As Zion made his way through the waking town, his lean but athletically built frame moved with purpose. His black hair caught the early morning sunlight, reflecting its dark sheen as he walked. His sapphire eyes, a striking contrast against his dark hair, darted around the streets, taking in the sights and sounds of the familiar surroundings.

He had just finished his third lap around the block, an attempt to settle his frayed nerves and a rumbling stomach. The town was starting to wake up, a sign he needed to get back home and clean up for school. He started his way home at a normal pace, the walking giving him more time to sulk.

"Good morning Zion!" came a jovial, if not a little loud, greeting from Ken, one of the local shop merchants. "Getting some of those jitters out of your system?"

Zion's round face broke into a polite smile as he acknowledged Ken. "Yeah... the ceremony has got me a little tense," he admitted sheepishly. "Tomorrow's the big day after all."

Ken stopped working on his setup, glancing at Zion with a no-nonsense look. "You're Galen's son. I'm pretty sure you'll be fine. He did complete his tapestry after all," he reassured, waving him off with a polite gesture. "Go get ready; you've got exams today."

Zion nodded politely, not having the words to respond at that moment. “Just hope the kid doesn’t give up that much power for a woman,” Ken had tried to whisper the jab at his father, but Zion had heard him anyway. He didn't respond; instead, he walked away, fuming a little at the man's words.

He ambled through the waking town in a daze, trying to get the words out of his head. It wasn't the first time someone had insulted his father about his choices, and it wouldn't be the last. That's one of the prices paid when you leave the folds of the Weave.

He turned the corner of the block to find a young man in cheap cloth armor leaning against a stone wall, hands holding his head. It took Zion a moment, but he recognized those yellow locks and sullen visage.

“Nira, is that you?” he questioned, stopping in front of the man.

Nira moved his hands and looked up at Zion. His eyes and cheeks were red, a sign of recent tears. “Oh hey! How you doing, Zion? I haven't seen you in a couple of months. How have you been?” Nira asked him insincerely, his throat still tight from previous emotion.

“I think the better question is, how are you, man? You look a mess,” Zion replied bluntly, kneeling to Nira's level, sapphire eyes boring into his old friend.

Nira's false smile dropped at that, and his wet eyes turned away. “You were right, you know,” he answered, with his head still turned.

“Right? Right about what?” Zion asked him, confused by the statement.

“Being a mage is bullshit,” he responded, his body tensing up at the heated words. Nira began to clasp his hands together tightly as if trying to smash the words. “It’s like I can never do anything right. I never have enough mana, or I don't cast my spells properly. Any time I mess up, the party's all over me, but when the damn warrior trips with his sword, that's okay because he's in the heat of battle. It's bullshit, Zion,” he punctuated the last sentence by slamming his head into the brick wall.

Zion sighed, now understanding what Nira was talking about. Mages were a sore spot for Zion due to how his mother had been treated when she died. So he had ranted about how being a mage only brought more responsibilities and less respect. He didn’t hate mages or anything of the like, but he did despise the toll Nifell placed on them, with little reward for their burdens.

“That's a pretty tough hand you've been dealt, man. I'm sorry the Weave gave you high magic stats,” Zion told him thoughtfully, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. Internally, Zion was shaking at the thought that after tomorrow's ceremony, he could be in this very state.

“Thanks, Zion,” Nira said, with a legitimate smile this time. “Your Weave Ceremony is tomorrow, right?” Zion gave him a confirming nod. “Then get home and stop this workout nonsense until after the big day. I know you train to avoid my situation, but it's not gonna help, man. We don't really get a say in the process tomorrow. Now get, and let me mope before my next mission.” He turned away then, giving Zion the impression he really did want to end on those sour words.

Zion left Nira with a lingering gaze, his once calm mind now screaming again. He had gone on the run to clear his head and wipe away his worries, but now they were back at the forefront. He made good time the rest of the way home, only allowing brief hellos with other neighbors.

