The bells of Aetherion rang at dawn.
Not for celebration, but for judgment. Their tones were sharp, crystalline, and unyielding, cutting through the crisp morning air like a blade. They echoed across the marble streets of the city, bouncing off ivory spires and gilded towers. Merchants hurried to open their shops, servants scrambled to ready the palace for the day, and the streets, usually lively with the chatter of children and the clatter of carts, were hushed as though the entire kingdom knew something dark had come.
Chains rattled across the polished marble floor as a young boy was dragged into the Crystal Court. His clothes were torn, his wrists bruised, and dried blood crusted along the edges of his sleeves. The coarse rope used to restrain him cut into his skin, leaving angry red marks that mirrored the bruises on his arms. His feet scraped against the stone, leaving faint streaks as he was pulled forward. Yet his eyes remained calm. Too calm for someone about to be sentenced to death.
Eryndel was sixteen years old. Born without mana.
In a kingdom built upon magic, this was considered unnatural. Unforgivable. Dangerous. He had grown up in the shadows of others' powers, watching friends and strangers alike perform feats that seemed impossible, levitating objects, bending fire to their will, healing injuries with a touch, while he could do nothing. Not even a flicker. His parents had died when he was young, leaving him in the care of the Lower District, where whispers of his curse followed him like a shadow. And now, those whispers had caught up with him.
The Crystal Court was vast, its ceilings high enough to disappear into a mist of glowing crystal. Floating orbs hovered above every noble, mage, and knight present, pulsing with a steady blue light. The hum of concentrated mana vibrated in the air, a tangible energy that pressed against Eryndel's chest. He could feel it everywhere, the weight of it, the warmth, the endless power, and yet, not a single thread belonged to him. He was an empty vessel in a room overflowing with magic.
"Silence!" the High Judge commanded, striking his staff against the floor. Blue mana pulsed outward, brushing the crowd like a tidal wave and forcing every whisper, cough, and shuffle into immediate silence. Even the floating orbs dimmed for a heartbeat, acknowledging the authority of the judge.
Eryndel lowered his gaze. He had seen the High Judge before, once, when he was a small child caught attempting to touch a mana fountain, he had been dragged before this man. Then, the judge's eyes had burned with curiosity. Now, they burned with contempt.
"Eryndel of the Lower District," the judge declared, his voice echoing against the crystal walls, "you stand accused of existing without mana, an offense against the Kingdom of Magic itself."
Murmurs rippled through the hall.
"Cursed One…" someone whispered.
"He should've been executed at birth."
"Disgusting."
Eryndel's fists clenched. He had heard these words all his life, spoken in dark alleys, behind closed doors, whispered across tavern tables and schoolyards alike. Every accusation had shaped him, hardened him, yet never broken him. He had learned to survive in a world where power defined worth, and he had none.
The judge raised a glowing crystal in his hand. It hummed and shone, casting intricate light patterns across the walls. "The Mana Stone has spoken," the judge continued, his voice cold and precise. "You possess zero mana. Not a fragment. Not a spark."
The crystal was brought close to Eryndel. Its light struck him full on, brilliant and unyielding. And then, impossibly, it dimmed. The glow died almost immediately when it touched him. A hush fell over the court, heavier than the chains binding him.
Gasps echoed through the room. Some nobles recoiled, others whispered frantically to one another, their eyes wide with disbelief. For a moment, it seemed as though time had stopped. Even the hovering orbs stuttered in their rhythm, as if sensing the anomaly of this boy, the emptiness he carried where magic should have lived.
"By ancient law," the judge said, his voice once more cutting through the stunned silence, "those without mana are a threat to the balance of the kingdom. Those who possess no magic cannot uphold the protections our ancestors built. They are unpredictable. Dangerous. And therefore, "
He paused. The words that followed fell like a blade, sharp and merciless.
"you are sentenced to death."
Eryndel closed his eyes. So this was how it ended.
But even in that moment, he felt no fear. Not in the way others might have. Not anymore. Death was nothing compared to a lifetime of fear, humiliation, and helplessness. He had been a ghost in a world of light, and now the world would finally recognize him… by its own law.
Still, his mind was not silent. Memories flickered behind his eyelids, his mother's warm hands brushing his hair, the taste of stolen bread in the streets of the Lower District, the nights he spent hiding from the patrols who hunted him for practicing magic he could never summon. And then the whispers, the constant voices telling him he was worthless. All of it had led to this chamber, this judgment.
The judge's staff lifted, ready to strike. The air around it shimmered, charged with lethal mana. The crowd leaned forward in anticipation, eyes hungry for the spectacle. Eryndel inhaled slowly, letting the sounds, the light, and the pressure wash over him one last time.
But then, a faint sound reached him, a fluttering, soft and rhythmic. A heartbeat? No… not human. Something else. Something ancient. Something alive.
Eryndel's eyes snapped open. There, in the shadows of the court, a crack in the crystal wall pulsed with an orange glow, like fire trapped behind glass. The air vibrated, not with mana, but with something older, something that responded to his very presence.
The High Judge stepped back, alarm spreading across his face. The crowd gasped. Nobles whispered frantically. And then it happened.
The crystal shards above the court trembled, tiny fragments rattling loose and floating in the air, suspended without magic. Eryndel felt it: a force awakening inside him, not just a spark, but a pull, a resonance that made the world itself shiver.
He had no mana. He should be powerless.
But he wasn't.
A jagged streak of fire shot from the crystal wall, arcing straight toward him. Not a spell. Not controlled. Pure energy.
Eryndel ducked, but the heat kissed his cheek. The crowd screamed. The High Judge shouted, raising his staff, but even he faltered, eyes wide in disbelief.
Eryndel realized, with a mixture of awe and fear, that he had just survived the impossible.
And whatever had reached for him… was only the beginning.