Prologue: Chapter 3

The morning air clung to Kyron's skin like a second layer as he stepped onto Hubbard's uneven cobblestones, the door swinging shut behind him on a wave of Fae's muffled outrage. His boots kicked up little puffs of dust that shimmered briefly in the sunlight before settling back into the street.

Ahead of him, the butcher, a burly minotaur with one chipped horn, was arguing good-naturedly with a lithe elven woman over the price of sausages. Neither noticed when a dwarf child darted between their legs, shrieking with laughter as she chased a floating sphere of light conjured by an elf child whose pointed ears caught the morning sun. An old man on the corner held two fingers to his temple and murmured something under his breath, and the cart beside him shuddered forward on its own across the uneven stone.

This was the other face of Owra, not the dramatic and the legendary, but the mundane. The daily, unremarkable fact of it. People in Hubbard used their affinities the way they used their hands: without ceremony, without thought, because why wouldn't you? His mother's water spirals, cleaning the skillet. His father's fire affinity cuts hours off a commission at the forge. The farmers along the eastern road, whose earth affinities had been guiding the same irrigation channels for thirty years without a single drought.

Most people in Xantria lived exactly like this. The full wartime expression of elemental magic, the kind described in history books, enormous and devastating, the kind that had levelled cities and split rivers from their banks, had largely faded into memory over the five centuries since the Disaster War.

In peacetime, there was no particular reason to develop that capacity. The army still trained combat mages, and those with rare or multiple affinities were routinely scouted and recruited, but for the vast majority, Owra was simply a convenience. A labour-saving fact of life.

Dungeon seekers were one of the few exceptions. The ancient war vaults scattered beneath Xantria's surface, constructed five hundred years ago by various factions to hide wealth, weapons, and things even older than the war itself, drew a particular breed of person: those with enough elemental control to survive what was inside, and enough appetite for danger to try in the first place. The kingdoms paid handsomely for recovered relics. The mortality rate was, depending on who you asked, either bracing or catastrophic.

The fluga was the primary reason. In the war's aftermath, surface fluga had been systematically hunted to extinction, or near enough. But dungeons were different. Sealed and abandoned for centuries, they had become ecosystems of a kind, sustaining generations of beasts that had evolved in total isolation from the outside world. They didn't think. They didn't plan. They simply existed in the dark and responded to intrusion the way a body responded to infection: immediately and without mercy.

Kyron turned left at the square where the old war monument stood, its marble surface worn smooth by centuries of rain. The inscription was barely legible now: Here marks the Last Stand of the 47th Legion, who held Hubbard Pass against Dreadvale's hordes"

It was strange to think that this same street had once run red. History lessons said Hubbard Pass had been subjected to a seventy-two-day siege, wave after wave of Dreadvale's forces breaking against the Coalition's lines until the ground was no longer recognisable as ground.

Now, children played hopscotch over the spot where the Demon King's lieutenant had supposedly fallen. A harpy mail carrier swooped low overhead, wings scattering leaves across the cobblestones, and dropped a parcel neatly into the waiting claws of Mrs Yvaine, the elderly dragonkin on the corner, whose scales caught the morning light like stained glass. She waved at Kyron with her free hand. Behind her, two dwarven engineers levitated stones into position for a new fountain while arguing loudly about load-bearing calculations.

Five hundred years. That was how long it had taken for this to feel normal, a minotaur and an elf haggling over sausages thirty metres from a monument to a war their ancestors had fought on opposite sides of. The Treaty of Coexistence had been exhausted diplomacy that was hammered into law. Some historians called it a miracle. Others called it a necessary fiction that everyone had agreed, over generations, to simply believe in hard enough that it became true.

The Hero of Ages had apparently spent whatever remained of himself after the final battle, ensuring it would hold. The treaty's clause forbidding racial segregation in any form bore language that scholars still argued over, unusually specific, almost prophetic, as though whoever wrote it had known exactly which loopholes fear would eventually try to crawl through.

