Isaac Walker trudged along the dusty path leading to his small hometown of Meadowbrook. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the modest houses that lined the streets. His black hair fell over his eyes, and he brushed it aside absentmindedly. The familiar sights and sounds should have brought him comfort, but today, like many others, he felt a weight pressing down on his shoulders.
Children laughed and played nearby, some showing off small feats of power—lifting rocks without touching them, creating tiny gusts of wind, or making sparks fly from their fingertips. Isaac watched them with a mix of envy and resignation. At seventeen, he possessed only minor curse abilities, barely worth mentioning in a world where strength and power defined one's worth.
"Hey, watch it!" a shopkeeper shouted as a clay pot tipped over near Isaac's feet, shattering on the ground.
"I'm so sorry," Isaac apologized, kneeling to pick up the pieces. He hadn't meant for that to happen. Sometimes, his presence alone seemed to cause small mishaps—a tripping pedestrian, a flickering streetlamp, or, in this case, a broken pot.
The shopkeeper sighed, recognizing Isaac. "It's you again. Just... be more careful, alright?"
Isaac nodded meekly and continued on his way. These minor inconveniences followed him everywhere, a constant reminder of his F- rank status. In Meadowbrook, like everywhere else, ranks were everything. From F- at the bottom to S+ at the pinnacle, one's rank determined social standing, job prospects, and respect.
He reached the town square, where a large bulletin board displayed the latest news and rank advancements. Posters of high-ranking individuals adorned the board—heroes celebrated for their incredible abilities and contributions. Isaac's eyes lingered on a poster of Seraphina Hale, an A-rank healer known for saving countless lives during the Great Plague.
"One day," he whispered to himself, "maybe I can make a difference too."
"Talking to yourself again?" a cheerful voice called out.
Isaac turned to see Lily approaching, her long brown hair tied back in a loose braid. Her hazel eyes sparkled with warmth, and her smile was infectious.
"Lily, hey," he replied, his mood lifting slightly.
She glanced at the bulletin board and then back at him. "Dreaming of being up there someday?"
He shrugged. "Just thinking. It's hard not to feel... insignificant sometimes."
She nudged him playfully. "Come on, Isaac. You're more than your rank. Besides, those people may have power, but do they have good friends like me?"
He chuckled. "I suppose not. How was your day?"
"Better now that I've found you," she said. "I was just heading to the meadow. Care to join me?"
He hesitated for a moment but then nodded. "Sure, I could use the fresh air."
They walked together through the town, passing by neighbors who greeted Lily warmly but gave Isaac only polite nods or avoided eye contact altogether. It wasn't that they disliked him; he was just... forgettable.
As they reached the meadow outside town, the tall grass swayed gently in the breeze. Wildflowers dotted the landscape, and the distant mountains framed the horizon.
"This place always makes me feel at peace," Lily said, taking a deep breath.
Isaac sat on a flat rock, gazing out at the open field. "It's like a different world out here."
She joined him, her expression turning thoughtful. "You know, I've been thinking about applying to the Academy."
He looked at her, surprised. "The Academy? But that's for—"
"For people who want to make a difference," she interrupted. "I may not have extraordinary powers, but I want to help others."
He smiled softly. "That's just like you."
She tilted her head, studying him. "You could come with me."
Isaac shook his head. "I don't think they'd accept someone like me. My abilities are... more of a nuisance than anything else."
"Don't say that," she insisted. "Your powers might be subtle, but who knows what they could become with the right training?"
He sighed. "Maybe. It's hard to stay optimistic when everyone else seems to be moving forward while I'm stuck in place."
Lily placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You're not alone, Isaac. And you don't have to have flashy powers to be important."
He glanced at her hand and then met her gaze. "Thanks, Lily. You always know what to say."
She grinned. "That's what friends are for."
As the sun began to set, they made their way back to town. The streets were quieter now, with most people settling in for the evening. Isaac parted ways with Lily outside her family's bakery.
"See you tomorrow?" she asked.
"Definitely," he replied.
He continued down the street to his modest home, a small cottage on the outskirts of town. Inside, the house was cozy but cluttered with old books and trinkets his grandfather had collected over the years. His grandfather had passed away two years prior, leaving Isaac the house and a handful of personal belongings.
Feeling restless, Isaac decided to explore the attic—a place he rarely ventured. Dust particles danced in the beam of his lantern as he climbed the creaky stairs. Old furniture, chests, and boxes filled the space.
"Maybe there's something interesting up here," he mused.
He opened a wooden chest, finding it filled with worn clothes and faded photographs. Another box contained letters and documents, most of which were too old to be of any use. Just as he was about to give up, a small, ornate box tucked away in a corner caught his eye.
"What's this?"
He carefully lifted the box and opened it. Inside lay a dagger, unlike any he had ever seen. The blade was slender and sharp, with strange markings etched along its surface. The hilt was wrapped in dark leather, and a small gemstone was embedded at the base.
Isaac held it up, the metal glinting in the lantern light. "Why would Grandpa have something like this?"
As he examined the dagger, a sudden warmth spread through his hand. Startled, he almost dropped it.
"What in the world?"
He felt a faint pulse, as if the dagger had a heartbeat. Confused and a bit unnerved, he placed it back in the box.
"Maybe I'm just tired," he told himself.
But curiosity gnawed at him. Deciding to keep the dagger, he brought it downstairs and placed it on his bedside table.
"Tomorrow, I'll ask Old Man Harris about it," he thought, climbing into bed.
That night, his sleep was restless. He dreamt of shadowy figures and whispers he couldn't quite make out. The sensation of warmth lingered in his hand, and he felt as if he were being watched.