Alex awakened to the smell of cinnamon firewood and spicebread, which Elias kept burning only for holidays.
He blinked at the wooden beams in the ceiling, which he had scanned a thousand times, yet this morning. they were different. This morning, he was ten years old.
He hunched forward, a little breath drawn. The wood beneath the thin floor mats squeaked just like always, yet this morning. it didn't seem like turning away, pushing him toward.
Elias leaned against the hearth, turning something over a tiny flame. His shoulders were straight, but his back was curved in that way Alex had learned to identify—not tired, but heavy with memories.
"You're awake," Elias said without looking around. "Did the birthday ghosts disturb you?"
Alex smiled. "Only the one in the cupboard. He attempted to steal my socks."
Elias laughed. "That's the sock-snatcher. Despicable beast."
He turned and set a little plate on the table before Alex. A fat piece of spicebread smothered in honey and dried winterberries.
"Happy birthday."
Alex's smile grew. "Thanks, grandpa."
They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the kind that didn't require words. In the distance, the town bells started to chime softly—people working on preparations for the sixth day of the Hunter's Dawn Festival.
"You know what today is?" Elias asked, sipping his tea.
Alex nodded. "Hunt's Eve. I'm getting my Mark today."
Elias looked at him for a long moment, as if he were searching for something behind Alex's eyes.
Elias's hand found Alex's and squeezed it gently. "No matter what happens today, you're already more than any mark can make you."
Alex gazed at their hands, not really comprehending… but sensing the heaviness of the words nonetheless.
"Will you be there when I receive mine?" he asked.
Elias smiled. "Wouldn't miss it. And this evening, when the fires burn out and the masks are reduced to ash—I'll present you with your true gift."
Alex cocked his head. "What is it?"
Elias simply smiled at him, a small, weary one. "Something old. Something I've kept for too long.
"Okay then! I'm going with Mira and Jakel to see the town—bye!" Alex shouted, already halfway out the door.
Elias looked nervously at one side of the horizon, as he has something to do with it.
Alex sprinted over the broad stone bridge that spanned the Mistvine River, breath misting in the chill morning air. Caelum came alive in a manner it only ever did once a year. Banners emblazoned with the crests of ancient Titles streamed from rooftops. Stalls hummed with last-minute donations—candied starfruit, ironwood talismans, woven blessing threads.
Kids his age ran in all directions, but none of them had slept well. How could they? Today was the day—the day the Mark would show.
"Alex!" someone called out.
He turned to see Mira, her bright eyes wide with excitement, her hair pulled back with a crimson ribbon. Standing next to her was Jakel, tall for his age and already frowning like someone twice his age.
"You were meant to meet us at the lantern stairs," Mira told him, hands on hips. "We thought you were already gone with Varrian!"
"He hasn't even gotten here yet," Jakel grumbled, but he did look back over his shoulder anyway.
Alex smiled. "Sorry—I came in the long way. Just… wanted to see it all."
"You mean you were scouting for signs," Mira told him with a knowing look.
He didn't dispute her.
The three of them strolled now, moving through the commotion of Caelum's central square. The big sunwheel in the square had already started to spin, its shadow creeping long and thin across the stone. Folk claimed if your shadow was reached by the sunwheel before the Seer's Lantern was ignited, your Mark would be strong.
"I had a dream last night," Jakel said suddenly. "I saw my Mark. It was on fire. My whole arm was burning—but it didn't hurt."
"That's a good sign," Mira said quickly. "Fire means strength. Or passion. Or… maybe destruction?"
"Comforting," Alex muttered.
They passed by a cloaked figure chalking glyphs onto a wall. A few younger kids stopped to watch, whispering. The Marks would come tonight, during the Rite of the Flame, when each child would walk alone into the Seer's Circle. Some would emerge glowing. Some would scream. Some wouldn't change at all.
"You think we'll all get one?" Mira asked softly.
Jakel didn't answer.
