Chapter One: The Morning It Changed
I'm Eli Morgan. Seventeen years old. I live in the northern valley of Elmsworth, a quiet farming town surrounded by ridges and old pine trees that never seem to thin, no matter how many wagons pass through. My family isn't noble or anything—just regular folk. We have our own land, a modest home with two floors and a wide wooden porch that my father built himself before I was born.
Father's name is Garrick Morgan. He's a man of few words and fewer expressions. When I was younger, I used to think he didn't care much for me or my brothers, but now I understand he's just... reserved. He works hard. Always has. He runs the fields with my two older brothers, Niall and Bram, both stronger and broader than I'll probably ever be.
My mother, Lysa, is the only one in the house who smiles without needing a reason. She cooks for six even when only four of us sit down to eat. She says it's just in case company arrives. But no one ever does.
Then there's Elen. My little sister. Ten years old, loud, curious, and always trailing behind me when she's not getting under Bram's skin. She says she wants to awaken before me and get something that makes her fly. I told her to focus on learning her letters first. She called me boring and ran off to chase hens.
We don't talk much about awakening in our house. People don't awaken young here. It's rare in places like Elmsworth. In the cities or border keeps, where magic moves thicker and tensions run hotter, children awaken as early as twelve. But out here? Most don't even sense Soul Energy until they're grown.
I didn't feel anything different last night. I went to bed like usual. No dreams. No signs. Just another night.
---
When Eli woke, it was just before dawn. The pale light of morning crept in through the narrow gap in his shuttered window. He lay still, listening to the house. The boards creaked above—someone was already moving. Probably Bram.
He sat up and rubbed at his eyes. Everything felt normal.
But as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood, he paused.
It was faint at first. A presence. Not outside—but inside him. Like a warmth held just beneath the skin, pulsing slow and steady, in rhythm with his breath. He didn't panic. He didn't smile. He simply stood there, quiet, letting the sensation settle.
He exhaled once. Then closed his eyes.
The feeling was clearer now. Like air moving through his limbs—but thicker, denser. Not blood, not breath. Soul Energy.
He'd awakened.
No light filled the room. No heavenly whisper or divine symbol carved itself into the walls. He just... stood there. Awake.
He raised a hand, opened and closed his fingers slowly. The energy didn't surge or twist. It sat there, waiting, responding to his thoughts in small ways. When he focused on his fingertips, the warmth moved there, just a little. It tingled faintly. He furrowed his brow, trying not to expect too much.
"Eli!" came a call from downstairs—his mother's voice. "Water needs bringing in before breakfast!"
He took one more breath. Then reached for his shirt and trousers.
---
Downstairs, the morning was quiet as usual. The fire was already going, and Niall sat at the table cleaning dirt from under his nails. Bram was sharpening a hoe near the hearth, his back to the wall. Their father had gone out already.
Eli didn't say anything. He picked up the empty bucket by the door and stepped outside into the soft chill of the valley morning. Dew clung to the grass. A pair of blackbirds picked at the ground near the fence.
He walked to the well like he always did. Drew up the rope. The water felt heavier than usual, but not by much. When he braced his feet and lifted, he realized his stance was better—more grounded. He hadn't meant to adjust. His body just... moved like that.
It wasn't strength. He wasn't stronger than yesterday. But he felt more precise. Balanced.
When he returned, Lysa met him at the door, took the bucket without a word, and stepped back inside.
He followed and sat near the window, drying his hands.
Eli didn't announce it. There was no ceremony, no declaration.
But his mother paused as she poured water into the basin. She turned her head slightly.
"You're quiet this morning," she said.
"I'm always quiet," Eli answered plainly.
She gave a small nod. "Mm. Different quiet."
That was the end of it.
---
Later that day, when the fields were clear and most of the morning chores had passed, Eli stepped behind the barn. He crouched and placed his palm on the ground, trying to draw the Soul Energy outward. He had no guide, no scroll, no elder to show him what came next. But stories told of a second step after awakening—the emergence of the Soul Trait.
A gift, they called it. Unique to the soul. Born from something inside that no one else could understand.
He focused. Not hard, just long enough for the energy to ripple faintly beneath his skin. Then, a sudden flicker—an image, not in front of him, but inside his thoughts. A man moving. Arms twisting, legs shifting, a stance.
Not just any stance.
Bram's.
It was a memory of how Bram moved when handling the hoe, when pivoting his weight across the ridge rows. Eli's body shifted slightly in response, his feet recreating the angle without effort.
He frowned.
That wasn't normal.
He turned and mimicked the motion again, this time faster, his weight moving across the ball of his foot the way Bram always did.
It felt right. Not forced. Not perfect, but aligned.
That evening, while Bram practiced his usual drills with the wooden sparring pole, Eli stood behind the barn again, watching. Every swing, every shift of weight, every footstep—he memorized.
And then he copied.
Not immediately. Not cleanly. But better than someone should after just watching.
He didn't glow. He didn't burn. He didn't fly or crush stones or speak to beasts.
He simply learned—what others did with their bodies, he could do too. Eventually.
So long as he watched. And trained.
It was subtle. But it was his.