My head throbbed with each pulse of my heart. I tried to open my eyes but everything swam in a haze of colors and shadows. Something soft pressed against my back - my bed maybe?

  "Easy there, son." Dad's voice cut through the fog. His hand pressed against my shoulder as I tried to sit up. "Just lie still for now."

  The room spun even with my eyes closed. What happened? There were fragments - the village hall, floating stones, a horrible cracking sound. But they slipped away like water through my fingers when I tried to grab hold of them.

  "Where..." My throat felt raw, the words scraping their way out. "What..."

  "You're home," Dad said. His voice sounded strange, tight in a way I'd never heard before. "You've been unconscious for a few hours."

  I forced my eyes open again. The ceiling above me slowly came into focus, then blurred again. My stomach lurched and I squeezed my eyes shut.

  "My head hurts," I mumbled. Everything hurt really - deep aches in my bones and muscles like I'd fallen from a great height.

  "I know." Dad's healing magic flowed into me, but it felt different somehow. Weaker? No, that wasn't right.

  Memory flickered at the edges of my mind, but trying to grasp it only made my head pound harder. There was something I needed to remember, something terrible. But maybe if I just lay here a little longer, kept my eyes closed a little longer, I wouldn't have to remember at all.

  The mattress shifted as someone else sat on the edge of my bed. A gentle hand brushed through my hair - Mom's familiar touch.

  "Everything's going to be alright, sweetheart." Her voice wavered slightly. "We're right here with you."

  But something in the way she said it made my chest tighten. The fragments of memory started piecing themselves together despite my attempts to push them away. The ceremony. The floating stones. The horrible silence when nothing happened.

  "No." I jerked upright, ignoring the spike of pain in my head. "No, no, no."

  "James, please lie back down." Mom tried to ease me back against the pillows but I pulled away.

  "I'm... I'm a Vacui." The words tasted like ash in my mouth. "The magic rejected me."

  "That doesn't change who you are." Mom wrapped her arms around me as I started trembling. "You're still our wonderful, brave boy."

  "But Marcus..." The image of my best friend backing away from me, horror in his eyes, made me curl in on myself. "Everyone was afraid of me."

  "They don't understand," Dad said, his hand squeezing my shoulder. "People fear what they don't understand. But we're not afraid. We could never be afraid of you."

  I pressed my face into Mom's shoulder, trying to muffle the sob that broke free. Her arms tightened around me as she rocked gently back and forth like she used to when I was little.

  "We love you so much," she whispered against my hair. "Nothing will ever change that. Nothing."

  But even as their words tried to comfort me, I could feel the wrongness inside. The hollow space where magic should have been. The emptiness that marked me as different, broken, feared.

  Through my tears, a flash of green caught in my memory - the pendant I'd made for Marcus. My stomach twisted as I remembered it clattering to the floor when he backed away from me. The sound of it hitting the wooden boards had been lost in the chaos, but now it echoed in my mind as clearly as if it had just happened.

  "The pendant," I choked out against Mom's shoulder. "I left it... I couldn't..."

  "You mean this?" Dad's voice was gentle as he pulled something from his pocket.

  I lifted my head, blinking through the tears. There in his palm lay the simple polished green stone - the one I'd spent hours working on for Marcus.

  "I saw it on the floor after... well, after everything." Dad pressed it into my trembling hands. "Thought you might want it back."

  The stone felt cold against my palm, nothing like the warmth it had held when I'd first given it to Marcus. I traced my finger over the rough edges where I'd tried to smooth them down, remembering how proud I'd been of my work.

  "He didn't want it." My voice cracked. "He threw it away like... like..."

  Like I was nothing. Like our friendship meant nothing. Like all our promises were just empty words scattered to the wind.

  I clutched the pendant tighter, the edges digging into my skin. The pain felt distant compared to the hollow ache in my chest where my best friend used to be.

  The light from the window had faded to deep purple, casting long shadows across my bedroom. I hadn't noticed time slipping away while I cried into Mom's shoulder. My throat felt raw and my eyes burned.

  "You should try to get some sleep." Dad stood up from his chair, stretching his back. "It's been a long day."

  "I brought you some water." Mom placed a cup on my bedside table. "And there's bread if you're hungry."

  My stomach twisted at the thought of food. I shook my head.

  "Come on now, where's that smile?" Dad's attempt at lightness felt forced. "You know what they say about Vacui healers? They never run out of mana!"

  The silence that followed made me sink deeper into my blankets. Mom shot him a sharp look.

  "Nova, please." Her voice was tight.

  "Sorry, sorry." Dad ran a hand through his hair. "That was... I shouldn't have..."

  "It's fine." I turned away from them both, facing the wall. It wasn't fine. Nothing was fine. But I couldn't bear to see the worry in their faces anymore.

  "We'll be right down the hall if you need anything." Mom's hand brushed my shoulder. "Anything at all, sweetheart."

  I heard their footsteps, the soft creak of my door. They paused in the doorway.

  "We love you, James." Mom's voice was barely a whisper.

  The door clicked shut. I curled tighter around myself, clutching the green pendant that should have been Marcus's. The moonlight streaming through my window painted everything in shades of blue and red from the twin moons. How many nights had Marcus and I stayed up late, making up stories about the moons' dance across the sky?

  Now I lay alone in the dark, watching shadows creep across my ceiling, wondering if anything would ever feel normal again.

  I tossed and turned in my bed, unable to sleep as thoughts raced through my mind. Everything I knew about Vacui came flooding back - whispered stories and warnings from adults who thought children weren't listening.

