Rowen's world had always felt smaller than everyone else's. While others seemed to burst with potential, vibrant and full of life, his existence was subdued, a muted version of what it was supposed to be. He couldn't help but feel like an outsider, not just in his village but in his own family.
Everywhere he looked, there were reminders of what he lacked. His mother, Zenora, commanded the skies with her power to control the weather, her mere presence capable of bringing storms or calm. His father, Darius, was a healer beloved by the community, his hands capable of mending wounds that should have been fatal. His older brother Ryland, only two years older, had already awakened his power over earth, becoming a vital part of their mother's work in the fields.
Even the twins, Gene and Seras, though too young to awaken abilities, were brimming with the promise of greatness.
And then there was Rowen.
At fourteen, he was painfully ordinary in a family of the extraordinary. No powers had surfaced, no hint of the latent potential everyone had expected. Each passing year had brought nothing but more pitying looks and hushed whispers from the villagers. He was the late bloomer, the outlier, the disappointment.
Rowen sat alone at the kitchen table, absentmindedly pushing his breakfast around his plate. The house bustled with activity as always—his mother preparing for her work in the fields, his father gathering supplies for the day's healing rounds, and Ryland's voice booming from another room as he talked about his latest training accomplishments.
Rowen couldn't bring himself to join them. He never could, not when he felt like a shadow lingering at the edges of their glowing light.
"Rowen, sweetie," Zenora said as she passed through the kitchen, her voice warm but tinged with concern. "Eat something. You'll need your energy for the ceremony later."
The ceremony. It was all anyone could talk about.
"Yeah," Rowen muttered, barely glancing up. "I'll eat in a minute."
Zenora paused, studying him with the same gentle smile she always wore when she was worried. "It's okay if nothing happens today, you know. You're still—"
"I know," Rowen cut her off, forcing a tight smile. "I'm still your son, and you're still proud of me. I've heard it before, Mom."
Her face fell slightly, but she nodded, brushing his shoulder before leaving the room.
The annual ceremony was both a celebration and a painful reminder of his inadequacy. It marked the day when the children of the village demonstrated their awakened powers for the first time, a rite of passage that Rowen had failed twice already.
The first year, he had stood in the crowd, hopeful and excited. He had watched as his classmates stepped forward, one by one, to display their gifts. He had cheered for them, even as he felt a small knot of dread forming in his stomach.
The second year, he had been quieter, more withdrawn. He had still hoped, but that hope had been fragile, easily shattered when his turn came and went without a spark.
Now, in his third year, Rowen wasn't sure he could face it again.
He had tried to convince himself that it didn't matter, that he could live a normal life without powers. But deep down, he knew it wasn't true. In this village, in this family, powers were everything. They defined your worth, your purpose, your place in the world.
Rowen's fingers curled into fists as he stared down at his plate. "Maybe today's the day," he whispered, the words hollow even as he said them.
The air in the village square buzzed with anticipation as the villagers gathered for the annual ceremony. This wasn't just a celebration; it was a moment that defined lives. For children, it was a chance to step into the spotlight and uncover the latent magic that had been waiting to awaken. For families, it was a moment of pride, a confirmation that their legacy would carry on through their offspring.
At the heart of the square stood the Crystal of Manifestation, an ancient, glowing shard embedded in a marble pedestal. Its soft, ethereal light pulsed with energy, a constant reminder of its divine origins. The crystal had been gifted to the village generations ago by the gods themselves, a tool to reveal the magical attributes of its youth. Every year, children who had reached the age of awakening would touch the crystal, its radiant glow responding to their hidden gifts, revealing their unique powers.
Rowen lingered at the edge of the crowd with his family. The square was alive with excitement. Children chatted nervously while parents whispered encouragements. The high priestess, dressed in her golden ceremonial robes, stood near the crystal, her serene expression betraying none of the power she wielded as its guardian.
Rowen's palms were damp, his heart pounding in his chest. This was his third ceremony. Three years. Three humiliations. The weight of those failures hung on his shoulders, and the whispers around him felt like knives slicing through his already fragile resolve.