Kyron's school was visible at the end of the road now. A modest crowd had gathered near the entrance, other eighteen-year-olds from Hubbard and the surrounding villages, some with family in tow, some alone, all wearing a version of the same carefully composed expression.

It was strange to think that today was the last day that Kyron would set foot here. Appraisal Day marked the end of his pre-Owra education. He did not need to learn complex mathematical sums or orc biology any longer. He was now an adult.

He stopped just short of the steps.

On Appraisal Day, every human who was eighteen was brought before a priest who would perform the Blessing, a formal channelling ritual using an Appraisal Stone that reached into the individual's Owra and drew out their elemental affinity, making it legible, nameable, and real. Before the Blessing, the affinity existed only as potential: an unlit wick.

For every other race in Xantria, there was no such ceremony. Their affinities were fixed at birth, as much a part of them as their blood or their bone. Elves were of the earth or water, always. Demons burned with fire or darkened with shadow, and nothing in between. Harpies shaped wind and lightning. Each race existed in harmony with a narrow slice of the Owra spectrum, their connection ancient and inherited, worn smooth by generations of use. They never had to wonder what they were. They simply knew.

Humans were different. Humans were, in the estimation of most scholars, an anomaly that Xantria had never fully explained. Their connection to Owra was wide open, undifferentiated, and unnarrowed, meaning a human child could grow into any element at all. Fire or water, ice or lightning, dark or light.

The Blessing didn't grant the affinity so much as reveal the one that had always been there, waiting. Most people got one element. There was no predicting it, no pattern that reliably ran through families, no way to prepare. His mother was water. His father was fire. Cassie had manifested lightning and metal during her Appraisal.

A Dualite. One in every hundred thousand, approximately. The term wasn't just descriptive; it carried weight.

There had only ever been one person in recorded history to carry more than two affinities. He had used all of them, every element at once, to end the war. His name appeared on monuments like the one Kyron had just passed. Nobody remembered what he'd looked like. Nobody knew where he was buried, or if he was buried at all.

Then there was the other possibility, the one that was unique to humans, a consequence of the same openness that made Dualites possible. Because a spectrum with no fixed boundaries could also fall short of any boundary at all. A small minority of humans emerged from the Blessing with nothing. No element claimed them. The wick didn't catch. They were called Barren.

They weren't broken nor deficient, simply empty in the particular way that an open door with nothing behind it was empty. They could still feel Owra, still breathe it like every other living thing in Xantria. They simply couldn't shape it. Couldn't call it. Couldn't make it answer. No other race could be Barren. It was, depending on how one chose to look at it, either the price of human potential or proof that the universe had a sense of irony.

Unlike most people, Kyron did not fear this possibility; rather, he welcomed it. He felt it was an appropriate punishment for his role in the tragedy that befell this town last year. This was the penance he hoped for, if anything, to absolve the suffocating feeling of guilt and helplessness.

Kyron took a slow breath, climbed the steps and made his way towards the Great Hall. He spotted his friends Joren and Claudia chatting to each other near a bench that was near the entrance to the hall.

Joren noticed him first, his presence impossible to ignore. He was tall, his broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his shirt just enough to hint at the strength beneath, dark skin gleaming under the golden light, his close-cropped hair shadowing the sharp angle of his jaw. His grin was the same one Kyron had known since childhood: reckless, bright, and dripping with the promise of mischief, the kind that made your pulse quicken just from the memory of past adventures.

Beside him, Claudia was a study in contrasts, small in stature but overwhelming in presence. Her silver-blonde braid, thick as a rope, cascaded over one shoulder, framing the swell of her breasts beneath the snug fabric of her top. They weren’t large, but they were full, the curves of them impossible to ignore, especially when she shifted her weight, the movement drawing attention to the way her tight pants clung to the generous roundness of her ass. Every line of her body seemed designed to taunt, to tease, her sharp features, the way her lips curled in amusement, the way her gaze lingered just a second too long, as if she knew exactly what effect she had on you. And when she rolled her eyes, it wasn’t just exasperation; it was a challenge, a silent invitation to try and resist her.