  They were empty vessels. Devoid of magic. Walking voids that couldn't hold even a spark of power. Some said they were cursed, others claimed they were mistakes of nature. In all my ten years, I'd never actually seen one in person.

  Now I was one.

  I pressed my hand against my chest, trying to feel for something - anything - that might prove everyone wrong. But there was only the steady thump of my heart. No warm flutter of potential magic like I used to imagine was there. Just... nothing.

  The traders who passed through Tarza sometimes spoke of Vacui in the big cities. How they lived in the shadows, taking the jobs no one else wanted. How people crossed the street to avoid walking near them. Even the merchants who'd sell to anyone barely looked at them when accepting their coins.

  In all of Tarza's history, there had never been a Vacui. Our village was too small, too ordinary for something so rare and terrible. The closest I'd heard of was in a town several days' journey away, and even that was just a rumor.

  But now here I was. The first Vacui in Tarza's history. The empty one. The void child.

  I remembered how Marcus's mother used to shoo us away from the traveling merchants who brought stories of Vacui, saying such talk wasn't for children's ears.

  The worst part was knowing there was no cure, no way to fix what I was. A Vacui was born empty and stayed empty. All the healing magic in the world couldn't fill the void where magic should have been.

  My thoughts swirled like leaves caught in a whirlpool, each one darker than the last. The room tilted and spun around me, making my stomach lurch. I gripped the green pendant tighter, its edges biting into my palm, but even that familiar pain felt distant now.

  The shadows from the twin moons stretched across my room like grasping fingers. Or maybe that was just my vision blurring again. Everything felt heavy - my limbs, my head, even the air itself seemed to press down on me.

  "How can things get any worse?" I whispered to the darkness, my voice cracking.

  The words had barely left my lips when consciousness started slipping away. The familiar shapes of my room melted into formless shadows. I tried to fight it, to keep my eyes open, but it was like trying to hold onto water.

  The last thing I felt was the pain going away just for a fleeting moment - a strange, weightless sensation, like floating in warm water. The constant ache that had become my unwanted companion dissolved into nothingness, leaving behind an eerie emptiness that should have been comforting but instead filled me with dread. For that brief heartbeat of time, I existed in perfect stillness, suspended between agony and oblivion.

  * * *

  I woke to sunlight stabbing through my eyelids. My head still throbbed, but the chaos of thoughts from last night had settled into a dull ache. The morning rays painted my room in familiar golden hues, so different from the haunting moonlight that had kept me company in the dark.

  My muscles protested as I shifted in bed. Every movement sent spikes of pain through my body - remnants of the fall during the ceremony. Father's healing magic had mended the worst of it, but my body remembered the trauma.

  The green pendant lay next to my pillow where I'd dropped it in exhaustion. In the morning light, it looked ordinary - just a simple stone on a leather cord. Nothing special. Nothing magical. Like me.

  Voices drifted up from downstairs - my parents speaking in hushed tones. I couldn't make out the words, but their worry carried through the floorboards. They'd probably been up all night, wondering what to do with their Vacui son.

  At least my mind felt clearer. The fog of confusion had lifted, leaving behind a sharp, painful clarity. I was Vacui. The first in Tarza. Those were facts now, as solid as the floor beneath my feet or the sun in the sky. No amount of wishing would change them.

  My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn't eaten since before the ceremony. But the thought of going downstairs, of facing my parents' concerned faces or worse - running into anyone else from the village - made me want to pull the covers over my head and disappear.

  I picked up the pendant, turning it over in my hands. The polished green stone caught the morning light, making it shimmer like water. The copper wire Father had helped me wrap around it was still perfect - each loop neat and even. We'd spent hours getting it right, Father showing me how to twist the soft metal just so.

  "Empty prefers empty," I muttered, slipping the leather cord over my head. The stone settled against my chest, cool and familiar. Marcus might have dropped it like it burned him, but that didn't matter anymore. The pendant belonged with someone like itself - rejected, unwanted.

  I traced the copper wrapping with my finger. Father had been so patient that day, teaching me how to make something beautiful without magic. Now those moments felt different - like he'd somehow known what was coming. Like he'd been preparing me for a life without power.

  The stone's weight against my chest felt right. It wasn't magical, couldn't hold power, couldn't transform or glow or do any of the amazing things magical items could. But it was honest. Real. Like me.

  I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Marcus's rejection still stung, but the pendant - this simple stone wrapped in simple copper - felt more true than any magical trinket ever could.

  I pushed back the covers and stood, wincing at my stiff muscles. Enough wallowing. The world wouldn't stop turning just because I couldn't do magic.

  The wooden floor creaked under my feet as I crept toward the door. My parents' voices grew clearer, though still muffled. I paused at the top of the stairs, gripping the railing.

  "...can't just..." Mother's voice faded in and out.

  "...have to consider..." Father's deeper tone rumbled beneath.

  I eased down two steps, careful to avoid the loose board on the third one that always squeaked. The voices became a touch clearer, but the words still blurred together like water running over stones.

  My hand trembled on the rail. Part of me wanted to charge down there, to face whatever they were discussing head-on. But my legs wouldn't move. I sank onto the step, the pendant's weight against my chest oddly comforting.

  More murmurs drifted up. A chair scraped across the floor. Footsteps paced back and forth. I caught fragments of sound - "tomorrow" and "chief" and something that might have been my name - but nothing solid enough to piece together.

  My stomach growled again, louder this time. I pressed a hand against it, as if that would quiet the noise. The smell of bread wafted up from the kitchen. Mother always baked when she was worried.

