Lyric Thorne sat on the cold stone floor of the Attunement Hall, his legs crossed in the traditional posture, hands resting gently on his knees. His classmates surrounded him, their mouths moving without making a sound, their chatter silent. The grand chamber stretched around his, its walls adorned with intricate carvings that hummed with the vibrations of ancient magic. At the center, a pedestal stood, its crystal surface shimmering in the faint glow of floating orbs. This was the moment. The moment that would define their future.

The Attunement Ceremony was always an event of great fanfare, where the aspiring mages of Arcanis were connected to their Harmonies. It was a solemn occasion — a sacred rite — and every mage had to undergo it. The ceremony was said to reveal the core of one's being, aligning them with the resonant frequency that best suited their soul. The Harmonies of Illusio, Gravitas, Nexus, and Resonance. Each of them held immense power, and each mage longed for the one that called to them.

Except for Lyric.

For him, the ritual was an agonizing silence.

The other students, lined up in front of him in their robes of deep azure, shifted with nervous excitement. The hum of their collective anticipation was almost palpable, an unseen energy that filled the air, vibrating just out of reach of his senses. But for Lyric, that hum was a distant murmur, a whisper he could never quite catch. It had always been like this for him — the world a place of echoes and shadows, where sound was a foreign language, and magic was a distant dream.

He could see the others, the subtle shifts in their posture, the faint glow in their eyes as their Harmonies began to stir within them. Their faces lit up as the vibrations of the ceremony aligned with their core frequencies. Lyric’s hands were trembling, though he didn’t know why. He had prepared himself for this, hadn’t he? He had studied the ancient texts, watched the rituals, observed the ceremonies with the fervor of someone who desperately wanted to belong.

But no matter how hard he concentrated, he couldn’t feel it.

The wind that whispered through the chamber seemed silent to him, the reverberations of the crystal pedestal were muted. There was no hum, no pulse, no resonant force to which he could attune. Only the soft rustling of the others’ robes, and the beat of his own heart — loud, insistent, but ultimately meaningless in this moment.

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The Archmage, an elderly man with silver hair and piercing eyes, stood before his. His gaze was sharp, but there was a touch of sympathy in it as he lowered his hand toward his forehead. The mark of the Attunement Ceremony was a sacred one — a resonance that surged from the Archmage’s touch, a pulse of energy that would align a mage with their Harmony. But as his hand hovered above Lyric’s, Lyric’s heart sank further. He could feel the eyes of the others on his. He could sense the tension in the air, the unspoken disappointment that wrapped around him like a shroud.

"You are ready, Lyric Thorne," the Archmage said, his voice silent to Lyric, though the Archmage’s lips. "It is time."

He pressed his fingers gently to his forehead, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. But nothing happened. There was no stirring, no sudden rush of understanding. No divine spark of resonance. No rush of connection.

Lyric’s lips parted, but he couldn’t find the words. His chest tightened, the air around him growing thick with his own growing panic. He closed his eyes tightly, summoning every ounce of concentration he could muster. He needed to feel it. He needed to be like the others, to hear the call of his magic, to feel the tug of his true self.

But there was only silence.

The Archmage's brow furrowed slightly as he withdrew his hand. His eyes flickered with something unreadable before he glanced toward the other instructors. Lyric could feel the weight of their gazes — some curious, some pitying, some resigned.

"Lyric," the Archmage said, his voice now carrying a quiet note of finality, "you are... not attuned to any of the Harmonies. You are, as of yet, unmarked."

Unmarked. The word echoed in his mind, sinking in like a shard of ice. He had always known that something was different about his, but hearing it spoken aloud made it all the more real. The resonance that came so naturally to others was absent from his. No Nexus voice whispered through his mind. No Gravitas pulse rumbled in his chest. No Illusio shimmer danced before his eyes. Nothing.

For a long moment, Lyric said nothing. He did not look at the others; he could not. He could not bear their pity, their confusion. Instead, he stared down at his hands, gripping the stone beneath him, feeling its coldness seep into his fingertips.

His fingers clenched into fists.

He would find it. He would make it.

He had no Harmony now, but that did not mean he could not make his own.

The world had never heard Lyric Thorne, but he would make it listen.