Sophie looked up at the chief, her chest tight with anticipation. "Are you telling me… I can help James with this?"
Her voice was quiet but steady, threading the air with fragile hope.
The chief studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, he smiled—small, knowing.
"The Lord has blessed you," he said. "But it is what you do with that blessing that will decide whether you can help James or not." His voice was calm, certain. "Something tells me… you'll find a way."
Sophie's fingers curled at her sides, her breath catching. Before she could say anything, the chief turned, walking back toward the ritual site.
"Now," he called, his voice cutting through the murmurs, "who will step forward next?"
A brief silence.
Then—
"Me."
The word rang sharp, slicing through the air before anyone else could speak.
Noah blinked, his head snapping toward the sound.
A figure moved through the crowd, walking with a steady, measured stride.
Devon.
For a split second, he felt surprised.
Then, the moment passed.
No… he should've seen this coming.
Devon was always watching. Always listening. Always waiting.
And after everything that had happened—the ritual, the tension between Sophie, James, and the others—it made sense.
He was riled up.
Noah exhaled slowly as Devon stepped onto the platform, his face unreadable—except for his eyes, which seemed to burn with an inner fire.
"Name, child," the chief asked.
"Devon. Name's Devon."
Nodding, the chief gestured for Devon to follow, leading him onto the platform.
As Devon walked toward the center of the platform, he stole a glance back—at Sophia and James. His jaw clenched slightly. The sight of the two, all smiles and wrapped up in each other, made him twist.
Exhaling sharply, he turned away and stood at the center of the platform.
"You ready, child?" the chief asked.
Devon nodded, forcing himself to focus.
The ritual was about to begin.
The chanting of the robed figures swelled, a rhythmic hum that sent a shiver through the air. The golden runes beneath his feet pulsed to life, their glow spiraling outward like veins of fire spreading across the platform. The pressure thickened, pressing against his skin like an invisible weight.
Then—it struck.
A blinding column of light shot down from above, slamming into his chest with the force of a tidal wave.
Devon's body locked up as searing heat coursed through him. Unlike the others, whose affinities had settled gradually, his felt like an inferno roaring to life inside him. He gritted his teeth, sweat dripping down his face as the energy burned through his veins, reshaping him from the inside out.
The air around him shimmered, waves of heat distorting the space. The runes beneath him flared, no longer golden but shifting to a deep, molten red. The energy around him coiled and churned—alive, volatile, barely restrained.
Then, the light shifted.
The blinding gold twisted into a violent crimson, deepening into an intense, fiery red. The glow intensified, spiraling skyward in a pillar of flame.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
"That color…!" someone whispered.
From within the flames, something stirred.
A sharp, piercing cry split the air. Not human—but something ancient. Something powerful.
A great shape unfurled in the heart of the fire. Wings, vast and engulfed in burning embers, stretched toward the heavens. A silhouette formed within the inferno, its body coiled with raw, untamed power.
A phoenix.
Noah's breath caught in his throat. 'No way…'
Even the chief, usually unreadable, showed the faintest flicker of intrigue.
The flames around Devon pulsed, sinking into his skin, branding him with their power. His fingers twitched as the searing sensation dulled—not disappearing, but becoming something else. Something instinctual. Something alive.
Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the fire collapsed inward, drawn into him. The column of light vanished, leaving only faint embers drifting through the air.
Devon exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling in deep, controlled breaths. His body trembled—not from exhaustion, but from the sheer force of what had just been bound to him.
The chief stepped forward, his gaze steady.
"You are bound to Phoenix Magic."
A murmur spread through the crowd.
Devon slowly opened his eyes.
They gleamed, flickering with the remnants of flame.
He rose to his feet, rolling his shoulders as the heat still coiled beneath his skin. He could feel it now—this power, this rebirth.
His lips curled into a smirk.
His eyes, already a striking feature, burned even brighter now. The fiery hue of the phoenix lingered within them—a mark of rebirth, of something new.
Devon stepped down from the platform, his movements steady, controlled.
Then, he smiled. A wide, smug grin.
His gaze flicked toward Sophia and James—who, for the first time, broke their little bubble of intimacy to watch him.
Devon didn't say a word. He didn't need to. The look in his eyes said everything.
He wanted them to see.
To acknowledge him.
To realize that the Devon who had stepped onto that platform wasn't the same one walking back.
Something about that look made Noah realize that while for others the power inhibits you for some it enhances.
Devon had changed.
As if now aware of what's going on the with the crowd the chief speaks once again.
The chief's voice cut through the murmuring crowd. "And who will go next?"
Noah exhaled, steadying himself. His pulse quickened, but he pushed the nerves down.
I guess it's my turn.
Taking a deep breath, he raised his hand. "Me. I'll go next."
The crowd shifted as he stepped forward, parting around him. Each step felt heavier, but he forced himself to move.
Just before reaching the platform, he turned back to Amanda, flashing a small, dry smirk.
"Well… off onto the boat ride."
Hearing what he has to say she shakes her head slightly and chuckles.
Then, without waiting for a response, he walked on.
Straight into whatever came next.
The platform felt different now that he was standing on it. The runes beneath his feet pulsed faintly, a steady rhythm, like a heartbeat woven into the stone.