  I took another step down. Then another. The voices continued below, unaware of my slow descent.

  I was so focused on catching my parents' words that I completely forgot about that one loose board near the bottom of the stairs. My foot landed square on it, and the wood let out a loud creak that seemed to echo through the whole house.

  The voices downstairs cut off mid-sentence. The sudden silence felt heavier than any conversation.

  My heart hammered in my chest. I could picture them down there - Mother with her hands covered in flour from baking, Father probably still in his ceremonial robes from yesterday. Both of them staring at the ceiling, knowing exactly where I was.

  I heard Mother clear her throat. "James?" Her voice cracked on my name.

  The floorboard creaked again as I shifted my weight, unsure whether to continue down or retreat back to my room. The decision was made for me when my stiff muscles protested the awkward position, forcing me to plant both feet on the step.

  "I-" My voice came out raspy. I swallowed and tried again. "I was just..." The words died in my throat. Just what? Spying on them? Hiding like a coward?

  Father's heavy footsteps approached the bottom of the stairs. I gripped the railing tighter, the smooth wood familiar under my palm.

  The silence stretched between us like a living thing. None of us seemed to know what to say - how to bridge this new gap that had opened up overnight. We were still family, still the same people we'd been yesterday morning, but everything had changed.

  The bread smell grew stronger, mixing with the scent of Father's ceremonial incense that still clung to his robes. Normal, everyday smells that suddenly felt foreign, like they belonged to someone else's life.

  I blinked in surprise. Father stood at the bottom of the stairs in his plain brown tunic and pants - the ones he wore when tending his herb garden. No ceremonial robes, no healer's sash, just... Father.

  "Those stairs won't get any easier standing there," he said, extending his hand. The familiar calluses on his palm caught the morning light - earned from years of grinding herbs and preparing medicines.

  My legs shook as I took another step down. Father's hand remained steady, waiting.

  I gripped his fingers, letting him take some of my weight as I descended the last few steps. His skin felt warm against mine - the same temperature it had always been. No magical heat, no healer's glow. Just the normal warmth of a father helping his son.

  "Your mother's made fresh bread," he said, guiding me toward the kitchen. His hand stayed on my shoulder, steadying me when my stiff muscles threatened to buckle. "And I think I smell honey."

  The kitchen table looked smaller in the morning light. Three wooden chairs waited around it - the same chairs we'd sat in yesterday morning, before everything changed. Mother stood by the oven, her back to us as she fussed with something on the counter.

  Father pulled out my usual chair. The wood scraped against the floor, making Mother jump slightly. She didn't turn around.

  I sank into the seat, grateful to be off my feet. The familiar grooves in the wooden table felt different under my fingertips - or maybe I was the one who felt different. Father settled into his own chair across from me, his movements careful and measured, like he was trying not to startle a wild animal.

  Mother finally turned around, a loaf of fresh bread in her hands. Steam curled up from the golden crust as she set it on the table. Her eyes met mine for just a moment before darting away.

  "How are you feeling?" Father's voice was gentle, like when he spoke to injured patients.

  I forced my lips into what I hoped was a smile. "I'm fine." The words came out hollow, unconvincing even to my own ears. "Really, everything's okay."

  Mother's hands twisted in her apron. A habit she only showed when deeply worried. "James..."

  "The bread smells good," I said quickly, reaching for a piece. My fingers trembled slightly as I tore off a chunk. The warmth seeped into my skin, but it felt different from Mother's usual fire-touched baking. Or maybe that was just in my head.

  "You don't have to pretend," Father said, his hand covering mine. The bread crumbled between our fingers. "Not with us."

  I stared at the scattered crumbs on the table. They blurred as tears threatened to spill over. "I said I'm fine."

  "Take it easy," Mother whispered, finally sitting down beside me. Her hand hovered near my shoulder, not quite touching. "You don't need to be strong right now."

  The lump in my throat grew larger. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'm not hungry anymore."

  "James-" Father started.

  "Can I just..." I pushed back from the table, the chair legs scraping against the floor. "I need some air."

  Their concerned faces followed me as I stood. I could feel their worry like a physical weight pressing down on my shoulders. They were trying so hard to act normal, to pretend nothing had changed. But everything had changed, and their careful treatment only made it more obvious.

  I pushed through the kitchen door, eager to escape the suffocating concern inside. My legs betrayed me immediately - what started as a desperate rush turned into an awkward shuffle. Every muscle screamed in protest.

  The morning sun hit my face as I stepped outside. I grabbed the porch railing, steadying myself against the wave of dizziness that followed. My body remembered the fall more than my mind did - each movement brought fresh aches from impacts I couldn't recall.

  "James, wait-" Mother called from inside.

  I dragged myself across our front yard, each step a reminder of yesterday's fall. The grass felt cool against my palms as I lowered myself down, choosing a spot that overlooked the village below.

  Tarza spread out beneath me like a scattered handful of wooden blocks. Smoke rose from chimneys as people started their morning routines. The river cut through the center, catching the sunlight like a silver ribbon. Everything looked exactly the same as it had yesterday morning.

  The door creaked behind me, but neither Mother nor Father followed. They understood - or maybe they just didn't know what to say anymore. The sound of Mother's baking resumed, muffled by the walls between us.

  I pulled my knees to my chest, ignoring the protest from my muscles. Down in the village, I spotted Marcus's house. No smoke rose from their chimney yet - his family usually slept late. The pendant felt heavier against my chest.

  A group of children ran past the baker's shop, their laughter carrying up the hill. I recognized the game they were playing - "Elements," where each kid pretended to control different types of magic. I used to play that with Marcus, before we were old enough to care about looking silly.

