Frozen.
That was the only word left in Kairen's head. His feet wouldn't move. He felt as though the stone underneath him was completely covering him. Words came out of Professor Thorne's moving lips sounded more like a roar than words, like the sea trapped in a shell.
Move. He had to move. Back to his seat. But shame had nailed him to the floor.
One foot. Then the other.
The long walk back burned worse than fire. He could feel them—every pair of eyes, drilling into him. Judging. Pitying. The back of his neck felt the heat of Kaelan's smile, which was like a brand. He was aware of its presence, burning like a wound, but he was afraid to turn.
They all see me. Every step I take, they're laughing in their heads, he was telling himself. Why am I even here? Why did I ever think—
He placed himself between Dain and Ilya, keeping his eyes tied to the ground. A crack in the stone floor. Jagged. Crooked. It looked like a map of his heart breaking apart.
The class went on, though he barely heard it. Professor Thorne's voice hacked through his fog: "This is what happens when a name is mistaken for talent… Magic does not care about your bloodline. It does not bend for your pride."
Each word slammed into him like a hammer striking nails. He wanted to vanish. To fold in on himself and never be seen again. His shoulder twitched—he thought someone touched him—but it was only the ghost of comfort that never came.
He hates me. He's making an example out of me, he told himself. And maybe he's right. Maybe this is all I'll ever be—an empty name with nothing inside it.
Thorne's hands wove light and shadow. Sparks cracked, colors flared. Once, Kairen might've stared in awe. Now, every flash was a stab. But something shifted. He couldn't feel the magic. So he watched instead. The tension in Thorne's fingers. The breath he took, held, then released like a secret key. The shimmer in the air, half a heartbeat before the spell formed. Everyone else stared at the blaze. He saw the steps before the fire.
Why am I noticing this? he thought bitterly. I can't make a spark, and yet… I see how he does it. I see it clearer than they do. What good is that? he asked himself. Watching won't make me less of a failure.
The other students shone, one after another. Every spell they cast scraped his emptiness raw. A Zephyrwind with no wind. A hollow boy with a cursed mark burning between his shoulders.
The bell screamed. BRRRIIINNNGGG!
It tore him apart. His chest jolted, his hands shook. He grabbed his bag, fumbled, dropped books, noise slamming in his ears. He had to run. Get out. Away from the whispers. Away from the light. Away from the weight of the mark searing against his skin.
Don't look at me. Don't say my name. Just let me go, he was telling himself, as if the plea might push everyone away.
The hallway was a flood of bodies. Laughter. Shouts. All too bright, too loud. Kairen shoved through, breath ragged, shoulder slamming into a tall boy.
"Watch it—oh. Look who it is." The older student sneered, eyes flashing with cruel delight. "The Zephyrwind dud. Heard you made a mess of yourself in class." The sound of his friend's laugh was as sharp as breaking glass.
The words punched harder than fists. Kairen couldn't answer. His throat closed. He bolted.
It keeps spreading. Every hall I walk down, every whisper—it'll always be me, he told himself. The joke. The failure. The Zephyrwind with nothing.
"Kairen! Wait up!" Dain's voice thundered behind him. Too close. Too heavy. He couldn't face it—not Dain's pity, not Ilya's calm eyes. Not now.
Footsteps pounded after him. He turned as a hand pressed down on his shoulder. Dain's broad face, flushed, fierce with anger and something softer. Ilya, just behind, her silver gaze unreadable but too knowing.
"What's the rush?" Dain's voice dropped, gentler. "What Kaelan said—it's garbage. You hear me? Pure garbage."
Kairen's eyes darted to the wall past Dain's head. Couldn't meet his stare. His words came out cracked. "It doesn't matter. It's true."
"No, it's not!" Dain snapped, his grip iron. "I'll pound him next time. I swear it. He won't—"
"Stop!" The shout tore from Kairen, raw, jagged. "You can't fix this, Dain! What are you gonna do? Punch the whole school? Just—leave me alone."
Please. Stop looking at me like I'm worth saving, he told himself, the words scraping inside his skull. I can't even save myself.
Dain's jaw set. "We're not leaving you. We're your friends."
