Her words just hung there in the little kitchen. They felt colder than the morning air.
"Please... Kairen, promise me. Promise me you won't show anyone... what you can do."
Her voice was just a scared whisper. It made the air feel tight. What did that even mean? He couldn't do anything. He was a blank. A dud. The powerless son of a legend. He was attempting to speak, but he was murmuring.
"Mom, there's nothing to show. I can't…" he finally said.
"Don't say that!" she whispered fast. Her eyes were wide with fear. She held his arm tight. Her fingers dug in, her knuckles white. "Don't even think it. Kairen, listen to me. Please. At that school… they don't just teach. They look. They search for power. For things they can use."
Her voice dropped, becoming a terrified, frantic whisper that was only for him. "That's what your father became for them, Kairen. A weapon. He was their sword."
The words didn't make any sense. His dad was a hero. He saved people. That's what all the stories said. "He was a hero," he said, his voice sounding confused.
"He was a boy!" she cried, and her voice broke; she started to sob. Tears filled her eyes, big and bright. "He was a child who used to get lost in his own city and was a bad cook. Once they had sharpened him, they pointed the youngster toward the darkness until he broke." She looked at him, "I won't let that happen to you. I can't."
The old clock on the wall chimed.
The soft, pretty sound was so out of place it made them both jump.
She took his arm from his and moved towards her face and wiped it quickly as she turned away, so he couldn't see her.
"Go," she said, her voice sounding sharp and tight. The wall was back up. "Go and get ready. Your uniform is on your bed. You'll be late."
He knew that voice. It meant they were done talking. He stood up from his chair quickly, leaving the cold food all by itself on the table. He walked to his room, but her words followed him. They were a messy lump in his head, all mixed up and scary. "A sword that had to be broken." What did that even mean?
The new academy uniform was laid out on his bed. It looked stiff and wrong. Like clothes for someone else. Someone important. Someone brave. Putting it on felt like he was putting on a lie. The dark blue jacket felt heavy on his shoulders. The white shirt was stiff. Itchy.
He stood in front of the long mirror on his door. The new uniform felt all wrong. The dark blue jacket was heavy. He felt like he was wearing a blanket which is made up of bricks. What about the white shirt? It was rough and stiff on his skin.
Who is that person in the mirror? Kairen wasn't, for sure. Just some tiny youngster, with milk-pale skin, untamed hair, and wide, freaked-out eyes. The uniform swallowed him almost completely.This time, he was acting serious, but he still looks like a tiny child trying on his father's clothes. He didn't feel like being strong, but he had to be.. But all he felt was tiny—shrunk down, invisible. Not a hero. Not even close.
He bailed on his own reflection, couldn't stand it. Desk was a mess, books he hadn't even cracked open. But right there—a little wooden box. He could've found it in the dark, no problem, just by feel. The wood was smooth, worn down from years of nervous fidgeting. That latch? It gave its usual soft click, like a secret only he knew. Inside, black velvet faded and tired, cradled a single silver chain. A wing-shaped charm. Dad's necklace.
He took it—heavy, substantial, chilly. He accepted the small bite that the wing's tip made as it drove into his hand. Squeezing his eyes shut, he hung on, searching for any semblance of memory in the fog. attempting to recall Dad's voice and his laughter. Just… anything. Not the hero in the stories. Just him. The dad who laughed and smelled like fresh laundry. The dad who made his favorite hot chocolate.
He had this flash. A memory? A dream? He didn't know. He's small, so small he can barely see over the kitchen table. A big, warm hand closes around his own. Inside his tiny fist, he can feel the cool, solid shape of this exact charm. A deep voice, a low rumble like distant thunder that feels safe, says, "This will always protect you, Kairen. It will keep you safe."
Is it real? Or is it just a story he told himself so many times that he started to believe it? He didn't know.
He slipped the chain over his head. The wing settled against his chest, hidden beneath the starchy white shirt. It felt heavy today. Like a promise. Or a warning.
