Koda stood.
The world blurred at the edges—nerves sharpening his focus. Each footstep toward the center of the dome echoed louder than it should have. He passed the worn marble tiles with their swirling silver inlays, the scent of incense lingering in the air, now strangely sweet and heavy.
The empty throne loomed before him—massive, ancient, carved from white stone veined with silver. It had never been occupied in living memory, and yet it radiated an air of solemn authority. Koda stood alone in its light.
He lowered his gaze.
Waited.
Then… it happened.
The glow began, faint at first, more like smoke than light. It bled from his skin in long, slow wisps—a dull black, tinged faintly in silver, like ash stirred beneath moonlight. It wasn't like the others. It wasn't bright. It didn't shimmer.
It swallowed the light around him.
A quiet buzz spread through the crowd. Words hissed behind hands. Uncertainty rippled across the faces of clergy and watchers alike. The Seer shifted—just slightly—but it was more movement than she had shown for any of the others.
Then came the buzz. A sharp sound—not heard, but felt—and a flicker in the air before Koda.
The world stuttered.
And then, his status screen appeared.
A pane of divine light hovered, faintly glowing. But it was wrong. Distorted. The script was fragmented—letters warping and collapsing into broken symbols. Error code where his skills should be. His name… Koda, of ????. His patron… [ERROR].
The crowd leaned in, hushed, breath held.
"Display your screen fully," one of the priests gently urged, stepping forward cautiously.
"I… I can't," Koda murmured. He stared at the symbols, blinking, willing them to make sense.
The priest reached into his robes, withdrawing a crystal wand. He held it over the screen.
A soft chime—then static.
"His patron line… it's not listed under any of the Four," the priest said quietly, eyes narrowing.
Another murmured, "Maybe a failure? A late flicker from incomplete divinity."
More priests surrounded the space. Some knelt, tracing sigils on the floor. Others peered at the status pane with growing suspicion.
"Check for divine attributes," the Seer spoke, her voice distant but absolute.
A younger attendant approached with a second crystal. She waved it in a slow arc over Koda's form.
Nothing.
No reading. No class. No skills.
Just the word:
[ERROR: Undefined]
The buzz had become anxious now. Like bees disturbed.
A voice broke the tension.
"He must leave. His soul lacks enough divinity to manifest a true blessing." The lead priest turned away, robes billowing. "Escorts, take him with the unawakened."
Koda stepped forward. "But… I had a glow. I—"
"You are not the first to show echoes," another priest said. "Be grateful it was harmless."
"But my eyes—" he blinked, realizing now they had shifted. A nearby mirror caught his reflection. His irises had turned—a pale, silvery gray, unfamiliar and cold.
Unnatural.
Unclaimed.
Unseen.
A quiet dread crept over him.
Then Maia's voice broke through—just a whisper. "Koda…"
She stood near the archway, held back by ceremonial guards, eyes wide in disbelief.
He wanted to explain. To say he was fine.
But he wasn't.
The hall doors shut behind him with a clang that echoed like judgment.
The polished stone of the awakening temple gave way to the cracked cobble of the mid-district streets, and Koda walked with his head lowered, hands clenched at his sides. The ceremonial tunic felt too loose now—hanging heavy like borrowed hope.
Eyes followed him.
They always did. Slum-born and orphan—he had long grown used to glances filled with judgment. But today, they carried something else. Something colder.
Pity.
"Koda, was it?" Jaro's voice called out from a distance—smooth, too polite. "Not everyone's meant for greatness. The gods need cleaners too."
Laughter, cruel and rehearsed, trailed him.
He didn't look back.
His feet carried him past merchant rows and the clean-cut lines of the upper rings. Where ornate lanterns were beginning to glow and children were already practicing poses with wooden swords, pretending to be heroes of their patrons. The same ones who, tomorrow, would have guild applications waiting.
One of the shopkeepers—someone who used to sneak him extra bread crusts when he was smaller—caught sight of him and quickly turned away.
Even kindness could be a blade.
Koda's breath grew shallow as the city changed around him. The buildings got smaller. The road lost its polish. Lanterns gave way to rusted lamps or nothing at all.
He didn't go home. He couldn't.
Not yet.
He turned under the worn arch of a stone bridge near the old aqueduct, its shadow cutting the late afternoon light into soft bars. There, in the half-dark, the world went still. His back against the cool stone, legs pulled up, Koda let himself feel the weight pressing down.
His chest burned. Shame, grief, anger—all muddled.
He looked at his hand.
Still no glowing script. No answer. No sign. Just faint trails of black still curling from his skin before evaporating into the air like ash.
He'd been so close. He glowed. It was real. It meant something.
Didn't it?
He closed his eyes.
Time passed.
The sun dipped low, staining gray the sky above the bridge in deep reds and violent oranges. Clouds rolling through, heavy and slow. The golden light of the awakening day turned blood red, streaked with dusk like a wound torn across the heavens.
Koda stood slowly.
His knees ached. His heart did too.
But Maia would be waiting. She deserved his smile, even if it hurt. She'd awakened. She'd made it.
He could be happy for her.
Even if he wasn't sure how to be happy for himself.
He crossed the last ring just as the wind shifted, carrying with it the first trace of smoke.
Then came the screams.
People—villagers, shopkeepers, children—running.
Charging down the hill from the outer edges of the slum, eyes wide with panic, some trailing soot, others dragging wounded behind them.
"Monsters—" someone shouted. "—came from the forest gate! They breached it—they're inside the walls!"
Koda turned toward the smoke.
Toward the hill.
Toward the only thing at the edge of the ring that mattered.
The orphanage.