Lior stood at the front door, waiting for his father. Impatience thrummed through him like a second heartbeat.
The sky hung low and gray, heavy with clouds. In the distance, thunder grumbled softly.
Today felt different—sharper, heavier.
Only a few days earlier he had turned sixteen, and now the day had come: the Magic Awakening.
From childhood he had carried the same dream.
One day he would become a Magic Knight.
Not merely strong.
A hero.
Someone who gave people hope, someone they looked up to with respect.
His chest tightened with a strange, restless drumming. His palms were slick with sweat. Yet his eyes burned with a fierce, electric excitement.
When his father finally stepped outside, they set off without a word. The silence between them felt heavier than usual. For reasons Lior had never understood, his father had never cared for Magic Knights. Still, he had never once tried to crush the boy's dream.
A light wind stirred as they walked. The air smelled of damp earth and coming rain.
They reached the testing ground a little late. The crowd was thinner than expected, but every face carried the same restless mix—excitement, hope, and the sharp edge of fear.
When Lior's name was called, he stepped forward.
There it was: the crystal.
He hesitated a moment, drew a slow, deep breath, then pressed his hand against the cool surface.
One heartbeat.
Two.
Then the number shimmered into existence.
Black 27.
Time seemed to freeze. The noise of the square drained away until only the thud of his own pulse remained.
Some mouths opened in quiet shock. Others filled with pity.
Everyone knew the truth: an ordinary person registered above 150. Anything below that was almost nothing.
Lior's fingers began to tremble. He stared at his own hand as though it belonged to a stranger.
Beside him, his father's face had changed—sorrow and disappointment carved into the lines around his eyes, the light in them gone dim.
A familiar man stepped closer and spoke in a gentle, careful voice.
"Lior's a bit weak, that's all. Look, even if he never becomes a Magic Knight, there are plenty of other paths. That road is dangerous anyway—life on the line every day."
The words were meant to comfort.
Lior's father glanced at the man with tired disappointment. The stranger went on.
"I know it's his dream, but on the battlefield no one cares how low his power is. He could be the first to fall. And no dream is worth more than your life."
The remark planted fresh doubt in his father's mind, but it never reached Lior.
They walked home in total silence, the air between them thick and unbroken.
When they reached the house they stopped in the courtyard. The sky had turned the color of slate, ready to open.
Lior opened his mouth to speak.
Before he could, his father said quietly, "You will not become a Magic Knight."
The words were calm, yet impossible to argue with.
Lior stared at him, stunned. "My magic is low… but I'll train. I can—"
The rain began before he could finish.
It fell gently at first, then harder, drumming against the ground. Both of them were soon soaked, but his father's eyes held no softness at all.
He spoke again, voice flat and final. "There is no such power in your blood."
This time there was no hesitation—only certainty.
Lior's lips quivered. "I'll try—"
His father shook his head once, cutting him off. Then, in a cold, measured tone, he said, "Clinging to a dream that can never come true, a dream that will put your life at risk—that is foolishness."
He paused.
"Life is worth more than any dream."
His voice dropped lower still. "I don't want to hear another word about this."
A brief silence.
Then, "This is my final decision."
That day the rain fell.
Not only from the sky, but inside Lior as well.
He stood in the courtyard and cried, yet his tears mixed with the downpour and vanished into the mud at his feet.
That day he understood something inside him had stopped forever.
Present
The morning light had faded. The sky was now a deep, quiet blue.
Lior gazed upward, as though meeting the eyes of the boy he had once been.
"Go," he whispered, though Rion was already far down the road. "Don't become like me."
The wind passed without a sound.
And in the distance, along the path, a boy was walking.
He carried no magic.
He had no certainty.
He had no promise he would ever return.
He carried only a dream.
And that dream could one day forge him into something greater.
Or it could break him completely.