The first rays of the sun spilled over the rooftops of the small town, painting the streets in warm gold. Smoke drifted lazily from chimneys, and the distant cries of market vendors began to mingle with the laughter of children. For most, it was another ordinary day, but for him, it was a day that reminded him, again, just how powerless he truly was.
He stumbled over the uneven cobblestones, his shoes scuffed and bag bouncing against his back. A glance at the town square revealed what awaited him—mockery, sneers, and whispers. The children of the town, despite their youth, already bore marks of power: sparks of flame danced along fingers, faint shadows clung to their shoulders, and some even hovered a few inches above the ground.
And then there was him.
Nothing.
Not a flicker of flame. Not a whisper of shadow. Not even a faint breeze that would bend to his will. He was… ordinary. So ordinary that, in a world where talent was everything, he might as well have been invisible.
"Look who's here!" A boy with horns of flame grinned, nudging a smaller girl with shadow wings. "The weakling! Come to trip over your own feet again?"
Laughter erupted, and the sound felt like a blade slicing through him. He kept his gaze low, tightened his grip on the straps of his bag, and walked faster. The sting of yesterday's defeat, and the day before, and every day before that, was still fresh. He was used to it. He had no choice but to be used to it.
A soft hand pressed against his shoulder. He flinched slightly, startled by the unexpected touch.
"You don't have to listen to them," said a gentle voice.
He looked up to see Lyra. Even in the morning sunlight, her presence seemed brighter than anyone else around. Her dark hair shone with strands of gold, and her eyes—sharp, intelligent, and kind—were always calm, always unwavering.
"You… you're always here," he muttered, forcing a small, almost pathetic smile.
"I told you," she said, tilting her head, "I don't care what anyone else says. You're not useless."
He wanted to believe her, but the reality around him was relentless. Every day, he saw the ease with which others wielded power, the speed, the grace, the awe they inspired. He had none of it. And sometimes, in the quiet moments alone, a throbbing pain would start in his head.
It began subtly—a dull ache behind his eyes. But when it came, it was relentless, making it impossible to focus, impossible to move without wincing. Nights were worse.
He had dreams. No, not ordinary dreams. Dreams that felt like glimpses of other worlds, of collapsing mountains and burning skies, of shadows too vast to comprehend. A monstrous presence always lingered at the edges of his vision, watching, waiting. When he woke, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding, he never knew whether he had dreamed or merely glimpsed something beyond reality.
At school, the bullying continued relentlessly. Today, a boy tried to shove him into the mud as the crowd laughed. He barely dodged. The mud splashed his shoes anyway, drawing another round of laughter.
Lyra was beside him again, as always. She handed him a small piece of fruit she had saved for him from her breakfast. "You're not weak," she said quietly, almost a whisper. "You just haven't found your spark yet. But one day… you will."
He looked down at the pie in his hand. It was a small comfort, but it didn't erase the feeling of being left behind. "Maybe I never will," he muttered under his breath.
Her eyes softened. "Then I'll wait for you. I'll make sure you find it."
He wanted to believe her, but doubt was a constant companion. Every year, the headaches grew stronger, the dreams more vivid. And every year, he watched everyone around him grow stronger, learn faster, shine brighter.
In class, the lessons were simple. They were learning to awaken and master their powers—basic elemental control, summoning minor spirits, even rudimentary domain techniques. All things he had no idea how to do. He watched as classmates made sparks dance across their hands, shadows writhed and curled like living things, and some even lifted off the ground entirely.
He felt empty.
After class, he wandered alone to the edge of town, sitting on the grassy hill overlooking the square. His head throbbed again, and the familiar visions crept back into his mind. This time, the dream was more vivid. He saw a colossal shadow, a being so vast that it seemed to consume the sky. It moved toward him, its presence suffocating, and he could feel an unseen force pressing against his chest.
Then, as quickly as it came, it vanished. He woke on the hill, knees drawn to his chest, sweat soaking his hair. It was just a dream… he told himself. Just a dream.
But the nagging feeling lingered: he wasn't ordinary. Not really.
Lyra found him there, as always. She didn't speak at first, just sat beside him. Finally, she said, "I know it's hard. I know you feel useless, like nothing will ever happen. But something is happening inside you. I can feel it."
He shook his head. "You're just saying that. Everyone else… they're moving forward. I'm… stuck."
"No," she said firmly. "You're not stuck. You're waiting. And when it's time… you'll see. You're not like anyone else. That's why it's scary—for you and for everyone else."
He didn't understand. Not yet. He had no power, no spark, nothing to make him special. And yet, the weight of her words pressed on him, like a promise he wasn't ready to accept.
That night, as he lay in bed, the headache came again, sharper than ever. The shadows in his dreams gathered closer. The colossal figure loomed over him, and a voice—not human, not kind—whispered in the void:
"Rise, child of Origin… the world has waited long enough."
He woke with a start, gasping. The room was still, silent, yet the air seemed… heavier. Alive.
He didn't understand what the voice meant, who the figure was, or why it called him "child of Origin." All he knew was that his life had changed. Something deep inside him was stirring. Something vast, ancient, and impossible.
And outside, as always, Lyra waited. Her presence was steady, comforting, and yet a silent reminder that the world outside his small town was about to become infinitely bigger—and infinitely more dangerous.
The first seeds of awakening had been planted. And though he didn't know it yet, the path from powerless boy to something no one in the multiverse could ignore had begun.