded over her shoulders. She was speaking to another girl, similarly elegant but dressed in emerald green. The latter had curious, light-brown eyes, and her hair shone with an intense red, as pure and vibrant as the crimson beginning to bleed into the sky outside, defying the encroaching dark.
The first girl, her posture impeccable, maintained a slightly defiant gaze, as if she were weighing the value of every soul present while she surveyed the room. Her disdain was subtle, yet evident in the arch of her brows.
"Don't you think there are far too many people below the standard here?" she asked in a low, sharp voice, looking directly at the second girl.
"Shouldn't everything be normal?" the second girl replied, blinking in confusion. "I've never been through this ritual, so I don't know much about how things are supposed to work," she added, smoothing the silk of her green dress with slightly trembling hands.
The girl in blue looked at her with an expression of disapproval—a mix of impatience and condescension. However, her expression soon softened as she realized such questions were pointless; despite her lineage, she herself had never experienced the process before.
"You're right..." she said, sighing and shifting her gaze to the opposite side of the room, where the shadows seemed denser. "It's just that when we go to noble galas, we only find nobles, and here... well, here there are children of knights, wealthy commoners, and even a poor peasant..."
When she said "poor peasant," her gaze locked onto a boy who looked entirely out of place in that sea of opulence. He wasn't thin, but he lacked the robust musculature one would expect for his age. The youth leaned against a corner, strategically distanced from the central noise of the room, nearly blending into the shadows surrounding him. His presence was marked by the simplicity of a raw linen tunic in a natural beige, with dark brown details at the collar and wide cuffs. A plain leather belt cinched his waist, and his dark grey wool trousers disappeared into brown leather boots, reinforced by cloth leggings tightly bound at his shins.
Despite his humble, almost rustic attire, his pale skin stood out in the gloom like marble under moonlight. But it was his eyes that were most intriguing: a deep crimson, fierce and filled with an unusual calm. His long, platinum-white hair was tied back in a ponytail, though stray strands fell in a messy fringe over his face. He stood somewhere between five-foot-seven and five-foot-eleven, moving with an economy of gesture that suggested someone accustomed to going unnoticed.
Even without clearly hearing the nobles' whispers, he realized he was the subject of their conversation. There was an intuition there, something deeper than simple hearing. Even if these youths had not yet passed through the ritual, everyone born with an Arcane gift tends to radiate intent or energy involuntarily. The same applies to those receiving attention; they can feel the fluctuations in the air. Until they undergo intense control training, those who have awakened "leak" their intentions randomly, like ripples on a restless lake.
A slight discomfort began to stir in his chest as he noticed those judgmental stares. For a moment, he felt the weight of inequality and considered moving, hoping to step out of the sightline of the two high-born girls. He only wanted the silence of his corner. But just as he was about to pull away, a clear, firm voice called out to him, shattering his spell of isolation.
"Hey, boy, wait!" The voice cut through the surrounding noise with a firmness that brooked no refusal.
Kaelion turned abruptly to see a man in his mid-thirties who emanated a secure tranquility, like someone who had faced many battles. The man wore a heavy fabric tabard of deep burgundy that fell straight and imposing over his frame. Beneath it, his sleeves and legs were covered in a dense, textured grey material—some sort of protective padding or light chainmail designed to resist both cold and blades.
What truly drew the eye, however, was the wide black leather belt at his waist, which seemed to anchor him to the ground while supporting the weight of two weapons: a longsword, its scabbard tapping gently against his left hip, and a combat dagger ready for use on his right. The metal hilt glinted, reflecting the potential for a swift strike. Complete with high boots and grey leather gloves, the outfit spoke of a man well-acquainted with the perils of combat.
He was striking, possessing the features of a knight likely stationed there to protect a lady of the court. His brown hair was short and practical, while a bit of stubble gave him a rugged, experienced air. But the detail that commanded the most attention was his eyes: one was a vibrant red and the other a crystalline blue, creating a rare, almost supernatural contrast. It made it seem as though he saw the world in two different ways at once.