  The baker emerged from his shop, steam billowing around him as he cooled fresh loaves with a wave of his hand. Such a simple use of magic - the kind I'd always taken for granted. The kind I'd never do.

  Movement caught my eye near the village hall. Chief Morris walked out, his ceremonial robes replaced by everyday clothes. Even from here, I could see the tension in his shoulders as he glanced up toward our house. Toward me.

  I slumped lower in the grass, letting the tall stalks hide me from view. The morning dew soaked through my clothes, but I didn't care. At least up here, I could watch the village wake up without having to face anyone. Without having to see the fear in their eyes or hear the whispers that would follow me now.

  I watched the sun crawl across the sky, tracking its progress by the shadows that crept over Tarza. My muscles had long since gone numb from sitting in the same position, but I couldn't bring myself to move. The village continued its daily rhythm below - merchants hawking wares, children playing, adults going about their business. Life went on, even if mine felt frozen.

  Marcus emerged from his house around midday. I held my breath as he walked toward the river, our usual meeting spot. He stood there for a while, skipping stones alone, each splash echoing up the hill. The pendant felt like ice against my chest.

  Mother brought out food at some point - bread and cheese left quietly beside me. I picked at it throughout the afternoon, more out of habit than hunger. She didn't try to make me talk, didn't push me to come inside. Just left fresh water when the first jug ran dry.

  As the sun set, the larger blue moon rose first, casting everything in an eerie glow. The smaller blood-red moon followed, turning the grass around me purple where the lights mixed. Lanterns flickered to life in the village windows - some lit by hand, others by magic. The contrast felt cruel.

  Footsteps rustled through the grass behind me - two sets, moving carefully. Mother and Father's shadows stretched out beside mine, elongated by the double moonlight.

  "James," Mother's voice was soft, uncertain. "You've been out here all day."

  The grass swished as they settled down on either side of me. Neither touched me, but I could feel their presence like a warm blanket against the cooling night air.

  "The moons are beautiful tonight," Father said, his voice carrying none of its usual healing-room authority. Just a father, sitting with his son under the stars.

  I pulled my knees tighter to my chest. The village below had grown quiet, only a few windows still showing light. One of them was Marcus's room - I could picture him practicing his newly awakened magic, excited about all the possibilities ahead of him.

  The sweet scent hit my nose before I saw it - Mother hadn't been baking bread at all. She placed a wooden plate between us, and there it sat: honey-glazed apple tart, still warm from the oven. Steam curled up in the moonlight, carrying memories of happier days.

  "You barely ate all day," Mother said, breaking off a piece. The honey stretched between the pieces like golden threads.

  Father shifted beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. "Your mother spent all afternoon getting the spices just right."

  I stared at the tart, remembering countless meals where Mother had heated it to the perfect temperature with her fire magic. Now it cooled naturally in the night air, the honey slowly crystallizing around the edges. Different, but still the same dessert she'd made for every special occasion.

  "It's still your favorite, isn't it?" Mother's voice wavered slightly. She pressed a piece into my hand, her fingers lingering against mine.

  The pastry crumbled in my mouth, sweet and familiar. Mother had added extra cinnamon, just the way I liked it. A lump formed in my throat that had nothing to do with the food.

  Father broke off his own piece, chewing thoughtfully. "You know, the first time your mother made this, she burned it completely black. No magic involved - just plain old distraction while talking to me."

  "Nova!" Mother swatted his arm, but I caught the ghost of a smile on her face.

  "The whole house smelled like charred apples for days," Father continued, nudging my shoulder. "Some things don't need magic to be special."

  I took another bite, letting the flavors wash over my tongue. The apples were perfectly cooked, the crust delicate and flaky. Magic or no magic, Mother's baking remained unchanged. Just like their love for me.

  We sat there under the twin moons, sharing the tart in comfortable silence. The grass cushioned us, still warm from the day's sun, as stars began peeking through the darkening sky.

  The tart's sweetness lingered on my tongue as we watched the moons climb higher in the night sky. Father hummed an old tune - one he used to sing when I was little and couldn't sleep. The melody floated on the cool breeze, mixing with the distant sounds of crickets and the river's gentle flow.

  My eyes grew heavy as exhaustion from the day caught up with me. The grass rustled as Mother shifted closer, her familiar scent of cinnamon and flour wrapping around me like a blanket. Father's shoulder provided the perfect support as my head drooped.

  The world softened at the edges. The twin moons blurred into smears of blue and red light. Father's humming vibrated through his chest, the rhythm matching my slowing heartbeat. I fought to keep my eyes open, but they refused to cooperate.

  My body slumped sideways. Father's hands caught me, gentle and sure, guiding my head onto his lap. The rough fabric of his pants scratched my cheek, but I was too tired to mind. His fingers carded through my hair, the same way they had when I was small.

  Mother's hand found mine in the darkness, her thumb tracing circles on my palm. The gesture so familiar, so unchanged. My fingers curled around hers as sleep pulled me under.

  The last thing I remembered was Father's voice, barely a whisper: "Rest now, son. We're here."

  Then darkness claimed me, and for a while, I forgot about being Vacui. I was just a boy, safe between his parents under the twin moons.

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  * * *

  I woke with a start, my body stiff from sleeping outside. The grass had left imprints on my cheek, and dew dampened my clothes. Mother and Father must have carried me inside at some point - I lay in my bed, blankets tucked around me.