Alex stared at his hands. "I don't know. But if I don't… I still want to stand tall when I walk out of that circle. Like Azarion did before the Void."
That caused Mira to smile. "You sound like Elias."
"He raised me," Alex said. "Some of him was bound to stick."
The sun suddenly burst through the clouds, its warmth and light golden. Pine smoke drifted across from the distant hills, where the Ashen Dance would be starting at sunset.
The three of them said nothing for an instant.
And then Mira elbowed Alex. "Race you to the vendor selling starfruit! Last one there gets the one that's mushy."
"You're on!" Jakel answered, already taking off.
Alex grinned and took off after them, heart racing—not from the race, but from the still terror and awe of what the night would hold.
Then came the moment everyone had been waiting for…
The Inspectors arrived.
They arrived just after midday—three riders wrapped in long forest-green cloaks, their horses dark and quiet as shadows. No fanfare. Just presence.
At their head rode Inspector Verrian, a serious man of hawk-like appearance and silver-shot hair drawn back tightly. The townspeople knew him immediately—not only as an Inspector of the Marks, but as a friend of Caelum's mayor. His appearances were infrequent but never forgotten.
Rather than going directly to the festival grounds, Verrian went to the Sunspire Branch, a small hall on top of Caelum's main street. It was a building utilized for minor enforcement—misdemeanors such as theft or tampering with the festival lights. Behind the doors, he pored over scrolls and conversed softly with the town's record keepers. Diagrams were sketched, figures checked against last year's figures. No one overheard what was said.
Twenty minutes later, Verrian stepped out into the sunlight, face inscrutable. The two aides beside him bore Sunspire Lanterns—metal spheres no bigger than a melon, inscribed with ancient runes. The lanterns pulsed softly as they were revealed.
A crowd started to form.
Verrian's voice was crisp and steady, carrying well across the square.
"By order of the Marked Registry, we will now perform checks upon all citizens who reached the age of ten this year. Step forward when your name is called. This is not punishment. It is tradition."
He smiled, but it was the kind of smile that did not reach his eyes.
First stood Mira—she was nervous but proud. Her lantern flared a pale, iridescent pink the moment she rolled up her sleeve. The crowd cheered, and she beamed.
Jakel was followed. His luminescence was weak, but there. A swirl of gold flecks, just barely perceivable. Even so, a mark.
A few more came forward. Some flashed at once, others more slowly. Several. didn't glow at all.
Those latter few rolled back their sleeves silently. Verrian noted something down on his scroll without censure.
Then—
"Alex of Elias's household," the aide announced.
The name dropped into the air like a stone into water. Heads swiveled.
Alex moved forward deliberately, attempting to keep his breathing steady. His heart pounded too hard in his chest.
The aide lifted the lantern.
Alex extended his wrist.
Nothing.
There was silence for a long moment. Then—something.
Not the soft radiance like Mira's. Not the faint shimmer like Jakel's.
The lantern did not shine. It jerked. It flickered abnormally—dark light, then nothing, then something different altogether. A fleeting pulse, as if a heartbeat under water. Then silence.
The aide blinked. Verrian scrunched up his eyes.
But he said nothing of the flicker. Instead, he addressed the crowd.
"No mark yet," he declared, voice steady. "Some wake late. Tomorrow is the last day of the Hunter's Dawn. There's still time."
Alex didn't stir. His wrist was cold. Empty.
Alex's chest constricted as whispers erupted around him. He couldn't bear to look at Mira, or Jakel, or anyone. The air was too much. His hands shook.
He moved away before anyone else would say anything more. In back of him, the tests continued.
His feet led him back to his favorite spot, the library.
It was nearing night. The sun had already gone down, and the town was still vibrant with joy and celebration to the children who received the marks. At night, the inspectors departed from the town with a smile on their faces.
The library was more subdued than normal, drained by the excitement of the night's impending ceremony. But Alex had slipped in anyway, gliding silently through the sweeping archways until he reached his seat.
