The testing hall feels too quiet.
Not silent—whispers, shuffling feet, nervous laughs cut short—but quiet enough that every sound feels magnified.
He stands in line between Melissa and Andrian. Hands at his sides.
Don't think about it.
Don't.
His brain won't shut up. Never shuts up.
*You're going to fail. You know you're going to fail.*
Yeah. He knows.
Known for three years. Ever since the clone. Ever since he felt something rip away and magic stopped being his and started being somewhere else.
Someone else.
But knowing doesn't make it easier.
Around him, other ten-year-olds shift and whisper. Some excited. Some terrified. Most hopeful—that stupid way kids are when they still think the world's fair.
He knows better.
The crystal will touch his hand. Find nothing. They'll test again. Same result.
Then *anomaly* gets written in their books.
*Done.*
He almost laughs.
*Almost.*
---
A clerk steps forward. Clipboard. Bored face.
Starts calling names.
"Melissa Rose."
Melissa's hand finds his. Squeezes once. Quick. Her palm is sweaty.
Then she's walking toward the platform.
He watches her go. Small. Nervous. Braver than he'll ever be.
The clerk presses a crystal against her palm.
Light blooms.
White. Steady. Clean.
The whole hall breathes out.
"Divine affinity," the clerk announces. "High potential. Young lady, you have a bright future ahead."
Melissa turns pink. Ducks her head. Smiles anyway.
When she looks back, her eyes shine.
He smiles back.
Means it, too.
She deserves this.
The tests continue. Name after name. Kid after kid.
Fire. Water. Earth. Physical enhancement. Divine light.
Most get something. Even the weak ones get *something.* A category. A place.
A future.
---
They call Andrian eventually.
He walks up with that confidence. Not arrogance. Just... knowing where you belong.
The crystal touches his palm. Starts vibrating. Cracks spread across the surface.
"Physical enhancement," the clerk says. Approval in his voice. "Exceptional potential."
*Of course.*
*Of course it is.*
Andrian grins—quick, boyish, real—and gives him a thumbs up.
He returns it.
Tries not to think about the line getting shorter. About his turn coming.
About everyone watching.
Then—
"Dorian Vale."
His legs move. One foot. Another. Automatic.
The clerk is old. Gray hair. Tired eyes. Done this a thousand times and stopped caring somewhere around five hundred.
"Hand out."
He obeys.
The crystal settles against his palm.
Cool. Smooth. Dead.
Nothing happens.
He knew. God, he knew this would happen. Knew for three years. But knowing something and living through it—
Different things.
The clerk waits. Five seconds. Ten.
"Hmm."
Adjusts the crystal. Moves his hand.
Nothing.
A second clerk comes over. They look at each other. Frown.
Another crystal appears. Newer. Shinier.
"Try this one."
He holds it.
Nothing.
They test again. Different angles. Different positions. Whispering too quietly to hear but he knows what they're saying.
*What's wrong with him? Is it broken? No, look, the crystal's fine. It's the kid.*
Around the hall, whispers start.
*"What's wrong with him?"*
*"Is the crystal broken?"*
*"No, look, it works fine. It's just—"*
The older clerk clears his throat. Sharp. Cutting through the noise.
"No mana response detected." Voice flat. Official. Final. "No energy channel present."
Checks his clipboard. Frowns like the words don't make sense even to him.
"Repeat the test."
They do.
Nothing changes.
"Complete incompatibility," the clerk says slowly. "No magical, physical, or divine affinity detected."
"Well that's new."
Makes a note.
*Anomaly.*
"Step aside."
He lets go of the crystal.
"Is that all?" His voice comes out steady. Good. At least he has that.
"Yes."
He steps aside.
Across the room, Melissa looks confused. Her mouth opens—probably to ask what happened, what it means, if they made a mistake.
The clerk's already calling the next name.
Next kid. Next future.
He stands with the others who finished. Tries not to notice how much space opens up around him. How nobody meets his eyes.
Andrian leans closer. Whispers. "Maybe it's delayed. Like... late bloomers, right?"
He shakes his head.
"It's not."
"But—"
"It's not."
Could explain. Could tell them about the magic he learned at five. The clone at seven. The truth that his power isn't gone, just... somewhere else.
But what's the point?
They won't believe him.
*Nobody will.*
And even if they did—wouldn't change anything.
The test finished. Parents come. Some kids cry. Some celebrate. Most do both.
Nobody comes for him.
A man in registry insignia stops in front of him. He doesn't know him. Doesn't need to. Knows that expression.
Pity. Discomfort. Bad news.
"You'll be noted as non-functional," the man says. "No training assignment."
"What do I do instead?"
The man's mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.
"You live normally," he says. "If possible."