  The twin moons still hung in the sky, casting their blue and red light through my window. My head throbbed, but differently now - more like the ache after swimming too long in the river than yesterday's stabbing pain. My muscles felt heavy, worn out, as if I'd spent the day climbing trees with Marcus.

  Marcus. The thought didn't hurt quite as much in these quiet pre-dawn hours. Maybe it was the lingering taste of Mother's apple tart on my tongue, or the memory of Father's gentle humming.

  I stretched, testing my limbs. Everything moved the way it should, though my back cracked in protest. The floor felt cool under my feet as I padded to the window. The village slept below, peaceful under the moons' watch. Even the ever-present hum of magic seemed muted at this hour.

  From my window, I watched a few early risers heading to the fields. Their hands glowed with soft green light as they prepared for the morning's work - earth magic to till the soil, water magic to nourish crops. Everything in Tarza revolved around magic.

  My stomach twisted. What was I supposed to do now? The awakening ceremony wasn't just about getting powers - it marked the start of adulthood, showed you your path. Some discovered healing talents and trained with the village healers. Others found their calling in crafting, farming, or protection.

  But me? I was Vacui. Empty. A blank space where magic should be.

  "What am I going to do?" I whispered to the fading moons. The ceremony was meant to tell me who I'd become, what I'd contribute to the village. Instead, it had only told me what I wasn't.

  I pressed my forehead against the cool glass. Marcus's father, Chief Morris, was one of our strongest earth mages. Even the children too young for their awakening knew they'd find their place when the time came.

  I heard footsteps creaking downstairs, followed by the clatter of dishes. The familiar sounds of breakfast pulled me from my window vigil. My stomach growled, reminding me I hadn't eaten much yesterday besides Mother's tart.

  I changed into fresh clothes, fingers fumbling with the ties of my shirt. The mirror caught my eye - I looked the same as three days ago. Same messy brown hair, same skinny frame. Nothing marked me as different, as Vacui.

  The stairs groaned under my feet as I made my way down. I paused at the bottom step, watching Mother set out plates while Father sliced bread. The kitchen smelled of porridge and honey.

  "James." Mother's voice cracked. She dropped the spoon she was holding, metal clanging against wood.

  Father turned, knife frozen mid-slice. "Son."

  The silence stretched between us like a physical thing. We'd shared thousands of breakfasts in this kitchen. Now none of us seemed to know how to act.

  I shuffled to my usual seat. The wooden chair felt harder somehow, or maybe that was just me. Mother recovered first, spooning porridge into my bowl with shaking hands. Father pushed the bread basket closer.

  "Sleep well?" Father asked, his voice too careful.

  "Better." I stirred my porridge, watching the honey swirl. "The headache's mostly gone."

  Mother sat down, her own bowl untouched. "That's good. You should eat, build your strength."

  "Thanks," I managed, taking another bite. The porridge was warm, sweet.

  "The weather looks good today," Father said, breaking another stretch of silence.

  "Yes." Mother nodded too quickly. "Perfect for the crops. Chief Morris was saying-" She cut herself off, color draining from her face.

  I pushed my spoon through the cooling porridge. "It's okay to say his name."

  "Of course it is." Father reached across the table, squeezing my hand. "We just want..."

  "To make sure I'm okay?" The words came out sharper than I meant. I softened my voice. "I know."

  Mother busied herself with clearing empty bowls. "I thought I might make stew tonight. Your favorite, with the root vegetables?"

  "Sounds good." I scraped my chair back, standing. "I think... I think I'm going to the river today."

  They both froze. Mother's hands tightened on the dishes.

  "Are you sure that's-" Father started.

  "I need to." I didn't know how to explain it. The river had always been my place to think, to breathe. "I'll be careful. Stay away from... from where people usually go."

  Mother set the dishes down. "James..."

  "Please." I met their eyes. "I need this."

  They exchanged a look - the kind parents think kids don't notice. Father nodded slowly.

  "Take some bread," Mother said finally. "And water. Don't stay out too late."

  "I won't." I grabbed my satchel from its hook, letting them pack it with food I wasn't sure I'd eat. Their hands lingered as they hugged me goodbye, as if afraid I might disappear.

  At the door, I turned back. "I'll be home for stew."

  I stepped onto the worn dirt path leading down from our house, then paused. The main route to the river cut straight through the village center - past the baker's, the smithy, and worst of all, Chief Morris's house. My feet carried me left instead, toward the longer trail that wound through the eastern woods.

  Nobody took this path anymore. The undergrowth had started reclaiming it, thorny branches reaching across like grasping fingers. But I knew every twist and turn. Marcus and I had explored it years ago, back when we were too young to help with chores and needed somewhere to play without getting underfoot.

  The morning dew soaked through my boots as I pushed through tall grass. Behind me, Tarza's morning sounds grew fainter - the clash of the smith's hammer, children's laughter, the hum of daily magic. The forest welcomed me with different sounds: birdsong, rustling leaves, the soft thud of my own footsteps.

  This route took twice as long, weaving around the edge of the village instead of through it. But it would lead to the same spot - our spot - the bend in the river where Marcus and I had spent countless afternoons skipping stones and dreaming about our futures.

  My throat tightened. Five days ago, we'd sat there making promises about becoming the greatest mages ever. Now...

  I shook my head, focusing on the path. A fallen log blocked the way - one that hadn't been there last time.

  The path dipped down, following an old streambed. The sound of rushing water grew louder with each step. Through gaps in the trees, I caught glimpses of the river sparkling in the morning sun. Almost there. Just a little further and I'd reach the bend where the bank widened into a pebbly beach.

