The Hall of Ascension was silent.
Not a whisper stirred among the gathered nobles of House Arxal. All eyes were fixed on the three pedestals of stone, each crowned by a smooth crystalline orb of different size: small, medium, large, each awaiting the touch of a blood heir.
Above them, hovering midair through unseen runes, a fourth orb floated, the Final Sphere, the one that would judge the child.
From the shadows stepped Zarnis Arxal.
He was slight for his age. Black hair fell to his shoulders, marked by a single lock of white, bright and unnatural. It was the sign that made servants avert their eyes and warriors whisper behind his back.
He approached the Pedestal of Swiftness, where the smallest orb pulsed faintly. One hand raised, hovering over it. The air stirred.
The orb sparked to life.
It shimmered like silver wind, flickering rapidly, brilliant but unstable, like a flame struggling to stay alive.
A tall woman in ceremonial robes stepped forward. The Fatekeeper, appointed to record the fate of House children, lifted the orb carefully. Its light pulsed again in her hands.
"Swiftness," she said clearly. "Shimmering."
A soft wave of murmurs followed. A respectable result.
She walked to a stone console set behind the pedestals, shaped like a massive triangle with three carved recesses. She placed the small glowing orb into the leftmost socket. As it settled into place, a beam of light burst from its base, flowing along a groove etched in the stone.
The Final Sphere above responded. A thread of silver curled upward, feeding into it.
Zarnis stepped toward the second pedestal, medium in height, broader and steadier than the first.
The Orb of Control.
Before his fingers even touched it, the light answered.
A sudden radiant flare, golden-white, steady and blinding. The orb hummed, not just with light but with presence. It was no flicker now, it was certainty.
Gasps rippled across the chamber.
"That light…" someone whispered.
"No child's ever drawn a resonance like that."
The Scoremaster lifted it slowly, reverently.
"Control," she announced, her voice thin with awe. "Pure."
The hall stirred. Even his father, Valeth Arxal, narrowed his eyes, leaning slightly forward on his throne.
The orb was fitted into the central right slot on the stone console. As it clicked into place, golden light streamed out, joining the silver from before, feeding the Final Sphere with radiant energy.
Now came the third test.
The last pedestal stood taller than the others, wide and rough. Its orb sat dark and waiting.
The Orb of Capacity.
Zarnis hesitated, then rested his hand on the glass.
Nothing.
Seconds passed.
Then, a weak glow appeared. A dull red ember, barely enough to see. The orb pulsed once, faint and reluctant, then went still.
Silence filled the chamber.
The Fatekeeper said nothing. Her lips pressed into a line as she lifted the orb.
She placed it into the largest socket, the one at the base of the triangle, from which all mana was meant to flow upward.
As the red thread of light crept toward the Final Sphere, it reached the combined brilliance of the other two beams.
And dulled it.
The Final Sphere dimmed.
All that light, all that promise, faded.
The hall held its breath.
Then a whisper broke the stillness.
"It's... Dim."
One word, but heavy with judgment.
Valeth Arxal looked down at his son. His expression was unreadable, carved from stone.
The youngest brother's face twisted in confusion. The older sister stood still, emotion hidden behind perfect posture.
And Zarnis stared at the floating orb, now pulsing with a dull, tired glow, as if it had once been something more.
As if he had once been something more.
"Heir to never be," someone murmured.
And this time, Zarnis heard it.