Sitting between the third and fourth shelf in the western wing, under the old stained-glass window that cast golden light through dust-tinged air, was the round seat—his seat. Worn cushions, wood worn by years. This is where he listened to Elias's tales. Where he took cover during storms. Where he dreamed.
Now, he just sat.
Bent knees. Still breath. Distant eyes.
He didn't hear the footsteps until Elias spoke.
"Not that corner will make the world smaller, Alex."
The boy gazed up, surprised. Elias loomed over him, weathered hands tucked behind his back, eyes furrowed with gentle worry.
Alex turned his gaze away once more. "I thought you were among the festival goers."
"Old bones don't take kindly to drums," Elias said, sitting down beside him with a small creak. "But I do make exceptions for birthdays."
Silence stretched. Long enough for Elias to identify the aching stillness emanating from the boy's slumped shoulders.
"Whatcha gnawing at your chest, boy?"
Alex breathed in but did not raise his eyes. "Everybody's getting their Mark today."
"Yes."
"Jakel had ambitions. Mira says she sensed it. something calling in her blood. Everybody's looking forward to it. Everybody knows something's about to happen."
He waited.
"I don't feel anything, Elias. Nothing. Just… nothing. What if I'm the only one who doesn't get one?"
Elias regarded him with still eyes. "The strongest rivers run quietest."
Alex shook his head. "I don't want to be a river. I want to matter. I want to—" His voice broke. "I just don't want to be nothing."
A deep breath slipped out of Elias's chest. "You're not nothing, Alex. Not even close. But…"
He reached into the folds of his cloak, retrieving a small bundle wrapped in gray cloth.
"…maybe it's time for a reminder."
Alex blinked. Elias placed the bundle in his lap with reverence, like it held starlight.
The cloth wriggled.
Alex flinched—but then, the edge peeled back, and a small creature poked out.
A crow. Young, between fledgling and adult. Its feathers glimmered with violet and silver hints, as if moonlight danced across its wings. It blinked at Alex, then chirped—soft and awkward, but with strange warmth.
"…It's a crow."
"He's more than that," Elias said. "He's yours."
The bird cocked its head, then hopped awkwardly onto Alex's chest, puffed out its chest feathers, and let out a dramatic poof.
Then it spoke.
"Sad boys need hugs," it said simply, in a tiny, songlike voice.
Alex stood there, mouth agape. "He talks?!"
The crow blinked, as if unaffected. "Everyone talks. Some just don't listen."
Elias laughed.
The crow nestled against Alex's face with a coo. Alex-startled, bewildered, then softly thrilled-laughed. For the first time that day.
"He's warm."
"They remember who they belong to," Elias whispered.
Alex cradled the crow carefully in his arms, its small talons grasping his sleeve. It settled in, happy.
For the first time that day, Alex laughed—a nervous, stunned laugh that cracked open the heaviness in his chest.
Elias dipped into his coat a final time and pulled out something else. A little, ceremonial knife. Its hilt was a broken crescent, its metal forged in stacked red gradients, transitioning from ember-glow to blood-deep crimson. It glowed with inner power, quiet but observant.
"For tonight," Elias said, setting it next to the boy. "It was once mine. Now, it's yours."
Alex's eyes went wide. "Why give me this now?
"Because tonight… you start down a different road. One that might demand more of you than most."
Alex jerked his head up, ready to ask, but Elias was already facing the window. The final gleam of daylight slid through the amber panes, dyeing the floor in twisted shadows.
The crow shifted restlessly in Alex's arms, feathers prickling.
"What is it?" Alex breathed.
Elias didn't reply. But far away—beyond Caelum's stone walls and lantern-lit skies—something moved beneath the earth.
A tiny tremor. A crack in silence.
Unheard by Alex, unnoticed by most.
But Elias sensed it, as if he had something he needed to do now.
And somewhere, in the deep, where light does not touch and voices crawl across the veil of reality, the Shadowwell whispered.
Not words.
Just one.
"Caelum."