  The massive oak's familiar silhouette came into view, its branches stretching over the river like protective arms. My shoulders relaxed as I scanned the area - no one else was here. Of course not.

  I dropped my satchel at the base of the oak and sank down onto the soft grass. The river gurgled past, constant and unchanging. How many afternoons had I spent here? The smooth patch of dirt beside me still bore the marks where Marcus and I would sit, competing to see who could skip stones the furthest.

  My hand found a flat stone, worn smooth by the water. Perfect for skipping. I turned it over in my palm, feeling its cool weight. The motion was automatic - the slight bend at the waist, the flick of the wrist. The stone skipped once, twice, three times before sinking beneath the surface.

  Another stone. Four skips this time. The familiar rhythm settled over me like a blanket. Pick up stone. Test weight. Skip. Watch ripples fade. Repeat.

  The sun climbed higher, warming my back as I lay in the grass. Here, with just the sound of flowing water and rustling leaves, I could almost pretend nothing had changed. That any minute, Marcus would come crashing through the bushes, complaining about his chores or bragging about some new trick he'd learned.

  But the only sounds were the river's endless song and the occasional splash of my stones breaking the surface. I closed my eyes, letting the grass tickle my cheeks. The earth felt solid beneath me, even if everything else in my world had shifted.

  I reached into my satchel, hunger finally winning over the knot in my stomach. Mother had packed the crusty bread we'd had at breakfast. As I pulled it out, movement caught my eye - Baker Mills shuffling along the riverbank path, his arms full of wrapped loaves.

  My brow furrowed. The baker never came this way - his usual route to Chief Morris's house cut through the village square. Yet here he was, taking the long path that would past my quiet spot.

  Our eyes met. His whole body jerked back, nearly dropping his deliveries. The look that crossed his face - I'd seen that same expression when Mother found rats in our grain store last winter. His lip curled, nostrils flared, like he'd caught the scent of something rotten.

  The bread in my hand suddenly felt heavy. Baker Mills had known me since I could walk. He used to slip me and Marcus extra sweet rolls when we helped sweep his shop. Just last week, he'd ruffled my hair and promised special treats for after my awakening ceremony.

  Now he stared at me like I was something that had crawled out from under a rock. Something that didn't belong. His knuckles whitened around his packages as he quickened his pace, giving my spot a wide berth. He muttered something under his breath - a ward against bad luck, maybe, or just a curse.

  I watched him hurry away, practically running by the time he reached the bend. The bread crumbled in my clenched fist, falling to the grass in chunks. My stomach churned, no longer interested in food.

  Was this how it would be from now on? People I'd known my whole life treating me like some kind of infestation they had to endure? Taking longer routes just to avoid crossing my path?

  The sound of laughter cut through my brooding like a knife. My whole body tensed - I knew that laugh. Marcus. The other voice was higher, younger. Finn, the blacksmith's son.

  My heart hammered against my ribs. Run? Hide? The oak's branches stretched low enough to climb, but my legs wouldn't move. I sat frozen as their voices drew closer, carried on the morning breeze.

  "-bet I can catch more fish than you!" Finn's challenge rang out.

  "You wish! Father showed me how to-" Marcus's voice died mid-sentence as they rounded the bend.

  Three sets of eyes locked. Finn stumbled back, nearly dropping his fishing pole. Marcus stood rigid, his face draining of color. The pendant I'd made him was conspicuously absent from his neck.

  The silence stretched, broken only by the river's constant flow. I could see Marcus's fingers twitching - the same nervous habit he'd had since we were little. But now those twitches sent tiny ripples through the air around him, his new magic responding to his anxiety.

  Finn grabbed Marcus's sleeve, tugging him backward. "We should go." His voice shook. "There's better fishing spots downstream."

  Marcus's mouth opened, closed. His eyes darted between me and the ground, never quite meeting my gaze. The air around him stirred more violently, whipping up leaves and grass.

  I wanted to say something - anything. To remind him of all our afternoons here, of promises made and adventures shared. But my throat closed up, choking the words before they could form.

  "Come on," Finn insisted, pulling harder.

  Marcus yanked his arm free from Finn's grip. His face transformed - the fear vanishing beneath a wave of red-hot anger that twisted his features into something I barely recognized.

  "NO!" The word exploded from him like a thunderclap, making Finn stumble backward and nearly lose his footing. The air crackled around Marcus with an electric intensity I'd never felt before - was that his power awakening? My heart hammered in my chest as I watched tendrils of wind whip around my best friend's body, stirring up dust and making his clothes snap like flags in a storm. The raw energy radiating from him made my skin prickle.

  He walked toward me, shoulders squared, chin lifted. This wasn't my best friend's walk - this was Chief Morris's son, wielding authority like a weapon. Magic stirred the air around him, rustling leaves and rippling the water's surface.

  "What are you doing here, James?" He spat my name like poison. His eyes burned into mine, hard and cold. "Or should I call you Vacui now?"

  The word hit harder than any physical blow. Coming from Marcus's mouth, it felt like betrayal given form. My hands clenched in the grass, dirt pressing under my fingernails. The peaceful spot where we'd shared so many summer days suddenly felt small, suffocating.

  The pendant I'd made him should have been hanging around his neck. Instead, I remembered how it had clattered against the floor of the ceremony hall, discarded like trash. Just like our friendship.

  Heat rushed through my veins, burning away the numbness that had clouded my mind since the ceremony. My legs moved before I could think, pushing me up from the grass. The morning sun beat against my back as I faced Marcus, my shadow stretching between us like a dark divide.