Noah swallowed, his throat dry. His hands clenched at his sides. The other students had gone through this, one by one. Some had screamed. Some had barely stood through the pain.
And then there was James.
The memory of those gears turning, forcing his body to move, sent an uneasy chill down Noah's spine.
He shook it off. No turning back now.
The chief stepped forward, his eyes steady, unreadable. "Your name, child."
Noah took a breath. "Noah Voss."
The chief nodded, then lifted a hand. The robed figures surrounding the platform did the same, their voices rising in a low, rhythmic chant. The air thickened, charged with something unseen.
Now standing at the center of the ritual, surrounded by the robed figures, Noah couldn't help but lament one simple fact—
When you're the center of attention, it's impossible not to get nervous.
Especially when you're facing something completely unknown.
'Jeez… how did everyone else handle this?'
His heart pounded, threatening to leap straight out of his chest. No matter how much he tried to steady his breathing, the weight of the moment pressed down on him.
His gaze flicked to the glowing orb atop the pedestal. The embers swirling around it fluttered higher, their intensity growing.
Something was coming.
Something big.
And Noah had no choice but to face it.
Then—
With a sudden clap, the golden lightning lashed down like the wrath of Zeus.
The impact struck Noah dead center, a force so overwhelming it nearly drove him to his knees. Pressure. Pain. It surged through him like liquid fire, scorching every nerve, every fiber of his being.
His teeth clenched, his muscles screamed in protest, but he forced himself to endure.
He remembered the chief's words.
Let it run its course. Do not resist.
His instincts begged him to fight back—to push against the unbearable force writhing inside him—but he didn't.
He couldn't.
Instead, he forced himself to accept it.
His body trembled. His vision blurred. Every pulse of energy ripped through him, not just changing him—reverting him.
Noah staggered, his breath ragged.
'Holy shit!'
The pain wasn't just on the surface—it was deeper, crawling into every cell, every molecule, rewriting him from the inside out.
No.
Not rewriting.
Restoring.
As if this was how it was always supposed to be.
A sensation rushed through him, foreign yet familiar—like something lost was finally being returned.
Then, he saw it.
The golden glow surrounding him shifted.
The deep, radiant hue broke apart, unraveling like threads of light—
And in its place, silver-blue energy surged forward, cascading around him like liquid moonlight.
The color burned through the air, illuminating the space with an ethereal glow.
Noah felt it settle inside him.
Not like a wildfire.
Not like an untamed beast.
But like a language etched into his very being.
The runes had awakened.
Looking around, Noah started to notice things he hadn't seen before.
The platform beneath him—once just an intricate stone slab—now pulsed with meaning. The runes carved into its surface no longer seemed random. They stretched outward, forming words, symbols, and something deeper—a foundation. Strength. Stability. An anchor to the world itself.
Then, his gaze lifted.
In front of him, the orb.
Unlike the runes on the platform, its markings shimmered and shifted, never staying the same for long. As he stared, a concept took shape in his mind—Mystique. Change. Adaptability. The sense that nothing was ever static, that everything could evolve.
As if, for the first time, he wasn't just looking at objects—he was seeing what they were. What they could be.
A power waiting to be understood.
A hush fell over the ritual site.
Noah stood frozen, his breath shallow as the last remnants of the ritual's energy settled into his core. The platform beneath him still hummed with unseen power, while the orb above pulsed like a heartbeat, as if acknowledging his presence.
Then, the chief spoke.
"You are bound to Runic Magic."
The words cut through the silence, carrying a weight far greater than their simplicity suggested.
Noah's brows furrowed. Runic Magic? The name itself sounded… different. The others had received affinities tied to nature, elements, or even primal forces. But this?
The chief took a step closer, his gaze sharp, evaluating. "Not fire nor water. Not wind nor stone. Your power is of structure. Of will made manifest."
The golden runes on the platform flickered in response, as if drawn to his presence. The chief gestured toward them. "Just as the world is built upon foundation, and just as the mysteries of mana remain ever-changing, your gift is the bridge between them." His eyes locked onto Noah. "Through runes, you will shape the world to your design."
A low murmur rippled through the watching students.
The chief continued.
"Runic Magic is both a weapon and a craft. It is the art of engraving meaning into reality itself. Each symbol, each inscription, carries power—to strengthen, to destroy, to reshape." His voice grew heavier. "But it is not a gift freely given. Runic Magic does not serve the weak-willed. It demands understanding. Control. Mastery."
Noah swallowed, his mind racing.
Before, when he had looked at the platform and the orb, he had felt it—the concepts. Strength. Stability. Change. Adaptability. And now, it made sense. He wasn't simply reading them. He was meant to wield them.
The chief's voice dropped lower, but the weight of his words pressed down like iron.
"If you lack discipline, the runes will reject you. If you carve without intent, they will shatter. And if you attempt to wield power beyond your comprehension… it will consume you."
Noah clenched his fists, feeling the lingering energy still thrumming beneath his skin. This wasn't just an ability—it was a responsibility.
The chief studied him for a long moment, then gave a nod of finality.
"You have been given a rare path, Noah Voss. Whether it leads to strength… or ruin… will depend entirely on you."
The runes beneath Noah's feet pulsed once more.