"You look like shit, Ky", Joren announced cheerfully.

"Thanks," Kyron said, rubbing at his throat absently. The phantom rope still lingered, just beneath his skin.

Claudia's eyes narrowed. "Nightmare again?"

Kyron shrugged.

Joren clapped him on the shoulder, hard enough to jostle his teeth. "Well, cheer up. Today's the day we finally find out if you're secretly a Dualite like Cassie, or just tragically ordinary like the rest of us."

Claudia snorted. "As if you wouldn't sell your soul to be a Dualite."

"Damn right," Joren agreed easily. "Imagine the look on my dad's face if I came home with two affinities."

Kyron exhaled, watching the crowd mill around them. Some faces were tense, others alight with excitement. A few parents hovered at the edges, trying, and failing, to look casual.

"You nervous?" Claudia asked, quieter now.

Kyron hesitated. There was no way he could tell her his true thoughts. How he was hoping to be Barren. How being Barren would be just the excuse and escape he needed to find some solace in this painful existence.

Kyron felt like everyone could tell how much the incident last year affected him, but only he knows just how irreversible the damage was to his mental state.

Before he could answer, the heavy oak doors of the Great Hall groaned open. A hush fell over the crowd as Headmaster Veyra stepped into the courtyard.

"Owra be blessed upon you all. Please enter."

Kyron followed the crowd into the Great Hall, the scent of aged wood and polished stone filling his nostrils. The Appraisal Stone sat at the far end of the hall, a massive, smooth slab of black obsidian veined with threads of gold that pulsed faintly, as if breathing. It rested on a dais, flanked by two priests in robes of deep violet, their hands folded in quiet prayer. Headmaster Veyra stood before it, his presence commanding without a word. His silver-streaked beard caught the light filtering through the stained-glass windows, casting prismatic shadows across his stern face.

"Today, you step into your future," Veyra announced, his voice carrying effortlessly across the hall. "The Blessing is not a test you can fail. It is a revelation. Owra does not judge; it simply is. And today, it will show you what you have always carried within."

Kyron swallowed hard, his fingers twitching at his sides. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, but it wasn’t fear that coiled in his gut. It was something else, something darker, quieter. A hope, almost, that the Stone would confirm what he already believed about himself: that he was empty. Barren. A vessel with nothing to give.

The priests began calling names in no particular order, and one by one, the teenagers stepped forward. Some walked with confidence, their chins lifted as if they already knew their destiny. Others trembled, their hands clenched into fists at their sides. Kyron watched as a girl, Alira, from the neighbouring village, stepped onto the dais. She knelt before the Stone, and the priest placed a hand on her shoulder, murmuring the ancient incantation. The Stone’s golden veins flared, and for a heartbeat, the air itself seemed to shimmer. Then, a gust of wind swirled around Alira, lifting her hair as if in celebration. She gasped, her eyes wide with wonder.

"Wind," the priest declared. "Owra has spoken."

She stood, her face alight with joy, and practically skipped off the dais to the cheers of her family.

Kyron stomach twisted. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want the elation, the relief, the purpose that came with an affinity. He wanted the opposite. He wanted the Stone to remain dark, silent. He wanted to be Barren.

"Claudia Wavert"

Upon hearing her name, she gave both Joren's and Kyron's a light squeeze before walking towards the dais.

She moved with her usual confidence, kneeling before the Stone without hesitation. The priest placed a hand on her shoulder and began the chant. The Stone’s golden veins flared to life. A gust of wind tore through the hall, strong enough to make the banners ripple violently. Then, frost spread across the dais, creeping outward in jagged patterns. The crowd erupted, gasps, shouts, even a few disbelieving laughs.

For a long moment, no one spoke. Then the priest swallowed hard. "Ice and Wind," he said, his voice trembling. "Dualite."