  "Don't ever call me that." The words ripped from my throat, rough and raw. My hands shook at my sides, but not from fear this time.

  Marcus took a half-step back, surprise flickering across his face. The wind around him faltered for a moment. Good. Let him be surprised. Let him see I wasn't just going to curl up and disappear like everyone wanted.

  "My name is James." I stepped forward, closing the distance between us. "Not Vacui. James. The same James who taught you how to skip stones. The same James who helped you practice sword fighting with sticks. The same James who-" My voice cracked, but I forced the words out anyway, "-who made you that pendant you threw away."

  Pain exploded in my stomach, driving the air from my lungs. I doubled over, gasping, as Marcus's fist withdrew. I hadn't even seen him move - one moment we were facing each other, the next his knuckles had buried themselves in my gut.

  "How dare you speak to Chief Morris's son like that?" Marcus's voice rose, cutting through the ringing in my ears. The wind around him surged, whipping his clothes and hair into a frenzy. "You're a Vacui. You have no right to speak to me like that."

  I tried to straighten up, still struggling to breathe. Our eyes met - where my best friend's warm brown eyes used to be, I found only cold contempt.

  "The James I knew died at the ceremony!" The words thundered across the riverbank. Marcus's arm shot forward, and suddenly the air itself became a weapon.

  The blast hit me like a charging bull. My feet left the ground as the wave of compressed air slammed into my chest. The world spun, sky and earth trading places, before I crashed hard onto my back. Grass and dirt sprayed around me from the impact.

  I lay there, stunned, watching leaves dance in the aftermath of Marcus's power. Air magic. Of course he'd gotten air magic. We used to joke about flying together when we got our powers.

  The irony would have made me laugh if I could breathe.

  Pain lanced through my body as I struggled to push myself up. The world tilted and swayed, grass staining my palms. Through blurred vision, I caught glimpses of movement at the tree line - shapes hovering just far enough away to pretend they weren't watching. Someone gasped. Another whispered. The sound of their murmurs mixed with the river's flow.

  Marcus loomed over me, his shadow falling across my face. The morning sun behind him turned him into a dark silhouette, unrecognizable as the boy who used to share his lunch with me when I forgot mine.

  "I better not see you near this oak." His voice cut through the ringing in my ears. "A Vacui should know his place."

  His fist connected with my face before I could react. Stars exploded behind my eyes, bright and burning. The force snapped my head sideways, and copper flooded my mouth. Everything became muffled, distant, like I was underwater. The whispers from the treeline, Marcus's heavy breathing, even the river - all faded beneath a high-pitched ringing that seemed to fill my skull.

  I blinked hard, trying to clear my vision. Blood dripped from my lip onto the grass where we used to sit and dream about our futures. The same grass where we'd made our promise to be best friends forever.

  Through the haze of pain, a thought crystallized: Was this really going to be my life? Cowering while others kicked me down? The memory of our stick-sword battles flashed through my mind - Marcus had never beaten me, not once. I'd always been quicker, stronger, more precise. Magic or no magic, that hadn't changed.

  Something snapped inside me. The rage that erupted wasn't hot like fire - it was cold, sharp, and clarifying. Every slight since the ceremony, every whispered word, every averted gaze, every betrayal compressed into a single point of fury that exploded outward.

  My roar echoed across the riverbank as I launched myself at Marcus. His eyes widened in shock - he never saw me coming. We crashed to the ground together, my momentum driving us both into the dirt. The wind magic surrounding him scattered like startled birds.

  "James, what-" His words cut off as we rolled, wrestling for position. My fists clenched his tunic, the same one I'd helped him mend last summer. Magic might have rejected me, but my muscles remembered every mock fight, every wrestling match, every playful scuffle we'd ever had.

  The whispers from the treeline turned to shouts of alarm. Finn's high-pitched voice called out Marcus's name. But none of that mattered. In that moment, there was only my rage, my pain, and the boy who'd thrown away ten years of friendship because I couldn't conjure pretty lights in the air.

  My fist drew back, knuckles white with tension. Marcus's eyes widened beneath me, his face a mixture of fear and disbelief. For a split second, time seemed to freeze - my best friend pinned beneath me, the morning sun casting shadows across his features, the river's constant flow in the background.

  The impact came from nowhere. Something solid and heavy slammed into my ribs with devastating force. A sickening crack echoed through my chest - was that a bone breaking, or just the sound of a bark breaking? I didn't have time to figure it out.

  The world spun as I was launched sideways. The blue sky wheeled overhead, replaced by the glittering surface of the river rushing up to meet me. Air left my lungs in a rush as I hit the water. The cold shock jolted through my system, making my already aching ribs scream in protest.

  Water filled my nose, my mouth. The current grabbed me, tumbling me head over heels. Up became down, light became shadow. My chest burned - from pain or lack of air, I couldn't tell. Through the murky water, sunlight danced in fractured patterns, taunting me with its distance.

  I flailed, trying to find the surface, but the river kept rolling me. Rocks scraped against my back, my arms, adding fresh pain to the throbbing in my side. The current pulled harder, dragging me deeper into its cold embrace.

  My lungs screamed for air. Bubbles escaped from my mouth in a silent scream as the river claimed me for its own.

  The water filled my lungs. Darkness crept at the edges of my vision as the current dragged me deeper. My body went limp, too exhausted to fight anymore. This was it. The river would take what magic wouldn't.

  Something grabbed my arm - strong fingers digging into my flesh. The grip yanked me upward, and suddenly my head broke the surface. I coughed violently, water spewing from my mouth as air rushed back into my starving lungs. Each breath sent daggers through my ribs.

