The village had never seemed smaller.
Not in its streets, nor its cottages, nor in the wide, flat stone circle at its heart. But today, under the heat of the midday sun, the space seemed impossibly tight. Visitors from distant realms had arrived, and their presence carried a weight that made the air shimmer.
Children lined the circle, some fidgeting, others standing as still as carved statues. The elders of the village, parents of the participants, and several masters who had traveled from faraway lands watched quietly from the edges.
Silas bounced on his heels, tugging at Euryale's sleeve. "Euryale! Euryale! Today's the day! I'm gonna touch the crystal and make something happen! Maybe a tornado! Or a cloud! Or… a flying sandwich!"
Euryale pinched the bridge of his nose. "Flying sandwiches aren't a recognized elemental manifestation, Silas."
Lyra rolled her eyes. "You're going to scare the chickens."
"Maybe they like flying sandwiches," Silas said optimistically.
Ma shook her head, smiling, while Pa crouched beside Silas, steadying him. "Remember, son," Pa said, "calm and polite..... and the crystal will work the same way."
Silas's eyes went wide. "Polite… got it."
The test began as it always did: a hush fell over the circle, broken only by the occasional breeze rustling the flags of outer realms. Children stepped forward, one by one, placing their palms on the crystal spire.
Applause, polite or exuberant, followed each awakening.
When it was Silas's turn, he took a deep breath.
"I'm… ready," he said, trying to sound solemn.
Euryale crouched nearby, whispering, "Remember…"
"Yes, yes I know!" Silas muttered, entirely to himself.
Before Silas could step fully forward, a ripple ran through the crowd. Conversations faltered mid-word, laughter paused mid-chuckle. Heads turned.
The man was tall, impossibly straight, and moved as though gravity bent to let him. His hair, a striking blue that shimmered like a summer sky, whipped around him with the high-altitude breeze. His eyes were stormy grey, rimmed with lighter blue, scanning the clouds as if decoding messages no one else could see.
Euryale's pulse thudded. Something about him made the air hum, a quiet resonance that set the hairs on his neck on edge.
The man stepped forward, deliberately ignoring the curious gazes of the villagers. His robe, dark as midnight but stitched with faint silver lines like the edges of lightning in clouds, swirled around his feet. He carried no staff, no obvious magical instrument. Nothing but his presence.
Beside him, a smaller figure moved—someone clearly in training, his posture sharp, attentive. Euryale noted the discipline in every movement.
"Who is he?" Lyra whispered, peeking over Euryale's shoulder.
Euryale only shook his head. "Don't know. But… maybe someone important?"
The man—the tall, blue-haired figure—paused at the edge of the testing circle, then looked down at Silas, who was still fidgeting nervously.
He didn't speak. He only tilted his head, and the world seemed to inhale.
"Master Kaelvin," a calm voice said from behind, "I thought you'd arrive early. Ezrael, stay close. Observe."
The smaller figure, Ezrael, gave a slight nod, eyes fixed on the children. He did not blink, even when Silas tripped over his own feet running toward the spire.
Silas froze, cheeks flaming. "Uh… I… hello?"
The blue-haired man's stormy grey eyes flicked toward him. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Then, he returned his gaze to the horizon as if Silas barely existed.
Euryale squinted. "Does he… even notice him?"
"I think that's the point," Lyra whispered.
Silas finally reached the crystal, puffing like a little windmill caught in a storm. "Okay… polite polite… maybe…"
He pressed his palm against the spire.
The crystal remained dark. A low hum filled the circle. The crowd leaned forward.
Silas's brow furrowed. "Uh… hello? Magic? Anybody?"
Nothing.
"Patience," Euryale muttered. "Patience, remember."
The boy exhaled slowly, just as he had been taught.
Then—a flicker.
The crystal shimmered faintly black at first. Then a soft spiral of light twisted through it. It was delicate. Raw. Messy.
Black core.
The crowd murmured.
Ma and Pa's eyes shone with pride. Lyra bounced on her toes.
"See! He did it! He did it!" Lyra squealed.
Silas blinked, completely oblivious to the gasps around him.
Euryale covered his face with his hands to hide his smile.
Meanwhile, the blue-haired man—Ezrael—remained at the edge of the circle, observing everything with that unnerving calm. No one could read him. Not his expressions, not his posture, not the faint ripple that seemed to follow him wherever he moved. He was young for his mastery, yet carried himself as if he'd walked through storms older than mountains.
Master Kaelvin, one of the Top Ten Masters of the realm, whispered to him occasionally, clearly using him as an apprentice of sorts. Ezrael nodded, silent, absorbing.
Euryale watched him from the corner of his eye and listened a bit of their conversation. Something about that his presence—that boy Ezrael?—was both… dangerous and oddly familiar.
He didn't know it yet, but the two of them would cross paths in ways that would shake the tides of their lives.
For now, though, Silas hugged Euryale. "I did it! I have a core! I'm a big boy now!"
"Yes," Euryale said, ruffling his brother's hair. "You're… officially little wind… or something."
Lyra whispered conspiratorially, "He looks scary. The blue-haired one. But cool. I like him."
"Do not call him scary," Silas said solemnly. "He is… monster?"
Euryale blinked, watching Ezrael as he adjusted his cloak, eyes still half-turned to the clouds.
"Handsome monster is fine," Lyra said.
Euryale groaned. "You two are already plotting nicknames."
But even as Silas celebrated, even as Lyra giggled, Euryale couldn't shake the feeling that their comfortable little world—the village, the wave, the treasure, the family—was about to meet something much bigger. Something fast. Something well.....
And Ezrael Caelum Ashborn was the first hint of it.