Krex hung low and red in the evening sky, its twin moons like silver eyes watching over the small town of Orin Vale. In a narrow house with blue shutters and a crooked chimney, Karl packed his school bag for the third time.
He counted each item slowly, like a ritual. Robe. Notebooks. Quill pen. Ink. A tiny pocket compass etched with faint runes. He paused at the last item—a thin thread of black cord with an old bronze charm: a circle split by a line. It was the only thing he had from his grandparents. He didn't know why it mattered. He only knew it felt heavy, even though it wasn't.
"Karl," his mother called from the kitchen. "Soup's getting cold."
"Coming," he said.
He took the charm, hesitated, and slipped it into his pocket.
Downstairs, the warmth of the stove wrapped him like a blanket. His mother, Mira, ladled stew into bowls. She had kind eyes and a soft voice, but tonight her smile was tight. His father, Rowan, sat at the head of the table, long hands folded. He was quiet as always, the kind of quiet that made rooms calm. But tonight, Karl noticed the crease between his brows.
"Big day tomorrow," Mira said, as she set bread on the table. "Voss Academy… I can't believe it."
Karl tried to smile. "Me neither."
Voss Academy of Arcanum was the best school in the region. Students from all over Krex dreamed of its iron gates and glass towers, its practice fields where sparks lit the night. At Voss, students were ranked by skill. A-rank students became heroes. B and C found their footing in guilds and courts. D was rare. E was a rumor.
Karl didn't think about ranks. He knew his place already. He had always been careful. Quiet. Average. That was safest.
Rowan cleared his throat. "Have you checked your papers?"
Karl nodded. "Invitation. Uniform token. Dorm key. Schedule band."
"Good," Rowan said.
Mira placed her hand over Karl's. "Don't rush anything. Voss is… big." She laughed softly, but it didn't sound like her. "Make friends. Ask questions. Eat well. Sleep."
Karl looked between them. "I'll be fine."
Mira's gaze softened. "I know."
Silence came, not heavy but deep. The clock by the window ticked. Outside, a wind chime whispered.
Rowan broke bread and passed it around. "There's something we should… remind you." He hesitated, searching for the right words. "You're our son. No matter what anyone says about ranks. No matter how loud the world gets. Remember that."
Karl blinked. "Okay."
Mira's fingers tightened for a second, then let go. "And if—if you ever feel strange at school, if something… wakes up—"
Rowan gave her a small look. She folded.
Karl frowned. "Wakes up?"
"It's nothing," Rowan said gently. "Your mother worries. Voss can push students hard. Just promise you won't try to prove anything. You don't need to."
Karl nodded slowly. He didn't understand, but he didn't argue. He ate his stew, tasting herbs and smoke and the memory of every quiet night before this one.
After dinner, they moved to the living room. The house was small, neat, and full of soft things: a worn rug, a faded painting of a mountain lake, a cracked vase that always had one bright flower. Mira lit a candle that smelled like citrus and pine. Rowan took a wooden box from the shelf and set it on the table.
"We were saving this," Rowan said. "For when you started your path."
Karl leaned in. Inside the box lay a pair of gloves, thin and dark, lined with faint threads of silver. They were fingerless, with a simple stitch at the wrist.
"They look normal," Karl said.
"They dampen stray flow," Mira said. "If a spell jumps or flares, the gloves will catch some of it. Not all. Enough."
Karl stared at the gloves. "Why would I need these?"
Rowan's voice was level. "It's good practice. Control matters more than force."
Karl slid the gloves on. They fit like they had been waiting for him.
A soft knock came at the door.
Mira stood quickly. "That'll be Aunt Lysa. She wanted to send you off."
Karl opened the door to a woman with short silver hair and a grin that reached her eyes. Lysa swept him into a hug before he could speak.
"Look at you," she said, stepping back to hold him at arm's length. "Voss Academy. I told your parents you'd get in."
"Hi, Aunt Lysa."