The hall exploded. Whispers became shouts, shock giving way to awe. Claudia stood, brushing frost from her sleeves with a cool detachment, but Kyron caught the flicker of something in her eyes, pride, maybe, or the thrill of defying expectations. Joren let out a low whistle, shaking his head in disbelief.

Claudia came back to join them as the next person went up. Kyron almost felt bad for him. How was anyone supposed to follow that?

"Look at Ms Overachiever here." Joren joked. "If only you were from Hubbard like Kyron and I. Hubbard would be touted as a Dualite farm."

"It's not like Hubbard is lacking in Dualites. Last year, the only Dualite was from Hubbard. The year before that was Cassie and David's year, and they were touted as the strongest duo after their first year at Mageth." Claudia chimed in.

Kyron's breath hitched upon the mention of David's name.

The whole day, he had been avoiding the topic of David, the source of many of his happiest memories but also his greatest sorrow.

Claudia also realised what she said and admonished herself silently.

Everyone knew what Kyron was thinking. They were at the funeral. They saw the ring around-.

"Lisa Freyrat"

His thoughts were interrupted as the priest called upon the next person on the list.

Lisa.

Kyron hadn't spoken to her since that day last year.

She still looked as beautiful as ever as she walked towards the front. Her bright green eyes were dimmed with sorrow, yet there was a fire in her gaze, an unyielding strength that refused to be extinguished. Her scarlet red hair, vibrant as a dying ember, fell in loose waves around her shoulders, framing a face that was both delicate and fierce.

Her full breasts strained the fabric of her dress. Her hips were wide, her ass round and generous, a curve that spoke of power and sensuality.

They called her the most beautiful woman in Hubbard.

She was once his, but now Kyron doesn't even deserve to be near her shadow.

The priest placed a hand on Lisa's shoulder, and the chant began. A beam of pure, blinding light erupted from the Stone, illuminating the hall like a second sun, while shadows swirled at Lisa’s feet, twisting and coiling as if alive.

The crowd erupted into chaos. Gasps, shouts, and murmurs of disbelief filled the air. The priest staggered back, his voice barely audible over the noise. "Dark and Light," he managed. "Dualite."

The hall was in uproar. Two Dualites in one day. The scouts from Mageth Academy, who had been lingering at the back of the hall, exchanged stunned glances. Kyron’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. Of course, she was a Dualite. She deserved it. She deserved everything. And yet, the thought of her leaving Hubbard, of her stepping into a world he couldn’t follow, settled in his gut like a stone.

He remembered the way she used to laugh, the way her eyes would light up when she teased him, the way her head fit under his chin as if she were made for him. But that was before. Before David. Before the funeral. Before the ring of earth around the fresh grave, the soil was still dark and damp.

Lisa stood, her expression unreadable, but Kyron saw the way her fingers trembled slightly as she brushed them against her dress. She didn’t look at him as she stepped down from the dais, and he didn’t blame her. He wasn’t sure he could bear it if she did.

Joren let out a low whistle beside him. "Two Dualites in one day. It's becoming very common. Tell me, why are we still such a poor town?"

"Maybe you'll be a Dualite as well." Kyron nudged Joren. "Three Dualites would be record-breaking."

"Ah, don't get my hopes up, my brother."

Claudia’s sharp eyes were fixed on Lisa, her expression hard. "She’s always been special," she murmured, almost to herself.

"You're speaking as if you weren't a Dualite yourself." Joren chuckled.

Claudia ignored him and turned to Kyron. "I am sorry"

"What for?"

"For bringing him up."

Kyron sighed. He couldn't keep running forever. "It's fine, Claudia. I shouldn't be so sensitive. Anyways, Lisa's following in her brother's footsteps, huh? David had the same affinities."

"Yeah, it's making the teaching that affinities aren't genetic harder to believe."

"Don't say that!" Joren chimed in. "I don't want to get my dad's shitty earth affinity. I am not going to be doomed to a life of farming."

