The classroom, if it could be called that, was a large open pavilion with carved wooden pillars and an overhanging roof woven from layered bark and moss. The morning sun filtered through the canopy, dancing over the smooth stone floor. Wind rustled the leaves of the great emberwoods overhead, and the scent of moss and ashroot filled the air.
In the center, the children of Emberrest sat cross-legged in a loose circle, the rustle of robes and whispers blending with birdsong beyond. A squirrel darted across a beam overhead, and Mirelle's eyes tracked it absently, her tiny notebook already open in her lap.
Elder Marn stood tall before them, his robes dyed in the deep ochres of the Pyravelle tradition. His hair, once ashen black, had faded to silver streaks, tied back in a single braid that reached his shoulder. His face, lined by decades of study and quiet smiles, held the calm patience of a mountain before a storm. In his hand, he held a staff carved from stormpine, its head tipped with a hollow crystal that shimmered faintly in the light.
Kael leaned over to Arin and whispered, "Bet I can light a leaf on my first try."
"You'll probably burn your eyebrows off," Nilo muttered from the other side, pushing his hair from his eyes. Fae giggled softly behind her palm.
Arin smiled but said nothing. His mind was still filled with the strange glow from the crystal. The brilliant white that pulsed like a heartbeat… and the other color—that swirling, shifting tone Elder Marn had stared at for far too long. A soft grey that shimmered with violet and midnight-blue veins, almost like stars in a night sky.
The elder hadn't commented beyond a murmur about "an unusual resonance." But that murmur had been enough to plant seeds of curiosity and unease.
Now the children sat before small bowls filled with dry leaves. Today, Elder Marn had explained, they would try to channel a simple spark through their Soul Mark—nothing grand, just enough to ignite.
"Feel the pulse of the mana beneath you," he instructed, his voice smooth and melodic. "Draw it not with force, but with invitation. Let it flow into your Soul Mark, then to your palm. It may take many tries. Be patient with yourself."
The children closed their eyes.
Fae's brow furrowed. A few sparks crackled in her hands before fading. She made a quick note in her notebook anyway.
Nilo winced as his palm smoked, coughing from the heat. "Oops."
Kael shouted, "Ha!" as a leaf burst into flame—then quickly yelped and waved his hand around, fanning the fire that had spread to his sleeve.
"Idiot," Mirelle muttered with a smirk, brushing ash off her skirt.
Even Rell, who had been sitting apart with arms crossed, cracked a grin.
Arin stared at his own bowl, feeling the hum of mana in the air. He inhaled deeply and tried to guide it inward, remembering his mother's voice from the morning: "Like calling water into your hand. It must want to answer."
His Soul Mark pulsed faintly, glowing like a shard of sunlit crystal on his back.
He reached out with his hand.
A soft light bloomed across his palm, warm but not burning. The leaves stirred—but did not catch fire. Instead, they glowed faintly, as if bathed in moonlight.
Elder Marn's eyes narrowed. He stepped forward, voice low but firm. "Arin. Stay after the session."
Arin blinked but nodded, heart thumping.
—
After the children had left—Kael with a loud "See you tomorrow, glow-boy!" and Nilo grumbling about singed fingers—Arin sat with Elder Marn beneath a wide-branched tree just outside the pavilion.
The elder held the Affinity Crystal in his hand, studying it again in the fading light. His fingers moved over its surface with careful reverence.
"You did well today," he said finally. "Very few children can produce a stable glow on their first attempt. But it's not just talent."
He turned the crystal toward Arin. Though no mana pulsed through it now, faint glimmers danced within—white and that strange color again.
"Your affinity is Light. That much is certain. But the second…" Marn paused. "I have not seen this before. Some might mistake it for Shadow. Others, for a strange combination of Wind and Earth. But I sense… depth. Vastness."
Arin hesitated. "Is that… bad?"
Marn smiled faintly. "Not at all. But it is… rare. I have a theory, but I will not speak it aloud until I'm sure. For now, you must train like the others. Grow strong, learn control. But keep your senses sharp."
Arin nodded. But something inside him was already turning—wondering.
That night, under the stars, Arin sat on the edge of his family's rooftop. Emberrest's fires flickered below, cozy and small. Beyond them, mountains loomed.
His fingers traced the faint glow of the Soul Mark under his tunic.
Something was waiting in that mark. Something vast.
He whispered into the night, "Are you… listening?"
There was no voice.
But somewhere deep inside him, something stirred. A flicker in the dark.
And in a forgotten chamber far across the realm, the Whispering Book pulsed once… and then again.
As if waking.