The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the training yard of Eryndor's Academy. The air crackled with the power of magic as students sparred, their spells weaving through the air in vibrant streaks of light and color.
In a world where magic was everything, Ethan had learned long ago that he was nothing.
He stood at the edge of the yard, his gaze fixed on the others. His classmates, full of pride and confidence, summoned fire, lightning, and swirling winds with a flick of their wrists, their faces flushed with the energy coursing through them. Their magic was an extension of themselves, as natural as breathing.
But not for Ethan.
Born with silver hair and violet eyes, he was unlike anyone else in Eryndor, and it was a curse. He had no magic. It wasn't just a difference—it was a weakness. The others could sense it. They mocked him, avoided him, and sometimes… they took pleasure in making his life miserable.
Ethan didn't belong here. He didn't belong anywhere.
"You're up next, Ethan," a voice called.
Ethan turned to see Jarek, the largest and most arrogant of the students, grinning at him from across the yard. Jarek's father was a powerful nobleman, and he relished reminding everyone of his status, especially Ethan. The two had clashed many times before, but today, Jarek's smile seemed more sinister than usual.
"You're gonna regret this," Ethan muttered, the familiar bitterness in his voice.
Jarek sneered, stepping forward with his fists raised. "Don't worry, Ethan. I'm sure you'll put up a good fight. Not that it'll matter." He extended his hand, and a bolt of lightning sparked between his fingers, crackling menacingly in the air.
Ethan swallowed hard. His pulse quickened, but he knew better than to try to fight back. He had no magic, no power to defend himself. Even if he tried, he'd only embarrass himself further.
"Let's make this quick," Jarek taunted, his voice dripping with malice. "We wouldn't want you to faint from exhaustion before I'm finished with you."
Ethan's jaw clenched. He hated this. Hated how everyone saw him as weak. Hated how they used his differences as a reason to push him down.
Jarek lunged forward, his fist aimed at Ethan's face.
Ethan barely had time to react. He ducked, but Jarek's blow grazed the side of his head, sending him sprawling to the dirt. The impact left him dazed, and he struggled to get back on his feet. Blood trickled from a cut on his cheek, and he wiped it away with a trembling hand.
"Pathetic," Jarek sneered, his voice full of venom. "You should have known your place. You're nothing but a mistake."
Ethan's chest tightened, a knot of frustration and humiliation building in his throat. His vision blurred, and he fought to steady himself, trying to ignore the blood dripping down his face. Every ounce of his body screamed at him to fight back, to prove that he was not as weak as they thought. But he knew it was pointless.
The next punch came fast, but Ethan managed to raise his arms just in time to block it. The force of the blow still knocked him off balance, and he stumbled backward, his legs like jelly. Jarek's laughter filled the air, sharp and cruel.
"Is that all you've got?" Jarek taunted, sending another blow to Ethan's stomach. The air whooshed from his lungs as he crumpled to the ground. He gasped for breath, but there was no escape from the pounding onslaught.
Jarek's foot pressed against his chest, pinning him to the earth. "You'll never be anything, Ethan. You were born to be nothing."
A surge of anger flared in Ethan's chest, but it was smothered by the weight of despair. He couldn't do this. He couldn't win. The magic that defined Eryndor's world, the magic that everyone took for granted, wasn't his to command.
Jarek pulled his foot back, ready to deliver another blow. "This is where it ends for you, freak."
As the kick came down, Ethan braced himself for impact, but something changed. A tremor ran through the ground, a hum in the air that made his skin tingle. It started low, deep within him, an unfamiliar sensation that quickly grew stronger. His heart pounded in his chest, and his mind raced with confusion. What was happening?
Jarek's foot froze midair, just inches from Ethan's ribs. The force of the magic swirling in the air was growing, and Ethan could feel it thrumming through his very bones. He gasped, his entire body shaking with the intensity of the sensation. It was as if something—something ancient—was awakening inside him, pulling at the very core of his being.
The air around them crackled.
And then, a voice shouted, sharp and commanding. "Enough!"
A powerful gust of wind slammed into Jarek, knocking him off his feet and sending him tumbling to the ground. Ethan's vision flickered as the magic pulsed again, but before he could react, a tall figure appeared, blocking his view.
Professor Elira, one of the academy's most respected teachers, stood over him, her eyes fierce and unwavering. Her long cloak fluttered around her, and her staff gleamed with silver light. She extended her hand, and the air around them settled into a sudden calm.
"Ethan, you're safe now," she said, her voice soft but stern. "I told you not to fight him."
Ethan looked up at her, his heart still racing. "I didn't… I couldn't—"
"You don't have to fight like this," Professor Elira interrupted, kneeling beside him. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, her expression filled with both concern and something deeper—something Ethan couldn't quite understand. "There's more to you than this. You don't need to prove yourself through violence."
Jarek groaned in the background, struggling to get to his feet. "What the hell is wrong with you?!" he shouted, his voice laced with fury and disbelief. "That freak—"
"You will leave, Jarek," Elira said coldly, her eyes narrowing. "Before I decide how to deal with you."
Jarek hesitated, glaring at Ethan one last time before turning and storming off, the crowd of students parting reluctantly to let him pass.
Ethan's gaze drifted down to his hands, which were still trembling with the aftershocks of the energy he'd felt moments ago. What had that been? Was it… magic? His magic?
But there was no time for answers.
Professor Elira helped him to his feet, her grip steady and firm. "Come with me," she said, her voice softer now. "We need to talk."
As they walked toward the academy's inner chambers, Ethan couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed. He hadn't awakened any magic, had he? He couldn't have.
Could he?