Dawn slipped through the orphanage dormitory like a quiet breath—thin light seeping between rusted blinds, casting long, pale stripes across the cold floorboards.
Donte lay still, eyes open, already awake.
Dust floated through the light above him, shifting like static in a dead channel. Around him, beds creaked as the other orphans stirred, but no one spoke. On any other morning, the room would be full of groans, muttered complaints, and the sound of rough laughter.
Today, though—today was different.
Today was the Awakening.
He sat up slowly, feeling his pulse beat against his ribs. His thoughts were calm, almost eerily so. Not empty, but muffled—like emotions wrapped in gauze. Nerves twisted low in his gut, yet his expression remained neutral, steady.
Beside him, little Jorah fumbled with his bootlaces, hands shaking.
Donte dropped to a knee, wordless, and helped him tie the knot.
"Breathe," he whispered.
Jorah nodded, gulping in air like it might save him. He wasn't even going to the ceremony—not for another year—but the tension had already crept into everyone's bones.
Across the aisle, Mara tugged at the sleeves of her threadbare dress, offering Donte a tired smile. "Didn't sleep," she admitted in a hush.
"None of us did," he replied. "We'll get through it."
She nodded, exhaling slowly. His calm seemed to steady her. That small moment of quiet solidarity passed between them like a promise.
Then the stool clattered.
At the far end of the dorm, Kaelen had kicked it over.
Donte looked up.
Kaelen, seventeen and always prowling for prey, stalked down the rows of beds like a wolf in a pen of dogs. His eyes scanned the room—mocking, daring. He bumped shoulders, shoved elbows, knocked over a tray. No one stopped him.
He grabbed the water jug at the basin, shoving aside a small girl who barely managed to keep her footing. She bit her lip and said nothing.
Donte's hands clenched on instinct.
Then he exhaled, slowly.
Not today.
Kaelen wasn't going to ruin this morning. Not now.
Breakfast passed in tense silence. Bowls of thin porridge. Slices of stale bread. No one talked much. Even the younger kids seemed to sense it—that some invisible weight pressed down on the room.
Kaelen, of course, couldn't help himself.
"By tonight," he declared loudly from his usual spot, "I'll be well on my way to becoming a Grand Knight. Or a High Mage, maybe."
Jeb and Marus, his ever-loyal shadows, snorted on cue.
Kaelen flexed one thick arm and looked around with a grin that begged someone to challenge him.
"Course, not everyone here's gonna get anything," he added, voice dripping venom. "Some of you'll walk into that church and walk out just as useless."
His eyes slid deliberately across the room and landed on Donte.
The air in the dining hall thickened. Heads turned. Eyes flicked back and forth.
Donte didn't look away.
He met Kaelen's stare head-on, expression unreadable.
No fear. No challenge.
Just… stillness.
Kaelen's grin faded.
He stood, slow and deliberate, and started toward Donte's table, his boots hitting the floor like a war drum. Jeb and Marus trailed behind.
The room fell quiet.
Donte rose, calm and deliberate. His heartbeat drummed under his skin, but his face gave nothing away. Mara stood behind him, her presence silent but unwavering.
Kaelen stopped just short, posture rigid, eyes narrowed. "You got something to say, runt?" he sneered. "Or were you just staring because you're scared?"
Donte didn't blink. "I'm not scared of you, Kaelen. Not anymore."
The silence that followed was sharp enough to cut.
Someone in the back gasped. A spoon dropped into a bowl.
Kaelen's eyes widened, just for a breath.
Then his face twisted in fury.
"You need a reminder," he growled, jabbing a thick finger into Donte's chest. "You're beneath me. Always have been."
Donte barely moved from the impact.
His voice, when it came, was steady.
"We're all going to the same ceremony," he said. "You can't scare a blessing out of the Church. You bullying me won't change what comes for you."
The words struck deeper than the jab. Kaelen's snarl faltered.
Then, without warning, he grabbed Donte by the collar and hauled him up.
Gasps. A scrape of chairs. Dishes clattered.
Mara stepped forward, fists clenched, but Donte shook his head—barely a motion. He didn't want her dragged into it.
Kaelen's grip tightened. Donte's toes just brushed the ground. His breath hitched against the choking fabric, but his eyes remained locked on Kaelen's.
"Hurting me," he said quietly, "won't make you ready."
For a flicker of a second, doubt cracked Kaelen's glare.
Fear.
They all felt it. Even him.
"Kaelen! Donte!"
The voice cut through like a gunshot.
Sister Elitha.
She stood in the doorway with her usual steel expression. Flanking her were two Church attendants, clad in pale gold robes.
"What is the meaning of this?" she snapped.
Kaelen let go immediately, pushing Donte back. Donte stumbled, coughed once, and straightened.
"No trouble," Kaelen muttered. "Just a misunderstanding."
Donte said nothing. His hands still shook slightly as he smoothed his shirt, but his face didn't flinch.
Sister Elitha didn't press further. "Everyone, to the courtyard. Now. The Church escorts are waiting."
Outside, the sky was a pale, perfect blue. Morning sun glinted off the tops of Arcton's smokestacks, casting long shadows across the orphanage yard.
Two wagons waited at the gate.
The older orphans were ushered into the first. Younger ones into the second. Kaelen and his crew climbed up front, all bravado again—but their eyes didn't linger on Donte.
Mara and Donte took seats at the rear.
Donte gave the orphanage one last look. Crumbling walls. Rusted gutters. The room where he'd first woken up in someone else's body.
He didn't feel anything.
No loss. No nostalgia.
Just forward.
He climbed aboard, sat beside Mara, and kept his silence.
The wagon shuddered, creaked, and rolled into motion.
The gates opened.
As they left the orphanage behind, the Church of Ascension rose in the distance—its white spire gleaming like a blade held up to the sun.
Conversation died. Nervous glances. Tight hands. Whispered prayers.
Beside him, Mara clutched her knees, knuckles pale.
Donte reached over and squeezed her arm gently.
She looked at him.
He smiled—small, but steady.
"I'm scared," she admitted.
"Me too," he said.
But his voice didn't shake.
And when he looked back toward that spire, he didn't flinch.
Whatever waited inside that Church, whatever truths, whatever lies—he'd face them all.
No matter what came next.