After two morning classes that felt longer than the past eight years of failed Weave Days combined, lunch break finally arrived.
We sat on the rooftop ledge—our little hidden refuge—balancing trays of cafeteria food on our knees while the campus below buzzed like a hive.
Laughter ricocheted off the stone walls, drones hummed lazily overhead, and the clang of the training field rang like a restless metronome. The air smelled faintly of ozone from the hover-rails, mixed with the earthy scent of rooftop moss and the soft sweetness of jasmine spilling over garden terraces.
Sunlight bounced off glass panels, warming our shoulders, while the edge of the ledge pressed rough and real against my thighs. Every sound, every scent, every flicker of motion felt amplified up here—like the world had paused just enough for us to exist in our own small orbit before everything changed.
Yinoh dangled his legs over the edge, casually munching on an eggroll like he hadn't nearly died on the way to class this morning.
"Think everyone in our class will get chosen tonight?" I asked, eyes drifting toward the horizon.
Yinoh shrugged mid-bite. "Probably not."
"Wow. Inspiring optimism there," I deadpanned.
He gave a half-smile, swallowed, and added, "I mean, yeah, usually a good chunk of a class does. But still… not everyone makes the cut."
He went back to his lunch, the wind threatening to steal his napkin.
"Hmm. Last year, a senior got scouted by the GRID (Geospatial Rapid Intervention Division)," he added, squinting. "What's his name again?" He scratched his head, thinking.
"Daelan. The one with the scar across his left eye," I replied.
He snapped his fingers. "Yeah, that guy. He was a nobody—just a mouse in the corner. Everyone thought he'd never receive his Arkan, but the second he received his, GRID recognized his potential. Then you've got someone like Riko, the most popular guy in school, and he still hasn't received his yet until now. So, it really just depends."
He continued eating his lunch.
I stared down at my food, my appetite fading.
The ceremony was tonight.
The moment the Moon hit its peak, every aspiring soul would kneel, whisper their truth—and hope the cosmos listened.
What would I even promise the world if it listened back?
I didn't have an answer.
But maybe by tonight, I would.
The breeze on the rooftop was gentle. The kind of breeze that made you forget the world below was rushing toward something enormous.
Yinoh stared out at the school's field, absentmindedly poking at his lunch.
"What's up?" I asked, nudging him.
"I'm just… nervous," he muttered, eyes still fixed on the field.
I blinked. "You? Nervous?"
"Yeah." He shot me a look, frowning. "Is that so hard to believe?"
"Extremely," I said. "I've seen you fall asleep in class and fake a hand raise just to avoid getting called on."
"That was strategy." He popped a meatball into his mouth. "Unconscious defense stance."
"Right." I rolled my eyes. "Next, you'll say being late is part of your 'combat training'."
"It builds pressure. I thrive under pressure."
We both snorted at that one.
There it was. The usual rhythm.
The kind of conversation we'd been having since we were kids chasing beetles in the Biome Garden after class. Only this time... everything felt a little heavier. A little closer to the edge of something.
After a moment, Yinoh spoke again.
"So... if you do get an Arkan tonight, what are you gonna do with it?"
I stared at the sky.
"I've been asking myself that all morning."
"Let me guess. Something noble? Like hunting down criminals?"
"Honestly?" I shook my head. "No clue."
He looked surprised.
"I mean, yeah—I want to help people. But I want to be something more than useful."
Yinoh nodded slowly. "I get that."
He set down his tray and leaned back on his elbows.
"I think," he said, "if I got an Arkan… I'd open a grilled skewer stall."
I blinked. "...What?"
"Think about it!" His eyes lit up. "Fire-based Arkan. Super heat control. Perfect charring every time. No customer complaints."
"Your dream is to become a street vendor with elemental power?"
"Exactly. But not just any vendor. The best in all of Magusrealm." He pointed to the sky dramatically. "Yinoh's Celestial Skewers. Flame-touched. Heaven-approved."
I laughed so hard I nearly dropped my chopsticks.
"You're insane."
"Hey, a man's gotta dream."
"Alright, skewer lord. What if you get something like… ice magic?"
He paused mid-bite, face serious.
"I'll rebrand. Yinoh's Frozen Delights."
"…You're hopeless."
But I was still grinning.
The wind rose again, gentler this time, as the rooftop laughter below faded into a distant blur.
A small pause stretched between us, thick with the kind of unspoken questions that come when you're standing on the edge of a life-changing night. We both knew that by tomorrow, one of us might be a hero—and the other might still just be a kid on a roof.
"I want to be chosen… I just don't know what I'd even do with the power if it actually happens," I said, watching the sky shift above the academy towers.
"Maybe the world's just waiting for you to figure it out," Yinoh said quietly.
"Maybe."
There was a beat of silence. Then suddenly—
"What if we just go to the Moon and force ourselves to get an Arkan?" Yinoh blurted out, eyes wide with that weird, reckless enthusiasm only he could pull off.
I stared at him. "The chance of you making it to the Moon with that level of laziness is… near zero."
He grinned. "Hey—at least it's not zero."
We both cracked up again.
Then silence.
Not the awkward kind—just that quiet moment where two people know the world might change in a few hours… and it's okay to just be here for now.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers interlaced.
"Hey."
"Yeah?"
"If I don't get one tonight…"
I didn't even let him finish. "You'll still be my best friend."
Yinoh's smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "…And I'll still outclass your Arkan with premium grill tech."
"I'll burn your whole stall down."
"You try," he said, and we both laughed. It was a quick, hollow sound that didn't quite reach our eyes, a desperate attempt to mask the knots tightening in our stomachs as the weaving drew closer.
Whatever happened tonight—whether we were chosen or forgotten—one thing was certain.
When the Moon rose, and the whispers began...
The threads of fate would either entwine us—
—or leave us behind.