"Tsk, show more appreciation toward your father." Claudia tutted.

"Joren Blade"

"Looks like my time has come, my friends. Please don't forget me."

Claudia rolled her eyes and pushed him as he walked away, chuckling.

He knelt, grinning as if this were all a grand joke. The Stone flared again, and a crackle of energy filled the air. Lightning danced between his fingers, thin and bright.

"Lightning," the priest declared.

Joren whooped, flexing his hands as sparks flickered between his fingertips.

"I got a pretty rare one, huh?" Joren winked.

While it is unclear how rare each element is, just from a cursory observation, Kyron could tell that a lot of people awakened the four natural elements of fire, water, wind, and earth. It was rarer to find someone who had an affinity for elements that were subsets of the four.

"Kyron Warths"

it was Kyron's turn.

As he walked up to the front. His nerves were a mess. He did not know what to anticipate. Hell, he was not even certain in what outcome he desired.

He knelt before the Stone, his pulse steady. The priest’s hand settled on his shoulder, and the chant began. Kyron closed his eyes, waiting. The Stone remained dark. Silent.

The priest’s voice faltered. Then, said, "Try again."

Kyron's breath hitched. His dark desire had come true.

Kyron placed another tentative hand on the Stone.

"Barren", the priest said, almost a whisper.

The word hit Kyron like a physical blow, but not an unwelcome one. Relief flooded him, sharp and sudden. This was what he wanted. What he deserved. Yet, beneath it, a flicker of something else, disappointment, tried to surface. He crushed it down.

The hall was eerily quiet now, the earlier excitement replaced by murmurs of pity and disbelief. Kyron stood, his legs steady, and met Joren’s gaze. His friend’s usual grin was gone, replaced by something softer, almost guilty. Claudia’s face was in an expression of shock.

Before he could stop himself, Kyron was scanning the crowd looking for Lisa. When his gaze landed on her, he found her staring back at him, her eyes unreadable. Her expression was unchanging.

How long has it been since Kyron became incapable of reading her thoughts?

Kyron gave her a small smile, his first acknowledgement of her existence in many months.

Kyron turned away from Lisa’s gaze, the weight of her unreadable expression pressing against his chest. He walked back toward his friends, his boots scuffing against the polished stone floor. He kept his head high. This was what he wanted. What he deserved.

Joren was the first to reach him, his usual grin faltering as he clapped Kyron on the shoulder. "Well, Ky, looks like you’re the lucky one today. You don't need to worry about studying for test anymore, you can start banging every hot chick in the village"

Kyron managed a small, wry smile. "Yeah, I guess I can."

Claudia crossed her arms, her sharp eyes scanning the crowd. "Now’s not the time, Joren. Kyron, are you okay? Listen-"

Before she could finish, a group of scouts in Mageth Academy’s deep blue and silver livery approached, their polished boots clicking against the stone. The tall woman with the scar down her cheek stepped forward, her gaze flicking, landing on Joren and Claudia. "You two," she said, her voice crisp. "The Academy would like to speak with you."

She predictably did not acknowledge Kyron.

"Guess we’re popular now," Joren muttered, glancing at Kyron.

"I'm fine, guys. Go ahead, I’ll see you later."

Claudia’s eyes narrowed, as if she wanted to argue, but she held her tongue. Joren clapped him on the back one last time. "Don’t do that shit where you become a cave goblin. Meet us in the tavern tonight."

"He's right, Kyron. We'd better see you there later." Claudia spoke up as well.

"Yeah, for sure." Kyron smiled at them before they were led to a corner where other scouts were speaking to some of the newly apprised. Lisa was among that group speaking to a tall, cheerful man. Lisa's expression, however, was as stoic as ever.

Then, he turned and walked toward the exit, the weight of the Stone’s silence still pressing against his skin.

The morning air was cool as he stepped outside, the sounds of Hubbard’s daily life washing over him. He took a deep breath, the phantom rope around his throat finally loosening.

He was Barren.

And for now, that was enough.