"What is it?" the boy asked, trying to keep his voice steady despite the weight of that bicolor gaze.
"What is your name?" the knight asked directly, staring Kaelion down with intensity.
Kaelion hesitated, the seconds seeming to drag as he studied the man. What did he want? Doubt gnawed at him; had he done something wrong? Did I accidentally offend a noble? Anxiety began to rise, but the knight repeated the question in a firmer tone, noticing the prolonged silence.
"I asked you, boy. What are you called?"
He hesitated again, wondering if he should hide his name or invent another. But clear reasoning soon prevailed; he knew it wouldn't be right, as the coming-of-age ritual was about to begin and his true name would be revealed soon enough. Thus, controlling the tremor in his hands and offering a respectful bow, he replied, "My name is Kaelion. Son of Kandria and Maribel."
"Kaelion..." the knight murmured, as if the name sounded familiar, stepping slightly closer to close the distance between them. "So, you are the son of Kandria and Maribel."
Kaelion stood confused, his face expressing his perplexity. Does he know my parents? he thought, holding back the urge to ask for fear of appearing disrespectful to someone of higher rank. His questioning expression made the knight let out a brief sigh, realizing he had not yet introduced himself.
"Ah, forgive me. I am Yever, a Fourth-Degree Knight. And I know your parents," he said, his voice softening as he cast aside his previously authoritative tone.
"You know my parents?" Kaelion could not hide a surge of curiosity that now far outweighed his initial dread.
"I do," Yever replied, his bicolor eyes momentarily losing focus, as if caught in the grip of more glorious memories. "Your father's family were once influential merchants in the Aldebaran region, until, unfortunately, everything changed..." Yever whispered, his tone heavy with a somber melancholy.
Though painful, this information was not entirely foreign to Kaelion. His father often told fragmented stories of the family's past, mentioning they were merchants with considerable sway in northern Aldebaran before things took a sharp turn. But he had never clarified what led to their ruin and the loss of their status. Perhaps, at the time, his father was only a child and did not know the details—or perhaps he preferred to keep the truth to himself, protecting his son from a burden he was not yet ready to carry. It was a complex puzzle, one Kaelion's father might reveal one day when he felt the time was right.
Yever noticed Kaelion's pensive look and cleared his throat to dispel the weight of the memories. He wanted to pull the young man's attention back to the gravity of the night that was only just beginning.
"I only wanted to know how they were faring, as it has been so long since I last saw them," Yever said, and for a moment, the rigidity of his knightly posture gave way to genuine nostalgia.
"They are well, Sir Yever," the youth replied, feeling a strange relief upon realizing the man's curiosity was friendly.
"Good. That gladdens me," Yever remarked, nodding slightly. He then focused his gaze on the boy's essence. "If you are here, does that mean you possess a Gate or a Nucleus?"
"I have a Mana Gate," Kaelion answered firmly, even as the knight's intense gaze made him feel exposed. He stared back at Yever, who examined him from head to toe as if he could see right through his linen tunic.
"So, someone from the family has finally touched the divine..." Yever murmured to himself, his voice so low it was nearly lost in the hall's low hum.
"I don't understand, Sir Yever?" Kaelion asked, his brow furrowed in a clear expression of confusion.
"Ah, it's nothing," Yever replied quickly, changing the subject with the skill of a man who keeps secrets. "Just thinking aloud. I am happy to know that Kandria's firstborn has a Gate or Nucleus. Well, I shall take my leave and return to my post before they realize I am missing. Tell your father I sent my regards," he said, already stepping away with firm, decisive strides.
Kaelion had no time to respond or offer his thanks. He stood there, processing the encounter, as the fear of having committed some grave error began to dissolve. Yet, the worry regarding social consequences still haunted him. Even if this temple was viewed as "neutral" ground—where, in theory, social classes shouldn't matter in the face of an arcane awakening—the reality he knew was far different. He knew nothing would stop the nobles from using any slip-up here to ruin his life outside these walls. Kaelion felt the weight of not wanting to cause trouble for his family, who had sacrificed everything so he could be present for this ritual. He looked down at his hands, remembering the money his parents didn't have but somehow gathered to buy these clothes, however simple they might be. Every thread of his tunic symbolized their struggle and their hope.
