Caelan Veyne's POV
The bell tolled like a funeral drum.
The sound rolled over the rooftops of Lower Nareth, heavy and slow, dragging me through the morning mist like a man condemned.
I tugged my cloak tighter around my body, feeling the chill seep through the thin fabric.
Today, it felt heavier than ever.
Or maybe it was just me.
Every step toward the Academy made my stomach tighten until it felt like a fist was squeezing my gut.
But I kept walking.
What else could I do?
---
The Academy's courtyard was already bustling when I arrived.
Students milled about in clusters, laughter and conversation filling the air — but when I passed, conversations faltered, and the laughter sharpened into something crueler.
I kept my head down.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw them: boys and girls with the bright gleam of fresh Marks across their skin, proudly displayed like badges of honor.
And me?
Still nothing.
Still the unchosen.
Still the failure.
---
Classes were worse.
Master Selen had assigned us to practice our first invocations — basic exercises designed to channel divine mana through our Marks. Simple tasks, for the marked.
For the rest of us... impossible.
The classroom stank of ozone and scorched parchment as my classmates summoned tiny miracles.
A girl across from me whispered a prayer to Vaelen, and a thread of light danced between her fingers.
A dwarf two benches away clenched his fists, and his body glowed faintly with the blessing of Jorvak.
When it was my turn, I stood before the invocation circle.
Waited.
Focused.
Nothing.
The silence stretched.
Master Selen cleared his throat loudly. "Perhaps... another try, Veyne."
I tried again. Harder. Willing something — anything — to happen.
Still nothing.
Snickers rippled through the room.
Someone coughed the word "Mongrel" under their breath.
I felt my cheeks burn. I clenched my hands until my nails dug into my palms.
But it was useless.
I had no Mark.
No connection to any god.
No power to summon.
Master Selen pursed his lips as if I had personally offended him.
He said nothing more.
He didn't need to.
When I slunk back to my seat, Kieran leaned over and whispered, "Maybe try barking. The gods might answer a good dog."
I stared straight ahead.
---
The day dragged on.
At lunch, no one sat near me.
The long tables of the mess hall were packed with laughing, jostling students — but a wide, invisible circle formed around me wherever I moved.
When I tried to find an empty seat, trays were shifted, chairs were nudged away.
I ended up eating alone at the far corner of the hall, picking at cold bread and watery stew that tasted like ash.
I told myself it didn't matter.
But it did.
Gods, it did.
---
It got worse after lunch.
On my way to History of Conflict, I passed the training courtyard — just as Kieran and his group were sparring under the watchful eyes of Master Velkan.
Kieran saw me.
And smiled.
Before I could move past, he "accidentally" tripped me with the butt of his practice staff.
I stumbled, caught myself.
Laughter erupted around the courtyard.
"Careful, unchosen," Kieran said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Wouldn't want you breaking that pretty silver head of yours."
Master Velkan said nothing.
Did nothing.
I saw the flicker of a smirk on his face before he turned away.
That hurt more than Kieran's words.
The teachers weren't blind.
They just didn't care.
I wasn't one of them anymore.
I wasn't anyone.
---
When classes ended, Master Selen summoned me to his office.
The room smelled of old parchment and dust, just like he did.
He didn't invite me to sit.
"Caelan Veyne," he said, tapping his fingers against the thick oak desk, "it has been... discussed."
He didn't meet my eyes.
"You are no longer fit to attend the Academy."
The words hit like a hammer, even though I had seen it coming.
"But—" I started, voice cracking. "But I—"
"There is no 'but', boy," Selen snapped, finally looking up. His expression was flat, almost bored. "Without a Mark, you cannot channel mana. You cannot perform divine magic. You cannot become a Binder. Continuing your education here would be... wasteful."
The word hung in the air, rotting.
Wasteful.
I stood there, stunned.
Speechless.
"You may collect your things," he said, already shuffling papers on his desk, dismissing me like a servant. "You are dismissed."
And just like that, the door to everything I had worked for — everything my mother had sacrificed for — slammed shut in my face.
---
I stumbled home through the evening fog.
Lower Nareth was quieter now. The vendors had packed away their wares, and the taverns glowed dimly behind shuttered windows. The world felt heavy, pressed down by the gray sky and the scent of rain.
When I pushed open the door to our little house, Mother looked up from the hearth.
Her face brightened when she saw me.
"Caelan! You're home early. I— I made stew. Your favorite. Sit, let's eat together—"
I couldn't hold it in anymore.
I slammed the door behind me harder than I meant to.
The walls rattled.
Mother flinched, dropping the spoon she held.
"I don't want to eat!" I snapped.
The words exploded out of me, raw and bitter.
"I don't want stew! I don't want fake smiles! I don't want to pretend everything's fine when it's not! It's never been fine! You don't understand!"
Mother's face crumpled, pain flashing in her eyes like a physical blow.
She opened her mouth to say something — but nothing came out.
The silence between us stretched, thick and suffocating.
Guilt punched through my anger, hollowing me out.
"I'm sorry," I whispered hoarsely, head bowing.
Tears burned behind my eyes.
"I'm sorry, Mother. I didn't mean— I just— I'm sorry."
I crossed the room and fell to my knees before her, pressing my forehead against her lap like I had when I was a little boy after nightmares.
Her hands, hesitant at first, found their way into my hair.
"It's alright," she whispered, voice trembling. "It's alright, Caelan. You're allowed to hurt. You're allowed."
But the words felt hollow.
Because nothing was alright.
And I wasn't sure it ever would be again.
---
That night, as rain hammered the roof, I lay awake in my loft bed staring at the cracked ceiling.
The world was small now.
Smaller than it had ever been.
No Academy.
No future.
No place among the chosen.
Only the endless days of survival in a city that barely tolerated my existence.
I thought about Father — the man I barely remembered.
Dead in some forgotten war before I was old enough to speak.
Would he have been proud of me?
Would he have understood?
I didn't know.
I didn't know anything anymore.
Except one thing:
If the gods had rejected me...
Then I would reject them right back.
I would carve my own path through this broken world.
Even if it killed me.