The hall smelled of old parchment, melted wax, and the faint bite of ink drying on paper. The air was still, heavy with the quiet murmur of expectation.

Raine sat stiffly on a wooden bench, his fingers curled against his knees. The chamber loomed around him, vast and suffocating, its walls carved from smooth, ancient rock, towering like a monument to something long forgotten. The torches flickered, their glow stretching shadows across the high ceiling, but it wasn't the dimness that made his skin prickle.

It was the feeling.

Like the room itself was watching.

A dozen other examinees filled the space, seated in disciplined silence. Nobles, mostly—the kind who already knew they belonged. Their embroidered tunics whispered of lineage, prestige, certainty. Some sat with the sharp-eyed confidence of trained apprentices, their fingers twitching slightly, already familiar with the flow of Essence.

Raine had none of that.

He wasn't supposed to be here.

This trial—the Arcanum's method of selecting the gifted—was designed for those who had already felt power stir beneath their fingertips. The nobles took the test not out of uncertainty, but to confirm the inevitable. The merchants' sons and daughters, the few lucky enough to have tutors, sat with bated breath, clinging to the fragile hope of rising above their station.

But Raine?

He had no training. No lineage. No reason to believe the stone would react at all.

And yet—

The moment he had stepped into this chamber, he had felt something.

A presence. A whisper curling at the edges of his thoughts, distant yet persistent.

Not words. Not sound.

A feeling.

It slithered through his ribs, pressing against his lungs as if waiting for him to acknowledge it

He exhaled slowly, fingers curling against the rough grain of his trousers. No one else reacted. The others sat straight-backed, their expressions carefully composed. A few whispered among themselves in hushed, eager voices.

Then, from the front of the chamber, a noble boy glanced at him.

His fine clothes and self-assured posture spoke volumes—privilege, expectation, certainty. He didn't need the test to know he belonged.

His lips curled ever so slightly.

No magic in you.

The words weren't spoken, but Raine felt them all the same.

A slow creak split the air.

The doors opened.

A hush fell over the chamber.

A group of Arcanum officials entered, their long robes embroidered with silver sigils that shimmered in the dim candlelight. Their presence alone carried weight—a quiet, suffocating authority that settled over the room like an invisible chain.

The one in front—a tall man with a shaved head and a gaze like sharpened steel—stepped forward. His expression was unreadable, his posture rigid, practiced.

His eyes passed over the examinees with surgical precision, taking the measure of each one before stopping in front of them.

He clasped his hands behind his back.

"Stand."

The single word rang through the hall, soft yet unquestionable.

Raine obeyed, along with the others.

The official's gaze swept over them again, then he spoke.

"You have come seeking proof of your gift. The test will provide it. You will place your hand upon the Resonance Stone. If magic stirs within you, the stone will respond."

A pause. Then his voice dropped, colder, firmer.

"If it does not, you will leave."

A ripple passed through the examinees—not quite fear, but anticipation. A few adjusted their collars. Others flexed their fingers as if preparing for the moment they would step forward.

The noble boy near the front straightened slightly. He already knew the outcome.

Raine swallowed, his throat dry.

This was it.

One by one, the examinees stepped forward.

A girl with copper hair brushed her fingertips against the Resonance Stone—a deep, steady blue light pulsed beneath her hand. A boy with ink-stained fingers followed, the stone glowing a swirl of shifting green.

Each reaction was met with quiet murmurs from the officials, subtle nods, judgments passed in silence.

Then, the noble boy stepped forward. He placed his palm flat against the stone, not hurried, not hesitant.

The glow was immediate—strong, golden, commanding.

It lit up the chamber.

The officials nodded approvingly.

The noble boy stepped back, expression carefully controlled, but Raine caught the flicker of a smirk before he returned to his place.

Then—

"Raine."

His name echoed through the chamber.

His pulse hammered against his ribs.

Slowly, he stepped forward.

The Resonance Stone loomed before him, its surface smooth, polished—yet it felt alive.

Waiting.

His fingers hovered just above its surface.

The whisper curled at the back of his mind again. Watching.

No—

Not something. Someone.

His breath hitched.

He placed his hand upon the stone.

The whisper spoke.

We see you.

A sharp pulse of cold shot through his fingertips.

The glow beneath his hand didn't flare to life.

It shattered.

A crack split through the stone, a jagged wound spreading like lightning across its surface.

The chamber plunged into silence.

Raine jerked his hand back, his breath sharp, his heart pounding in his ears.

The whisper was gone.

But every official in the room was staring at him.

The nobles, the apprentices—even the boy who had smirked before now looked stunned.

Raine's pulse pounded against his ribs, his mind racing.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

This had never happened.

And in that moment, he knew—

He was never meant to be here.