Lyraen
My back screamed in pain as I dragged a sack of glowing stones toward Mage Sylas's shop and prayed he wouldn't notice half of them were missing. These stones glow at night, making the view feel alive. They are commonly used for chandeliers and sold to the highest bidder—the privileged, or those who have something valuable to offer Sylas in return. He has a witch he usually sends into the dark forest, for information or other things within his own reach. The last time he sent me to her was when he needed a specific vampire fang which is from the Marlrik clan lineage. Some of his potential customers include Alpha Marcus, the recently crowned head of the Wolves Pack in this village. I could remember him winning against the previous alpha, with his victorious growls and howls echoing in relief throughout the settlement.
Sodium Month is already right around the corner. It's during this season that the sky rains a light, bluish water on us, making it more magical than any other time of year. The young and mid-adults will come out to compete and learn everyone's rank until the next season. It's at that time that powers feel real and free to be shown. The atmosphere fills with energy — surges and collisions of spells as they give each other enough space to burst into full potential, the air carrying the chants and screams of the winners.
He sent me to get the stones, and I had no choice but to obey if I wanted to survive the next few weeks because during this season they sell quickly and become scarce.
Not only does my back hurt now, but my heart aches too, because I don't know how to explain to Sylas that I lost half of his stones to bullies on my way back — not to mention I was beaten bloody and mocked on top of it. It's those freshers, the lower ones just beginning to climb up the ladder. I'm lucky it wasn't Arcturus or Korrin this time — if it had been, things would've been far worse and different. You know why.
Because no one cares about a half-face-scarred boy with no spark of power, growing up among people who all have abilities — werewolves bound to their packs, vampires from different clans and bloodlines, fairies, and stranger beings hidden underground and beneath the sea, and others who call themselves gods with demonic instincts. That's the category people like Darken fall into.
I've been an orphan for thirteen years. My parents died when I was six, and I have no real details about how or why they were killed. All I ever heard was the name of a warlord — Darken. That name stuck with me because I can still hear my mother screaming it and begging for mercy. There was a woman, Moraine, my mother's closest friend, who had always been like an aunt to me. She rescued me that night. But after she got me out, she disappeared. I couldn't tell if she left during the chaos or went back and got killed by Darken too. My memories of that night are still foggy, and I don't know why my face is half-scarred. Those answers got buried the night my life turned upside down.
I've been alone ever since — always pushed out of people's moments and lives, like I'm not part of the town. Without abilities, you often don't belong anywhere. Different clans, groups, and lineages cling tightly to their own.
And there's how I look: with this fractured scar with layers of veins, the scarred half of my eye missing the dark part of the iris entirely. It's just white. I have this feeling of something locked and dormant inside — like the source of a power I can't reach and don't even know if I have. I have tried to access it multiple times when I was younger. But I eventually gave up and focused on surviving around all of this.
I was approaching the shop now, my thoughts racing over how angry Sylas would be. Those stones cost a fortune — one he's still in debt for — and he doesn't mix friendship or family with business. I was certain he wouldn't make an exception for me.
I walked in. He was already entertaining customers, though not the elites this time. He usually holds those meetings differently — somewhere way better, where the good things are kept, not in this wooden structure with lanterns in every corner, displaying herbs, and low-priced artifacts, dragon bones, and other odds and ends the elites wouldn't glance at twice.
He was mid-conversation with a customer when I came into his line of sight. I wanted to explain quickly, to let him know how much trouble I was in, but I got a clear signal from him — a look that said, Don't you see I'm busy. I moved to a corner and waited, counting the minutes until he was done so we could step into the back and sort out my punishment.
While I waited, I listened to the people around me talking about the Sodium Month — how tough the competition would be this time — while also revisiting remarkable moments from previous seasons. Some spoke about their failures and how they planned to do better. While others recounted their wins, the biggest winners always drew the longest retellings, the kind that stick in everyone's memory and become legend. A good example of that was when Brenda, the lastborn of the Sun Clan, incinerated the league's demon possessor with her Sunfire.
My mind got pulled back to my actual problem. I stared at the sack on the floor in front of me, half-empty. Everyone else in the shop was lost in their own moments. I sat in the left corner, my mind drifting back to the road — replaying every second of how I ended up here.
— — —
"Hey, scar face," the first guy called out from behind me, but I didn't answer. I felt the cold night air crawling across the ruined half of my face. The sack was heavy on my back as I tightened my grip and kept moving.
"You deaf?" the second one asked.
And just when I thought my day was getting marginally better, the first guy spun me around and punched me hard across the nose. It was already bleeding by the time my knees hit the ground. The sack fell from my hands and the stones spilled across the dirt.
"Leave the stones and go," the first guy said, his fingers twisted in my hair.
"I don't think that's going to be possible," I said.
"Well, you'd better make it possible — because I don't see what you're going to do about it out here," he cut back.
He was right. There was nothing I could do in a straight fight — with no power, no training, and definitely no martial arts. But a thought crept in. Half the stones were already scattered on the ground anyway. So I reached quietly for one of the heavier ones while he still had a fist in my hair. I put everything I had into it and cracked it hard against his chest. He went down, winded. Before the second guy could react, I hurled the same stone straight at his forehead, grabbed the sack with what was left, and ran — leaving the rest on the ground. They'd slow me down anyway. Half was better than nothing.
But hitting them only made them angrier. They came after me immediately.
I heard knives slicing through the air, hitting trees as I ran. Right — I had forgotten they could use their powers. Who was I kidding? They could control objects and aim them remotely, but they kept missing because the forest was dark, with only the moonlight breaking through the canopy. Still, I didn't stop running.
— — —
Sylas signaled to me from across the shop, pulling me back to reality. He was already moving toward the back room. I stood, my heart hammering, and followed him, counting each step.
The door closed behind us and the noise from the shop disappeared. It was just him and me now. The silence felt heavier than anything I had carried all day.
"Lyraen," he said, reaching for the sack. "I see you've brought my goods."
His hands got still as he felt the weight of it while looking up at me slowly.
"I… I lost… half the stones," I said, stuttering.
"You're joking," he said, his voice darkening with anger.
He stepped forward and grabbed my jaw.
"You what?" I couldn't answer. Pain shot through my face as his fingers dug into the scarred side. He released my jaw and suddenly went quiet. Then I felt the air around him shift — something charging, like it has no patience left in it.
Before I knew it, a wave of energy burst from him.
Its force slammed into me, ripping me off my feet. I crashed through the shelves behind me, the wood snapping apart, artifacts scattering across the floor.
It blasted me through the doorway and hurled me outside into the dirt.