The city of Cindrelle had a secret.
And Caelum Wrenwick was determined to find it.
The air in the city thrummed with magic, an unseen current that pulsed through every stone, every lamplight, every whispered conversation. It was everywhere—and yet nowhere. To most people, it was invisible, an undercurrent of life that powered their world without them ever noticing. But Caelum noticed. He had to.
For sixteen years, Caelum had lived without his Spark. He could see the magic swirling around him, feel its presence in the whispers of the trees, the hum of the cobblestones, and the way the moonlight glowed with an ethereal sheen. But none of it was his. None of it was his to command.
In Cindrelle, the Spark was everything. It was how you belonged, how you shaped the world, how you became someone worth remembering. Without it, you didn't matter. You were cast out, forced to vanish into the Veil.
The Veil.
Caelum hated the word. It was a shadow that haunted every citizen's thoughts, looming at the edges of their minds, a constant reminder that failure meant a life lost to the mist.
He had heard the stories. They were whispered in hushed tones, exchanged between cautious glances and furtive glances over shoulders. The Veil was no ordinary fog. It was alive—hungry. Some said it swallowed entire families, whole generations vanishing without a trace. Others claimed it was a prison for those who dared defy the city's laws, a punishment for those who failed to embrace their destiny.
Caelum had never been afraid of the Veil. Until now.
As his seventeenth birthday approached, that dreaded milestone when he would either prove himself or be cast out, he could no longer ignore the gnawing fear creeping into his bones.
Today, as he wandered the forgotten paths of Cindrelle's Mornvale Quarter—its crumbling buildings and twisted alleys—he felt a strange pull, like something invisible was guiding him, urging him toward something just beyond his reach.
Mornvale was an old district, once alive with scholars, mages, and dreamers who sought to uncover the mysteries of the world. But that was before Elira Thorne, Cindrelle's first great mage, disappeared into the Veil more than a century ago, leaving behind nothing but rumors and a city too afraid to ask questions.
The district had been abandoned, left to decay, but Caelum had always been drawn to it. Perhaps because he knew, deep down, that his answers lay in the ruins.
He wasn't sure what he was looking for today. But the whispers had led him here.
It was a narrow, almost invisible passageway, tucked between two jagged stone walls overgrown with ivy. At the end of the path was a rusted iron door, seemingly out of place in the midst of the decaying surroundings. It was odd how untouched the door seemed—its surface unmarked by age, its hinges gleaming as though it had been waiting for someone to find it.
Caelum's fingers hovered over the door handle. A feeling—something instinctive—flickered in the pit of his stomach. The city had always been alive, yes, but this? This was different. He could feel the pulse of magic, like a heartbeat, thumping beneath his feet, calling to him.
For a moment, he hesitated. Maybe this was a mistake.
But then the door creaked open on its own. A chill wind escaped from the cracks, brushing past his face with a whisper that seemed to say his name.
Caelum stepped inside, heart racing. The air was thick with dust, but something else lingered in the room—an energy that was old and powerful, ancient and untapped.
The room was small, its walls lined with bookshelves and strange artifacts, but at the center was something that made Caelum's breath catch in his throat. A pedestal, worn by time, stood before him, cradling a small, ornately carved box. The box gleamed, as though alive with an inner light, casting soft shadows on the walls.
He couldn't look away. Something about it felt… familiar.
As if it had been waiting for him.
His hand reached out without thinking, fingers brushing against the cool surface of the box. The moment he touched it, the room seemed to tilt, the air around him thickening, as though the very fabric of the world was being stretched taut. Then, there was a sound—a deep, resonating hum—and the box cracked open, revealing a delicate, glowing crystal. It pulsed, as if breathing.
The ground beneath Caelum's feet trembled.
Then, without warning, a surge of raw, untamed magic erupted from the crystal, coursing through his body with the force of a lightning strike. The pain was sharp, blinding. His mind screamed as the power surged through his veins, threatening to tear him apart. For a split second, it felt as if his very soul was being wrenched from his body.
And then, just as suddenly, it stopped.
Caelum collapsed to his knees, gasping for air. His chest felt like it was on fire, but when he reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow, something was different.
The world around him had changed. Not in a way he could explain—but everything felt sharper, clearer, more alive. The air tasted different. The ground beneath him hummed with a strange power. He could hear the whispers of the walls.
And then, the words of the journal he'd seen earlier echoed in his mind. "The Veil is not a wall, but a door. And through it, we shall pass."
Caelum's heart stopped.
For the first time in his life, he understood. He had felt it—his Spark.
But it was not the kind of magic anyone had expected him to possess. It wasn't a gentle gift. It wasn't something to be controlled. It was chaotic, unpredictable, a force of nature that tied him to something far older and far darker than he had ever imagined. And now, it had begun.
Caelum didn't know what this meant, or how it would change everything. But one thing was certain: The Veil wasn't just a punishment. It was the key. And he had just unlocked it.