While Kaelion was absorbed in his thoughts, two girls on the other side of the hall had not taken their eyes off him. They had watched every second of his interaction with the Fourth-Degree Knight.
"Claudia, do you know what that knight is discussing with that commoner?" Jeniffer asked. The girl in the sky-blue dress spoke with a tone that mixed curiosity with a faint edge of disdain.
"I don't know, Jeniffer, but it doesn't seem like much. In a way, it looks like they know each other, or perhaps that's just my impression," replied Claudia, the girl in emerald green, her tone far more restrained.
Both were from noble families, but the difference in their conduct was stark. Claudia was the daughter of a Viscount—a respectable but mid-tier position. Jeniffer, on the other hand, was the daughter of a Marquess, which placed her in a seat of far greater power and influence. They were childhood friends with opposite personalities: Jeniffer was overtly snobbish, always boasting of her father's title and the purity of her blood, while Claudia was more discreet. She knew how to respect those of lower classes, perhaps because she was conscious that her family's history had not always been adorned with golden crests. But Claudia's origins were a complex tale for another time.
For a few moments, Claudia found herself watching Kaelion with a melancholic curiosity. She noticed how he began to pull away, seeking the darker corners far from the noisy crowd, as if he didn't want to be noticed—or perhaps he was just trying to avoid trouble. Claudia was fully aware of the harsh reality outside: commoners rarely had a voice against the nobility, especially the poor, whose lives many saw only as a source of labor to be exploited.
She let out an exasperated sigh, a sound of weariness that caught Jeniffer's attention. Her friend was also watching that "poor little scoundrel," as she labeled him in her mind. To Jeniffer, people like him were mere cogs meant to work tirelessly to maintain the luster of the high nobility.
"What is it, Claudia?" Jeniffer asked with a malicious lilt that made it clear she already suspected the answer. She knew Claudia well enough to know her friend wasn't as elitist as she was. In the territory of the Viscounts where Claudia came from, commoners were treated with a dignity Jeniffer found unnecessary—a way of ruling very different from most nobles.
"Nothing," Claudia replied, forcing a smile and changing the subject. Feeling the weight of the upcoming ritual, both began to chat about trivial topics. Although they seemed superficial, these matters were the center of the world for most people there.
Meanwhile, Kaelion moved like a shadow in the darkest corners of the oval hall. From his silent hiding place, he listened to the fragmented conversations of the children of nobles, knights, and even wealthy merchants. The latter, though also commoners, had enough money to feel entitled to be just as snobbish as those who called themselves "superior"—the heirs of the nobility.
"Look at that sewer rat. He actually thinks he can breathe the same air as us," a plump boy said, subtly pointing his chin toward Kaelion.
"It's true. People like him shouldn't even be allowed to cross the temple gates," replied a stronger, broad-shouldered boy, likely the son of an influential knight. "How could someone of such low class have contact with the divine? It's a waste of mana."
"How about playing a trick on him? Show him his place before the ritual?" the plump boy suggested with a malicious grin.
"Better not," whispered a third boy, who wore clothes of fine silk. He was a bit shorter than Kaelion but had a much more delicate and handsome face than the others. "Within these walls, we cannot have class disputes, even if only on the surface. If we are caught breaking the temple's neutrality, we'll have serious trouble with the priests."
The other two agreed, albeit reluctantly. They knew that the "we are all equal before the divine" speech was merely a convenient facade—a tool to maintain order and manipulate the masses that propped up the kingdom. Deep down, everyone knew that even if commoners possessed some Arcane gift, they almost never had real access to this ritual, let alone the chance to participate in what came after, such as training in elite academies.