  The hand pulled me onto the rocky shore on the far side of the river. I collapsed onto my side, shivering and retching up river water. Everything hurt. The world spun like a top around me.

  "Easy now, son. I've got you." Father's voice cut through the chaos in my head. His hands pressed against my back, steadying me as another coughing fit wracked my body.

  "Deep breaths, James. That's it." His touch was warm against my cold skin. I felt the familiar tingle of his light magic seeping into my bones, dulling the sharp pain in my ribs.

  I tried to focus on his face, but my vision kept blurring. His brown eyes held none of the fear or disgust I'd seen in everyone else's. Just concern. Just love.

  "D-dad?" My voice came out as a raspy whisper.

  "Right here." His arm wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me close. "I'm right here."

  Through my waterlogged haze, Chief Morris's voice boomed across the river like thunder. "DO NOT LAY A SINGLE OF YOUR FILTHY HANDS ON MY SON, JAMES!"

  The pieces clicked together in my aching head. That devastating force - it hadn't been Marcus. It was Chief Morris, protecting his precious son from the Vacui who dared to fight back.

  Father's arms tightened around me as another coughing fit seized my chest. The chief's words echoed off the water, mixing with the sound of my ragged breathing. My ribs screamed where his boot had connected, even through Father's healing magic.

  Through my blurred vision, I saw Father rise. The gentle healer who'd tended scrapes and fevers vanished. In his place stood someone I'd never seen before - someone whose presence made the air itself feel charged and heavy.

  "With all due respect, Chief Morris," Father's voice carried an edge I'd never heard before, cold and sharp as winter steel, "if you ever lay a finger on my family again, you won't live to be sorry."

  The light around Father's hands wasn't the soft, warm glow I was used to. This light crackled and snapped like lightning, casting harsh shadows across the riverbank. The water at our feet reflected it in brilliant, dancing patterns that hurt my eyes.

  My jaw dropped. This wasn't the simple village healer everyone knew. The power radiating from him felt ancient and vast, like staring into the sun. Chief Morris must have felt it too - he took a step back, his earlier bravado faltering.

  I shivered, but not from my soaked clothes. All these years, Father had shown nothing but gentle healing magic. Basic stuff - mending cuts, easing fevers. But this... this was something else entirely. Something that made even the mighty Chief Morris hesitate.

  The light continued to pulse around Father's hands, casting his face in sharp relief. His eyes blazed with an intensity that made him look like a stranger.

  Through my blurred vision, I watched Chief Morris's face twist into an ugly sneer. His earth magic rippled through the ground, making small pebbles dance at his feet.

  "Don't think because you left the army of the big city as a healer you can intimidate me." His voice dripped with contempt. "Take your filthy trash away and don't you dare threaten me in my own village, or you'll regret it."

  The light around Father's hands flickered but didn't dim. My heart pounded against my bruised ribs as I watched the two men face each other across the river. The tension in the air felt thick enough to cut.

  An evil grin crept over the Chief's features, his gaze gleaming with spite as he stared down at Father. The expression made my stomach turn - I'd seen that same look when he'd caught Marcus and me stealing apples last summer, right before he'd made us work in the hot fields for days. "I know plenty of methods to cause you pain without raising a fist," he said, his earth magic making the ground quiver menacingly beneath our feet. "And believe me, a Vacui's father is still just a trash to me."

  He turned away, one hand gripping Marcus's shoulder. My former best friend wouldn't even look at me as his father steered him back toward the village. The wind around them stirred up dust and leaves in their wake, Marcus's new power responding to his emotions.

  I slumped against Father's leg, exhaustion and pain finally overwhelming my anger. The healing magic had dulled the worst of it, but my ribs still ached with every breath. Water dripped from my clothes, forming muddy puddles beneath me.

  The chief's threat hung in the air like storm clouds. I'd seen enough in the past few days to know he meant every word. Whatever was coming, it would be worse than a boot to the ribs or a punch to the face. Much worse.

  Father's arms lifted me from the muddy riverbank, cradling me against his chest like I was still a small child. My soaked clothes dripped a trail behind us as he carried me through the gathered crowd. Their faces blurred together - neighbors who'd smiled and waved just days ago now turned away or whispered behind raised hands.

  Pain shot through my ribs with each step Father took. The healing magic had stopped the worst of it, but breathing still felt like swallowing knives. Water trickled from my hair into my eyes, mixing with tears I couldn't hold back anymore.

  Mother's voice cut through the murmurs of the crowd. "Nova! James!" She rushed down the hill toward us, her feet kicking up dust as she ran. Her face paled when she saw my condition. "What happened? Who did this?"

  "Morris." Father's voice rumbled in his chest against my ear. The earlier power was gone from his tone, replaced by weariness and something darker. "He kicked our son into the river."

  Mother's hands fluttered over me, checking for injuries. The familiar warmth of her fire magic seeped into my clothes, starting to dry them. "The chief did this? But why would he-"

  "Because I fought back." My voice came out rough and watery. "Marcus... he said I didn't have the right to talk to him anymore. That I should know my place." A coughing fit cut off the rest of my words, making my ribs scream in protest.

  Mother's face hardened, her usual gentle expression replaced by something fierce and protective. Her hands stilled on my arm, and I felt her fire magic flare hotter for just a moment before she got it under control.

  "Let's get him inside," she said, her voice tight with controlled anger. "We can talk more once he's warm and dry."

  The villagers parted before us like water around a stone, their whispers following us up the hill toward home.