The priestess raised her arms, calling for silence. "Today, we gather to honor the gifts bestowed upon our children. One by one, they shall come forward and touch the Crystal of Manifestation. Through its divine power, we will witness the unique attributes that the gods have granted them. Let us celebrate their blessings!"
The crowd erupted in cheers. Rowen swallowed hard, his stomach twisting into knots.
The first child to approach the crystal was a girl named Elara, who had just turned twelve. Her hands trembled as she placed them on the smooth, glowing surface. The crystal's light dimmed for a heartbeat, and then it erupted in a brilliant display of blue. The air around her shimmered as a wave of water materialized from thin air, spiraling gracefully around her before dissipating.
The crowd roared with approval. Elara's parents rushed forward, their faces beaming with pride.
"A water manipulator!" her mother exclaimed. "Just like her grandmother!"
Rowen watched as Elara's family enveloped her in hugs, their joy spilling over. He clenched his fists, trying to ignore the ache in his chest.
Next came Markus, a burly thirteen-year-old who had always been the strongest among his peers. He stepped up confidently, placing both hands on the crystal. It pulsed again, this time glowing a deep green. The ground beneath his feet rumbled, and small rocks and soil rose into the air, swirling around him before settling back down.
"An earth-shaper!" the priestess declared, her voice carrying over the murmurs of the crowd.
Markus's father thumped him on the back, laughing heartily. "Just like I was at his age! Knew it!"
Rowen looked away, the cheers and laughter slicing through him like a blade. One by one, the children stepped forward, and the crystal revealed their gifts: fire, air, light, even shadow. Each time, the families erupted with pride, showering their children with love and admiration. Each display was a painful reminder of what Rowen lacked.
Finally, it was Rowen's turn. The square grew quiet as the priestess called his name. He felt the weight of every gaze on him, their collective expectations pressing down like a suffocating blanket.
Zenora squeezed his hand gently. "We're here for you, Rowen," she whispered. Her voice was warm, full of love, but it couldn't dispel the storm raging inside him.
Rowen stepped forward, his legs feeling like lead. The crystal loomed before him, its glow steady and unyielding. He stared at it for a moment, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure everyone could hear it.
"Go on, Rowen," the priestess said, her tone encouraging.
He raised a trembling hand and placed it on the crystal. The surface was cool and smooth, humming faintly with energy. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for the surge of power, the light, the revelation that would finally prove he belonged.
The crystal dimmed, just as it had for the others. Rowen held his breath.
But then… nothing.
No light, no power, no surge of energy. The crystal remained dull and lifeless beneath his touch.
Rowen's chest tightened as murmurs rippled through the crowd. The priestess's expression softened with pity. "I'm sorry, child," she said gently. "Perhaps next year."
Rowen's hand fell away from the crystal, and he turned to face the crowd. He could see the pity in their eyes, the barely concealed whispers behind their hands. His family stood frozen, their expressions a mix of love and helplessness.
Rowen walked back to his family, his head down, his cheeks burning with shame. Zenora pulled him into a hug as soon as he reached her, holding him tightly. "It's okay, my sweet boy," she murmured. "You're still our Rowen."
Darius stepped forward, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. "This doesn't define you," he said, his voice steady. "We're proud of you, no matter what."
Ryland, standing awkwardly nearby, finally spoke. "Hey, maybe it's just taking longer for yours to show up. When it does, it'll probably be something incredible, right? Like, uh… summoning storms like mom or something."
Rowen tried to smile, but it felt hollow. The weight in his chest was unbearable. How could he face another year of this? Another year of whispers, of pity, of being the boy who didn't belong?
As the ceremony continued without him, Rowen slipped away, his feet carrying him toward the forest. He needed to be alone, away from the crowd, away from the crystal, away from the constant reminder of his failure.
Deep inside, he still clung to a fragile thread of hope. Maybe next year. But that hope was dim, barely a flicker in the shadow of his growing despair.