That word—friends—hurt worse than Kaelan's laugh. Too heavy, too kind. Undeserved.
"Dain," Ilya murmured, hand on his arm. "He isn't hearing us. He's only hearing himself. And that voice is crueler than any classmate."
Kairen flinched. She was right. The truth in her words left him stripped bare. No defenses. Just broken pieces. He tore himself free, a sob breaking loose, and he ran.
Run. Keep going. Every time he spoke, he yelled, "Don't let anyone watch you break apart."
He dont know where he was heading. Just ran. Stone corridors blurred, corners turned at random. His lungs seared. His legs screamed. He didn't stop.
Statues loomed—the Hall of Heroes. The created strength of his father's stone visage mocked his weakness as it gazed down at him. Bile rising in his throat, he squinted his eyes shut and ran past.
Don't look at him. Don't. He wouldn't even recognize me as his son, he told himself, eyes burning.
A heavy door creaked. He stumbled through and into silence.
The courtyard was forgotten, broken. Weeds split the stones. A toppled wizard statue lay half-buried in moss. In the center, a dead tree clawed the sky. Twisted, desperate, begging for rain. The place was ruined. It was perfect.
Alone.
The word shattered him. His knees buckled onto a cold bench. His bag fell with a hollow thud. His hands trembled. Empty. Useless. He pressed them against his chest, against the mark burning under his uniform.
It whispered. It always whispered. *You're the curse. You're the reason.*
I hate you. More than anything, he reminded himself angrily, I hate you. I would rip you from me if I could. If I could carve you off my skin, I'd do it without a second thought.
He let out a wild, animal, and shattered scream. Then the hot, bitter tears streamed down his cheeks and onto his palms. With a childish scream, his shoulders heaved and his whole jerked. The sound was uncontrollable and nasty. It was an unpleasant, uncontrolled sound. The cry of someone who had lost everything before he even began.
I can't stop. I can't—if I stop crying, I'll shatter apart into nothing, he told himself, rocking forward.
He cried until there was nothing left. Only hollow gasps. His chest ached. His head pounded. He sat hunched, face buried in hands, the mark still burning, still whispering.
Footsteps.
He didn't lift his head. "Go away," he croaked. His voice was shredded, almost gone.
The bench dipped. Solid weight, steady as a mountain. Dain.
"Nope," Dain said quietly.
Kairen looked up, eyes swollen, cheeks wet. Ilya leaned against the gnarled tree, arms folded. No pity in her face. Something else. Something deeper.
Wiping his shirt sleeves across his face, Kairen rasped, "You shouldn't see me like this. You shouldn't…"
"Like what?" Dain frowned. "Like a person? My dad cries when the forge beats him down. Doesn't make him less. Makes him real." He stared at his big hands. "My magic? It's strong, yeah. But it's wild. Scares me half the time. Once, when I was ten, I got mad at my brother. Blew a hole in the wall. Right by his head. Thought I was a monster for a week."
The honesty hit Kairen harder than any blow. Left him stunned.
Even Dain… even he thinks he's broken sometimes, he told himself slowly. Maybe everyone does. Perhaps I'm not alone in feeling stupid.
Ilya stepped closer, her voice calm as a still river. "This academy teaches only one kind of language—loud, bright, destructive. But there are others. The slow growth of a tree. The silence of thought. The loyalty that never bends." Her eyes lingered on Dain, then back to Kairen. "They've taught you silence is weakness. But silence can be a strength. What did you feel, when you tried the spell? Not what you hoped. What you felt."
His throat tightened. "I felt… a void. Like reaching for something that wasn't there. Just empty."
"A void is not nothing," she said softly. "It is space. It waits to be filled. Or it can be power itself."
The words didn't fix him. But something stirred. Small. Fragile. Not despair.
Could it be true? Could this emptiness… mean something more? he asked himself, a spark flickering in the dark.
Dain grinned and slapped his back—gentle, for once. "See? Not empty. Just mysterious. And hungry. I know I am. Let's ditch this creepy place and find food. My treat."
Kairen searched their faces. Looking for pity. For disappointment. Found only acceptance.
His chest hitched. Still broken. Still unhealed. But not alone.
And perhaps—just possibly—that was a form of magic.