She waved and breezed inside, dropping a woven satchel on the chair. "I brought orchard tea and honey buns. We celebrate tonight." She glanced at Rowan and Mira. The air shifted—something unspoken passed between the three of them. It was quick, but Karl felt it. Like a breeze through a closed room.
They drank tea and talked about small things—the weather in the north, the new baker on River Street, a flock of blue birds nesting in the chimney down the lane. Lysa told a silly story about a tail-chasing cat that swallowed a spark-worm and hiccuped fire. Karl laughed, and for a while, the tightness in the room loosened.
When Lysa left, the house grew quiet again. The moons had climbed higher. Karl stood to gather the cups.
"Leave them," Mira said. "I'll handle it."
Karl nodded and went upstairs.
In his room, he checked his bag one last time. He tucked the bronze charm into a small inner pocket. He looked out the window at the distant lights of Orin Vale, at the road that would lead him to the train and the train to the iron gates of Voss Academy.
He lay down, but sleep didn't come quickly.
He thought of ranks. He thought of Team 9, the team he had been assigned to through the school's placement test. He didn't know them yet, only the bare facts on his band: two B-ranks, one C-rank, and him. E.
E. The letter looked thin on the screen, like a spare bone.
Karl didn't want to stand out. He never had. Not when the village kids lit sparks in their palms or floated pebbles over the well. He had always smiled, clapped, and kept his hands steady in his pockets.
He turned on his side. The bronze charm pressed gently against his rib.
His door creaked. Mira stood in the doorway, haloed by the hall light.
"Can I sit?" she asked.
Karl sat up and nodded. Mira came in and sat on the edge of the bed. For a long moment, she just looked at him.
"Do you remember," she said softly, "when you were little, and you saw that storm roll over the fields? You were, what, five? You climbed on the fence, and the sky cracked open. You laughed. Do you remember that?"
Karl smiled a little. "I remember the smell."
"Ozone," she said, eyes distant. "Like the world taking a sharp breath." She brushed a curl from his forehead. "You're kind, Karl. You pay attention. That matters more than anything at Voss. Promise me you'll keep that."
"I promise."
She exhaled. "Goodnight, my heart."
"Goodnight."
She stood and left, pulling the door almost closed. In the hallway, Karl heard the low murmur of his parents' voices. He couldn't make out the words, but the tone held weight.
He stared at the ceiling until the house settled and the moons slid a finger's width across the window. When sleep finally caught him, it was deep and dark—until it wasn't.
He woke to a sound.
Not a sound, exactly. A pressure. A hum that wasn't in the air but inside it, like a wire pulled tight. He sat up, pulse quick.
The bronze charm was warm against his chest.
The hum built—a soft swell, then gone, then back, like waves. He held his breath and waited. The room stayed still. The clock kept ticking. Finally, the warmth faded. The charm cooled.
Karl rubbed his eyes and lay back down.
Morning would come. The train would come. Voss Academy would sort him into halls and classes and teams. He would meet the B-ranks and the C-rank. He would keep his head down. He would try.
Downstairs, Rowan and Mira stood by the window in the dark.
"He felt it," Mira whispered.
Rowan's jaw tightened. "A flicker, nothing more."
"It's starting."
"We knew it might."
Mira looked up at the moons, pale and bright. "I don't want him to be afraid."
"He won't be," Rowan said. He reached for her hand. "Not if we teach him how to be ordinary."
In the quiet house on Krex, the wind turned a page on the mantle—an old family picture in a wooden frame. In the image, two figures stood where a sky should have been, their faces hidden by light, their hands raised. A thin line split a circle in their palms.
The page flipped back. The picture stilled.
Upstairs, Karl slept, the gloves by his bed and the charm cool again against his skin.
Tomorrow, he would step through Voss Academy's gates, an E-rank in a world that prized power. Team 9 waited somewhere beyond those gates—two B-ranks, one C, and a quiet boy who did not yet know his name meant anything at all.
But the world did.
And somewhere under the calm surface of a small house in Orin Vale, the wire hummed again and then went silent, as if holding its breath.