Ronan sat at the back of the crowded training hall, his gaze drifting from one student to the next. The room was filled with chatter, some students gathered in groups, others preparing for their trials.
There was an undercurrent of excitement, but it wasn't the loud, boastful kind. Instead, it was the quiet buzz of anticipation, a shared understanding that the trials weren't something to take lightly.
"Hope I don't mess this up today," one student said, adjusting his gear and glancing around nervously. "I've been practicing, but I still don't know if I'm ready."
"Yeah, same here," another student agreed, tapping the edge of their blade thoughtfully. "It's hard to judge how far I've come. But I guess we'll see, huh?"
Ronan listened quietly, watching their conversations unfold. They weren't trying to show off; they were just figuring things out, the same as he was. It made him feel a bit less alone. But he still didn't speak.
What would he even say? His ability, [Whisper], wasn't something he could easily explain, not in a way that would make him feel like he belonged in these discussions.
He glanced at the system notification floating before him, just to remind himself of where he stood.
It was just easier to keep quiet, for now. The other students, at least, seemed to be figuring it out on their own, without needing to stand out.
[User] : Ronan Dalek
[Gifted Authority] [Whisper] (Aimless)
[Stories] (empty)
Whisper.
It wasn't even really an ability. He could barely call it that. A quiet word into someone's ear, within a ten-meter radius. It felt like a joke—a skill so subtle, so insignificant, it didn't even seem like it should count. It wasn't something that drew attention, wasn't something anyone cared about. Even the teachers sometimes forgot he had it.
What was the point of it?
The other students had powers that made them impossible to ignore. Abilities that turned heads. Abilities that mattered.
They weren't just talents; they were statements. Strength, speed, magic. Things that could change the world, or at least make you stand out in a crowd.
And then there was Ronan.
He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as the bell rang above the door, signaling the start of the next session. His feet felt heavy as he stood and moved toward the training floor.
Each step seemed to pull him further into a place where he didn't quite belong. It wasn't that he was afraid. It was just… pointless. What was he going to do? Whisper at someone until something happened? That wasn't going to impress anyone.
As he walked, his mind drifted to Alexan.
Alexan was everything Ronan couldn't be. Tall, confident, and surrounded by people who looked at him with admiration. The way they spoke about him.
The way they looked to him for guidance. And then there was the [Paladin's Armor]—a power that made him nearly untouchable. People couldn't help but respect him. They followed him. They believed in him.
Ronan wasn't like that.
He wasn't noticed nor was he that important to even be seen. The world seemed to pass him by, and all he had was a soft, almost forgotten ability that didn't even seem to belong in a place like this.
He caught himself in a reflection as he walked past a window. His face, his posture. It was like looking at a stranger. Who was he really? What was he doing here?
But as the thought crossed his mind, something else came to him. Maybe it didn't matter if he wasn't like Alexan. Maybe the world didn't need him to be like that.
'Maybe I'm enough as I am.'
As Ronan approached the training floor, he noticed Alexan standing with his usual group, laughing and exchanging stories. The others listened intently, hanging on every word. Ronan didn't expect them to notice him. He never did. It didn't matter much to him. He wasn't there for the spotlight.
But then, something unexpected happened. Alexan's gaze flickered toward him, just for a moment. It was subtle, easy to miss, but it was there. Ronan froze, wondering if he had imagined it.
"Hey, you," Alexan said, his voice relaxed and casual. "You're here for the trial, right?"
Ronan blinked, the unexpected attention catching him off guard.
"Uh, yeah," he replied, trying to keep his tone steady. "Just getting ready."
Alexan gave him a quick smile, his focus already shifting back to his friends.
"Good luck. Keep your head up."
Ronan stood there for a second, processing the exchange. It was a simple, offhand comment—nothing extraordinary. But for some reason, it lingered with him. He wasn't invisible, at least not in the way he had always thought.
The trials started shortly after, and Ronan found himself near the back of the line, the weight of the moment growing heavier with each passing second. His hands felt slick with nerves. He could hear the others talking, their voices filled with excitement. Meanwhile, he was only half-focused on his turn.
He didn't expect much.
His turn came. He walked to the center of the floor, trying to ignore the knot forming in his stomach. He wasn't like the others. His ability wasn't a fighting skill. It wouldn't impress anyone.
Ronan took a breath and closed his eyes for a moment. His opponent, Gareth, stood across from him—tall, confident, and known for his strength and speed. The crowd gathered, eager to see how the trial would play out.
The tension in the air was thick. Ronan didn't expect to win. He wasn't supposed to. He didn't even know what kind of skill his ability could be tested with.
Gareth lunged, moving like a blur, his fists coming at Ronan with frightening speed. Ronan stood still. He couldn't dodge, couldn't keep up.
When Gareth's fist was a hair's breadth from his face, Ronan activated [Whisper] out of instinct.
"Am I going to lose?"
It was soft, barely audible. So quiet that Ronan wondered if even Gareth had heard it.
But something happened. The punch, which had been aimed with perfect precision, slowed—just for a moment. The shift was subtle, almost unnoticeable. Gareth's hand wavered. His focus slipped. He faltered, just for an instant.
That was all Ronan needed.
Ronan stepped aside, his body moving almost on instinct. Gareth's fist slammed into the ground, missing completely. In that brief moment of confusion, Ronan used his chance. With a quick movement, he swept Gareth's feet out from under him, sending him tumbling to the ground.
The arena fell into silence as the crowd tried to make sense of what had just happened. From their perspective, it seemed like Ronan had somehow gained control over Gareth, making him falter at the last moment.
But Ronan knew the truth—he hadn't controlled him. All he did was whisper, just a quiet murmur that slipped into Gareth's ear.
It wasn't power, not in the way the others had. It wasn't a flashy display or a force to be reckoned with. It was just a whisper, a subtle nudge that had made Gareth hesitate. For that brief second, it had been enough.
Ronan stood there, his heart racing. He had won. Not through strength. Not through speed. But through a whisper—quiet, small, almost forgotten.
[Whisper] had worked.
Ronan stood in the middle of the arena, breathing heavily, still trying to grasp what had just happened. His mind was racing. He couldn't believe it. He had won.
For the first time, it felt like maybe—just maybe—his gift had some worth. Maybe [Whisper] wasn't as useless as he thought.