Caelan Veyne's POV
Three days had passed since the Marking Ceremony.
Three days since the world I knew had turned its back on me.
And yet, life did not stop for the unchosen.
The sun still rose, harsh and cold. The city gates still creaked open at dawn, and the market squares still buzzed with life. Nareth was too old, too proud, to pause for the shame of one half-blood boy.
But for me, everything had changed.
---
I pulled my cloak tighter around my shoulders as I made my way down the cracked streets of Lower Nareth, head low, hood up.
The morning air carried the scents of roasting meat and damp stone, mixed with the sharp tang of iron from the forge rows. Voices barked and laughed and cursed around me, but none spared me more than a passing glance — unless it was a sneer, or a whispered word too soft for decency.
I passed a group of merchants near the Weaver's Square. Their conversation faltered as I neared.
"That's him," one muttered, not bothering to lower his voice. "The unchosen brat."
I kept walking.
Pretending not to hear.
Pretending it didn't burn like acid under my skin.
---
School was no better.
The Academy of Binding — once the dream of every youth in Nareth — now felt like a cage.
The great marble arches that crowned its entrance no longer seemed welcoming.
The silver script engraved along the lintels — "Knowledge Is The Root Of Power" — mocked me with every step I took inside.
The main hall bustled with students, the newly Marked glowing with barely contained pride.
Fresh sigils burned across their chests and arms — intricate, shimmering marks tied to whichever god had accepted them. A girl with golden curls bore the radiant seal of Vaelen, god of Light and Judgment. A dwarf boy thumped his chest proudly, the crimson brand of Jorvak, god of War, peeking from under his cloak.
I wore nothing.
No Mark.
No divine favor.
No place.
As I made my way toward my assigned classroom, conversations hushed and parted like waves around me.
Snickers followed in my wake.
"Maybe the gods know something we don't."
"Maybe he's cursed."
"Poor bastard. Should have stayed hidden."
My jaw tightened, but I said nothing.
Words wouldn't change their minds.
Not anymore.
---
The classroom smelled of old parchment and burnt oil from the lamps set into the walls.
Rows of stone benches stretched toward a broad platform where Master Selen awaited — a stern-faced elf draped in deep blue robes, spectacles perched precariously on the bridge of his nose.
As I entered, a few students glanced up.
A few stared longer.
One of them — Kieran Marrow — smirked.
Kieran had been born into one of the city's old noble houses. Full-blooded human, pure and proud. His Mark — a gleaming serpent coiled around a flame — peeked from the collar of his tunic.
I had never liked him.
Now, it seemed, he had every excuse to hate me openly.
"Well, well," Kieran drawled, loud enough for the whole room to hear. "If it isn't the gods' reject."
Laughter rippled through the benches.
I felt heat crawl up the back of my neck.
I said nothing.
I crossed the room, slid into an empty seat at the farthest bench.
But silence, I had learned, was a kind of challenge, too.
Kieran rose from his seat, sauntering down the aisle with theatrical slowness.
Master Selen hadn't arrived yet. No one would stop him.
He stopped beside my bench, leaning down so his breath brushed my ear.
"Maybe you should sit outside," he said, voice soft and venomous. "You stink of failure."
His hand slammed against my shoulder, shoving me sideways.
The bench scraped loudly against the stone floor.
The laughter grew louder.
I clenched my fists beneath the table.
"Not here. Not now. Don't give them the satisfaction."
But Kieran wasn't finished.
He grabbed the collar of my cloak and yanked it back, exposing my silver hair and violet eyes to the room.
"Look at him," he jeered. "Like a little lost dog."
The others laughed harder.
I stood slowly.
Not because I wanted to fight.
But because sitting made me feel smaller.
Kieran's grin widened. "What are you gonna do, mongrel? Pray harder?"
Before I could answer, the door banged open.
Master Selen entered, robes billowing like storm clouds.
The room snapped to silence.
Kieran straightened quickly and slunk back to his seat, smirking.
Master Selen's gaze swept the room, lingering on me for the briefest moment before moving on as if I were no more important than a crack in the wall.
"Open your texts," he said sharply. "Page seventy-two. Today we study the histories of divine conflict."
And just like that, life moved on.
As if nothing had happened.
As if I was nothing at all.
---
The lesson blurred.
My thoughts drifted, pulled away from the dry recitation of ancient wars and treaties.
I stared out the high windows, watching clouds drift across the pale morning sky.
A sparrow perched on the ledge, cocking its head curiously.
Free. Unmarked. Untouched by gods.
Something twisted in my chest.
By the time the bell rang to signal the end of class, I was the first to rise, stuffing my battered text into my satchel and slipping out the door before anyone else could corner me.
I heard Kieran's voice follow me down the hall.
"Run, mongrel! Maybe you'll find a god that wants you!"
The laughter stung more than it should have.
---
Mother tried to pretend everything was fine.
When I returned home that evening, the little house smelled of baked bread and stew — poor food, but warm. She greeted me with a bright smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"How was your day?" she asked, brushing hair from her face with flour-dusted hands.
I lied.
Because what else could I do?
"It was fine," I said.
She nodded too quickly. "Good. Good."
We sat at the table and ate in silence.
The fire cracked and popped.
Outside, the city buzzed and muttered, a world apart from us.
When I finished, I stood and carried my bowl to the washbasin.
"Caelan," Mother said suddenly, voice soft. "You know it doesn't matter, right? The Mark. The gods. All of it."
I turned to her.
Her hands were trembling.
"You are enough," she said fiercely. "You always have been."
I wanted to believe her.
I wanted to.
But deep inside, the hollow space where my Mark should have been yawned wider.
I nodded, forcing a smile.
Then fled upstairs before she could see my face crack.
---
That night, the dreams came again.
Not dreams, exactly.
More like... presences.
I stood in endless darkness, the stars wheeling far overhead.
A cold wind tore across barren plains.
And a voice — so vast it seemed the world itself spoke — whispered from beyond the veil.
But the words were lost.
Just echoes in the void.
I woke gasping, drenched in sweat, heart hammering against my ribs.
Moonlight slanted through the cracks in the roof, painting silver lines across the loft.
I sat up, shivering.
Somewhere deep inside, something was stirring.
Something vast.
Something terrible.
Something mine.
But I didn't know that yet.
Not truly.
For now, there was only darkness.
And the slow, grinding passage of a world that had no place for the unchosen.