Walks away before he can ask what normally means when they say you don't exist.
---
Melissa catches up to him outside.
"That doesn't make sense." Breathing hard. Running after him, probably. "Everyone has something."
He keeps walking.
"I don't."
"But—"
"It's what it is."
Andrian appears on his other side. Tag-teaming him now. Great.
"They have to be wrong," Andrian says. "We can ask for another test. My dad knows people—"
"They're not wrong."
"Dorian—"
"Five times, Andrian. Different crystals. Not a mistake."
Silence.
Melissa's face does something complicated. Confusion. Concern. The start of pity.
He looks away.
"So what happens now?" she asks quietly.
He thinks about that. About the empty category and the non-functional label and the future just decided without asking him.
"Nothing," he says. "We go home."
They do.
The walk is quiet. Different quiet than the testing hall. Worse.
Melissa keeps glancing at him. Wanting to say something. Not finding words.
Andrian stays close. Protective. Like that helps.
It doesn't.
When they reach the split where their paths divide, Melissa stops.
"Dorian—"
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
He smiles. Feels wrong on his face. "Sure I am."
She doesn't look convinced.
Hugs him anyway. Quick. Fierce. The kind that says everything words can't.
Then pulls back.
"Tomorrow?"
"Yeah. Tomorrow."
She and Andrian leave together. Still whispering. Still worried.
He watches them go.
Then goes home.
---
His parents are waiting.
Mom's face crumples the second he walks through the door. Pulls him into her arms.
"Mom—"
"It's not fair." Her voice breaks. Raw. "It's not fair."
Dad stands in the study doorway. Wine bottle in hand. Two glasses.
He sets them on the table. Pours.
Mom looks at him. Then at the wine.
"This isn't an occasion to celebrate."
"No." Dad's voice is quiet. Steady. "We can mourn."
He slides a glass toward her.
She stares at it for a long moment.
Then picks it up.
Dorian watches them sit in silence. His mother holding wine she won't drink. His father holding answers he doesn't have.
"We'll request another test," Dad says eventually. Too controlled. "Procedures. Appeals."
"They won't change anything."
"We don't know—"
"Five times, Dad. Different crystals. Not a mistake."
Silence.
Mom's grip tightens.
Dad looks away.
"This doesn't make sense," Mom says. Pulls back. Red eyes. "You're healthy. Smart. You're—"
"Defective."
"Don't say that."
But the crystal said it. The clerk wrote it.
Everyone will know it.
Even though it's not true.
She cups his face. Hands shaking. "This changes nothing. You hear me? Nothing."
He nods.
Knows she's wrong. It changes everything.
But not in the way she thinks.
"You're still my son. Still brilliant. Still—" Her voice cracks. "Still everything."
"Mom—"
"Promise me you won't give up. Promise."
"I won't." And he means it.
He's not giving up.
He's just waiting.
She kisses his forehead. Smiles. Eyes still wet.
"Go to your room. I'll bring dinner later."
He leaves.
Behind him—Dad's footsteps. Glass clinking.
"Maria, we need to—"
"Not now."
"We can't just—"
"I said not now."
Silence.
Study door. Thud.
Mom's crying follows him down the hall.
---
He stands outside his bedroom door. Hand on the knob.
Lets himself feel it.
The weight. The future. Everything just decided without asking him.
Then goes inside. Closes the door.
His room looks the same. Bookshelf. Desk. Bed.
Nothing changed yet it feels like everything changed.
He sits on the edge of his bed. Stares at his hands.
These hands held the crystal. These hands made the clone three years ago.
And the clone took his mana with it.
That's all this is.
The crystal found nothing because there's nothing to find. The clone has it. All of it.
For six years.
He lies back. Stares at the ceiling.
Could tell his parents the truth. About the magic at five. The clone at seven.
They won't believe him.
*Nobody will.*
*So fine.*
For six years, he'll be "defective."
Let them think it.
The clone will come back. The mana will return.
And then?
Then they'll see.
He almost smiles.
*Almost.*
---
Mom brings food later. He doesn't eat it.
She doesn't ask why he's lying in the dark.
Just sets the tray down. Kisses his forehead. Leaves.
After she's gone, he rolls onto his side. Watches shadows on the wall.
Six years.
He can wait six years.
Melissa and Andrian will start their training tomorrow.
Good for them.
He'll figure out his own way.
And when the clone comes back?
When he gets his mana back?
They'll see.
*Six years,* he thinks. *That's nothing.*
Closes his eyes.
Sleeps.
---
That night, the registry updates.
**Dorian Vale: No magical capacity. No physical enhancement. No divine affinity.**
**Status: Anomaly.**
**Recommendation: No action.**