For Kaelion to be there, participating in this rite, his parents had performed the impossible, sacrificing every cent they possessed and even what they did not. The memory of his humble home came to mind; he thought fondly of his younger sister, whom he loved deeply. She, in an act of purity and devotion, had decided to sacrifice the little she had to help her older brother. They knew Kaelion might not have a grand Arcane Gift and that the chances of being accepted as a disciple or receiving formal training were slim. But for his family, the mere fact that he could correctly awaken his Gift was a source of immense pride.
I won't disappoint my family. I'll show them that even if we are poor and come from nothing, we are capable of going further than anyone imagines, Kaelion promised himself silently. He clenched his fists tightly, feeling the intensity of that promise burn in his chest and further steeling his unshakable determination.
As Kaelion channeled his resolve, raising an invisible shield against the contempt of the nobles—who looked down not only on him but also on the silent sacrifice his family had made—the powerful sound of doors swinging open reverberated through the hall. The heavy thud caused the murmurs to vanish instantly. The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the echo of approaching footsteps.
He turned to look at the entrance, which was strategically positioned behind an elevated pulpit. It was then that he saw three men dressed in long ritualistic robes that covered them from neck to toe, nearly floating over the polished floor. Two of the priests wore robes of a deep purple, adorned with complex symbols and ancient runes representing the Kingdom's dominant religion. But what drew the eye was the priest leading them; his baby-blue robe, filled with symbols and runes, featured an extra detail: pure gold outlines, indicating his status in the hierarchy was much higher than that of the other two.
The priests' steps were silent, almost supernatural, yet every movement seemed to press the air from the lungs of the youths present. The wide hall, which previously seemed so vast, now felt smaller, compressed by the intensity of that presence. The silence was so profound that each adolescent's heart seemed to echo in their own ears like the beating of war drums; many began to breathe in short, irregular gasps.
Kaelion was no exception. He felt the oppressive weight of the moment; he knew he was in the presence of three figures from the priestly elite, who possessed as much political power as the nobility and, depending on the situation, even more. For a fleeting instant, his survival instinct screamed for him to flee that crushing pressure. But to where? Within that space, there was no escape. He breathed deeply, remembering that if he fled now, his family's entire sacrifice—every cent saved, every night his parents went hungry, and his sister's selfless gesture—would have been in vain. The only option was to move forward and never give up.
The three priests stopped solemnly before the altar in the center of the oval hall.
"Good evening, my noble children," said the priest in the baby-blue robe. His voice was soft, yet possessed a resonance that filled every corner of the space. "How are you?" he asked, offering a small, enigmatic smile.
He knew they were all nervous; this was the crucial moment: deciding whether they would follow the path of the Mages or the Swordsmen.
"I know well how you feel, for I went through this as well. It has been—what, some fifty years since I stood in your position, undergoing this ritual? Good times..." he remarked nostalgically.
The priest's appearance, however, did not look like that of an old man; this caused a strange and disconcerting impression on Kaelion. He knew that Magic could transform the human body, providing beauty and perhaps a longer life, but he didn't believe it could keep someone looking so young for so long. When the priest said that fifty years had passed since his ritual—and considering it took place at age fifteen—Kaelion realized the man must be around sixty-five years old. Yet, he looked like someone in his thirties, like his father. This revelation brought a new and profound perception of the possibilities within the arcane world.
"Anyway, I believe you are all anxious. Let us begin the ritual to Awaken your Arcane Gift," he concluded, turning elegantly and exiting through the same doors he had entered.
The other two priests began to issue immediate, dry orders. The organization was rigorous: people were separated according to their already detected internal natures. It was the essential divide between the Mana Gate and the Mana Nucleus. Each group would follow different corridors, as the rituals required distinct preparations.
Kaelion began to follow the shorter priest through the door on the left, walking in silence. Beside him, he noticed Jeniffer, the noble in blue, and the plump boy who had mocked him moments before. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Claudia following through the entrance on the right, destined for those with a Nucleus.
Thus, the hall was divided. Fate awaited, and the ritual was about to begin.