The hall of the Patriarch lingered in a silence that clung like fog.
Not a word stirred after the old elf's voice had fallen quiet, his final blessing offered like the weight of a mountain pressing down. Even the flame-torches seemed to dim, as though unwilling to break the gravity of his silence. Caelum's gaze had dipped to the floorboards, and he dared not raise them. He could feel Elias shifting uneasily at his side, the fiery boy's usual restless energy smothered by the stillness. Seren, as ever, wore composure on his round face, but his green eyes darted sideways, reading the room, measuring every unspoken breath.
The Patriarch remained seated in the high chair, his presence vast yet restrained. His gaze, pale as moonlight, swept over the gathering of children. And then, with a slow exhale, he closed his eyes.
That was all.
A single blink of time passed—and then life returned.
The elders' hushed voices began to stir. Apprentices shifted nervously, a few even smiling too quickly, eager to dispel the tension. Somewhere down the chamber, a laugh too loud broke out, and though it died at once, it carried relief like the snapping of a taut string.
"Children." The voice of an attendant rang clear from the entrance. "The morning drills begin. All to the training grounds."
Like water breaking free from a dam, the solemn line of boys and girls spilled outward, chatter swelling, footsteps quickening. The hall's suffocating weight dissolved into a bustle of youth.
Elias let out a dramatic sigh, ruffling his fiery hair. "By the roots, I thought I'd suffocate. The old man says nothing and somehow it feels like he said everything."
"Because he did," Seren replied, calm as ever. "Silence leaves more to wonder about than words."
Caelum smiled faintly, but the unease from that gaze...brief, fleeting, lingered within him.
---
The three slipped out into the outer corridors, following the stream of children toward their quarters to change.
The clan's younger generation trained each day at dawn and noon, clad not in their usual silks but in practice armor: barksteel plates bound with linen cords, light enough for children but woven with enchantments to bear strikes without splintering. Battle-gear, they called it, though no child of ten or eleven had yet touched true combat.
Their quarters rang with hurried movement, children darting between racks of wooden gear, laughter and complaints mingling in equal measure. Elias, of course, was in his element.
He tugged a set of guards from the rack, slipped them onto his arms, and grinned. "One day I'll have dragon-scale. Barksteel creaks like rotten wood."
"You'd fall over if you wore dragon-scale," Seren said flatly, adjusting the cords of his own armor with neat precision.
Elias puffed out his chest. "I'd carry it better than you carry that smug face."
Caelum chuckled faintly at their sparring, though his hands moved slower as he dressed. The plates were light, the cords familiar, yet his chest felt heavier with every knot he tied. By the time they stepped out of the quarters and followed the flow toward the great expanse, his thoughts pressed so loud they drowned the others' chatter.
It was Elias who noticed first.
"You're quiet," he said, eyes narrowing. "Too quiet."
Seren tilted his head, studying Caelum. "Something weighs on you."
Caelum hesitated. The path ahead opened toward the distant roar of drums, their steady rhythm summoning the youth of the clan. Sunlight streamed down between branches above, gilding the children's heads like halos. But to him, the light only sharpened the shadows beneath.
At last, he spoke. His voice was low, almost swallowed by the crowd.
"My circulation is still second cycle."
Elias blinked, then frowned. "Still? After all those nights reading?"
Caelum nodded, his pale eyes cast down. "I can't push further. No matter how I try. Elias, you're already fifth cycle. Seren's fourth. Everyone else…" He trailed off, biting his lip. "Everyone else is climbing, and I'm… stuck. I don't know what to do."
Elias opened his mouth at once, but Seren lifted a hand, stopping him. The pale-haired boy looked at Caelum directly, his green eyes unusually sharp.
"You're measuring yourself against us too soon," Seren said. "Cycles aren't the same as awakening. You'll have your true path when the time comes. Until then, strength doesn't matter as much as patience."
"That's exactly what my mother says." Caelum's lips twisted into something caught between a smile and a grimace. "But patience doesn't make me stronger. Patience doesn't heal her."
The words slipped sharper than he intended, and silence fell briefly between them. Elias scratched at his neck, awkward for once. Seren's gaze softened, though he said nothing.
Finally Elias stepped closer, clapping a hand onto Caelum's shoulder with his usual force. "Listen, Cael. Maybe you're slow now. So what? When you awaken, you'll be a monster. You'll probably make us look like toddlers still chewing on roots."
"That's right," Seren added smoothly. "Besides, your mind is sharper than both of ours combined. You remember the chants better than half the older apprentices. Who cares if your cycle's behind?"
Caelum looked between them, his heart tightening. Their words carried warmth, but he could not shake the gnawing hollow within. He forced a smile nonetheless. "Thank you."
"Don't thank us," Elias said, grinning again. "Just remember to drag us along when you surpass everyone."
Seren smirked. "And when he does, you'll be the one begging him for lessons."
"Ha! As if!" Elias barked, puffing his chest. "I'll be faster than him no matter what."
Their banter spilled forward again, lighter than the heaviness before. Caelum let himself laugh with them, though the unease in his chest only deepened.
---
The drums grew louder as the children emerged into the training expanse.
It was vast. A clearing ringed by pale-barked trees, its floor packed smooth from generations of feet. Platforms rose at the far end, where instructors and elder apprentices stood waiting. Banners fluttered above, each inked with the silver sigil of the clan: a crescent moon entwined with roots.
Children of all ages stood in formation already, lines stretching across the ground. Their barksteel gleamed beneath the morning sun, every figure upright, silent beneath the rhythm of the drums. The sound carried through the chest like a heartbeat, steady, unyielding.
But not all stood in the lines.
Along the edges, the lesser-born worked in silence. Hauling baskets of herbs, filling basins with water, sweeping the edges of the ground. A few younger ones sat cross-legged, eyes closed in forced meditation, their positions marked by plain cords instead of the sigiled sashes the others wore. Their faces carried resignation, even bitterness.
Elias's lips curled. "There. Always the same. Some train, some serve."
Seren's gaze flicked toward the laboring children, unreadable. "The clan calls it balance. But it's only division."
Caelum's eyes lingered on them longest. Some were his age, even younger, yet their hands were raw from hauling, their robes plain as dust. His heart squeezed. If I fail to awaken… will I stand among them too?
The thought sank cold into his bones.
"Come on," Elias muttered, tugging him forward. "We'll lose our place."
The trio moved quickly, slipping into their line among the other children of mid-tier families. The air was sharp with discipline, voices hushed beneath the constant drumbeat.
Caelum stood upright, hands at his sides, gaze forward like the rest. But his chest was tight, his breath shallow. The unease that had followed him since the Patriarch's gaze only sharpened here, as if something unseen coiled beneath the ground.
The drumbeat thundered again.
A ripple against the still morning.
His heart clenched.
Something is wrong.