When he came back downstairs, His mom was waiting at the front entrance. She'd fixed her face. There are no tears in her eyes, but they were still red. She held his new backpack in one hand. In the other, a silver travel mug.
"Hot chocolate," she said, her voice almost normal. "With extra marshmallows."
"Thanks, Mom." He took the mug. Her hand was ice-cold. She handed him the backpack. He slung it over his shoulder.
He saw it then. A tear. It was rolling down her cheek. She didn't even try to hide it this time. She just let it fall.
She whispered, "You are looking so much like him," she said. Her eyes were fresh and new, but her voice was weak with a seven-year-old anguish. She was seeing him standing there as if his father had just left the room for the last time. She suddenly grabbed his hand. Her grip was so strong it hurt. "Listen to me, Kairen. What I said before… please. You don't have to be a hero. You just have to be Kairen. Be kind. Be smart. But please… just come home. Promise me you'll always come home."
The raw desperation in her voice shook him. This wasn't about school anymore. This was about his father. She was terrified he was walking down the same path he had. A path that didn't lead home.
"I promise, Mom," he said, the words feeling small and weak. "I'll just be me. And I'll come home."
She pulled him into a hug then.
It wasn't a normal hug. It was tight. Desperate.
She locked her arms around him as if the pressure alone could pin him in place. Her fingers pressed into his back while she stored the shape of his ribs beneath her palms.
His shirt vibrated against his skin - her muscles would not stay still.
The embrace repeated the silent sentence she had spoken once before - do not vanish the way the other man did.
The seconds stretched until her grip loosened by degrees. She stepped back, lifted the corners of her mouth and the tremor in that final smile split his chest.
"Go on," she said, her voice hoarse. "Don't miss your bus."
The front door opened, and he stepped outside. The cool morning air smelled like wet dirt. The jasmine flowers that his mom was planted and their smelled so strong they almost made his head hurt. He looked down at his new black shoes, but he could still hear the neighbors whispering.
"Look, that's Torren's boy…"
"Finally going to the academy. About time, isn't it?"
"He doesn't look like much, does he?"
He just walked faster, his face burning.
The bus was loud. So loud. It was full of kids laughing and talking. Little sparks of magic just… popped in the air between them. Bright and careless.
It felt like a different world. A world he wasn't a part of.
He felt like a ghost. On the outside, looking in through a thick wall of glass.
He just needed to be invisible.
He found an empty seat in the very back. The vinyl was cracked and cold. He sank into it and pulled his hood up, hiding.
As the doors hissed shut, the heat started on his back. The mark.
It felt… different today. Not just the usual warmth from him being scared or angry. It was sharper. It felt like it was… buzzing. A low, insistent hum under his skin. He looked around. The air on the bus buzzed with the energy of all the kids who had magic. And the mark was reacting to it. Reacting to them. The thought was new, and it was frightening.
He looked out the window. The bus was pulling away.
Mom was still standing on the porch. She was just a small, lonely shape now.
The bus rumbled down the street. She got smaller and smaller.
Then the bus turned the corner.
And she was gone.
He was alone.
The bus shook as it moved, but he hardly felt it. His head rested on the cold window. All he could hear was his mom's scared voice in his head: Don't show them what you can do.
What if she was scared, not because he had nothing… but because he had something? Something she didn't understand? Something that turned a bucket of water into steam all those years ago? Something that makes this thing on his back hum when it's near other magic?
The thought was terrifying. It was a door in his mind he'd never dared to open.
But it was also… the first interesting thing that had happened to him in his entire life.
Maybe he wasn't just a disappointment. Maybe he was a puzzle. Maybe this mark wasn't just a curse. Maybe it was a clue.
The bus kept moving, leaving his quiet neighborhood far behind. Then he saw it—a building on top of a cliff, looking over the sea through the morning mist.
The spires of the Elemental Academy.