Entering the house, he didn’t see his dad up yet, which came as no surprise since it was only just hitting six am according to the clock. He made his way through the kitchen, trying to tiptoe as he did, and opened his room quietly. Once inside, he flopped on his bed dramatically, letting his fears run wild now. He didn’t even hear the footsteps.

“You know, if I were a monster, you'd be dead right now, Zion,” his father said, startling him out of his bed. Galen's deep laughter resonated wonderfully with his baritone voice. “Here, get out of your head and off the floor.”

Effortlessly, Galen reached down and hauled Zion to his feet. Zion glanced into his father's warm eyes, almost looking past the wrinkles on his face – wrinkles of stress and time, only those without mana gained. The shopkeep's words came flooding back to him.

“Keep gawking, and I might get self-conscious!” Galen joked, slapping Zion's arms. Zion rubbed the spot, still amazed at his dad's strength. “What's on your mind, bud? You've been pretty distant, but today's been a whole new level.”

“It's nothing, Dad. Really, I'm okay,” Zion lied through his teeth, his deep voice betraying a hint of tension. His dad's glare made it clear that he wasn't buying the story. “Fine, it's about the ceremony. What if it all goes wrong?” He met his father's gaze, a trace of pleading in his eyes.

“Nothing, that's what,” Galen replied with total confidence. “If you don't get the stats you want, then you work for them. It won't be easy, but starting stats are not the end of the world.”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Zion took a step back at the comment before answering, “No, Dad, it's not that simple. We both know switching from physical to magical takes almost two full tiers. That's two tiers I'd be mediocre at best.” Zion hadn't meant to inject venom into his words, but he failed.

This was a topic that had come up way too often in their household. After his mother passed Zion had refuted the idea of being a mage. No one deserved the treatment and end his mother got. So why should he follow the same ruinous path? And, like always, his dad was the voice of reason.

“If you're worried about keeping up, then follow the path given by the Weave. Believe it or not, it does think of your future,” Galen retorted calmly, waving away Zion's rebuttal. “Besides, there is always a way to walk both paths. If it comes to that, we'll plan it together. Remember, I have experience.”

The two locked eyes briefly, neither willing to back down. After a while, Zion let out a sigh and looked down. His anxiety had lessened somewhat from his father's words, not because they placated him but because they were honest. His father genuinely saw a way for both paths to work.

“Now, go get yourself cleaned up before class. You've got finals today. No reason to smell like a pig... even if you live like one,” Galen said, glancing at the trash strewn across the room. He raised an eyebrow in judgment, earning a nervous chuckle from Zion. “When you get home, pick up this room.”

Zion became aware of the glint of perspiration on his tan skin as he sniffed himself. He couldn't help but grimace at his sweaty appearance. His dad, noticing his discomfort, gave him a knowing look, and Zion glanced away shyly, feeling self-conscious about his disheveled appearance.

"Get you smelly mongrel, and cut that hair before the Ceremony tomorrow," his dad teased, tossing a clean towel his way. Zion chuckled, catching the towel with a grateful nod.

Zion knew better than to ignore his dad, so he jumped up and went to the washroom. He stripped and climbed into the shower. With a flick, he activated the water, and condensed mana caused it to heat up. He would have to remind his dad to pay for the mana recharge; it was due this week.

Hopping out of the shower, Zion ran to his room and dressed, opting for a training tunic and black pants. No one would tell him what the final exam would be, but he had his guesses. They never seemed to do things normally at Kar’s Prep School, often combining mental discipline with the harsh reality of physical exercise.

A final glance in the mirror had him looking pretty sharp, if not a little outgrown, for this outfit. He’d need new clothes before he went adventuring. The thought of being out there fighting monsters cleared some of the lingering miasma of depressing thoughts.

He grabbed a chocolate muffin as he entered the kitchen, shoving it in his pocket. “Love you, Dad. I'll be home after class,” he told his dad, giving him a fierce hug before running out the door. Galen chuckled at his exit and gave him a fatherly wave.

Zion dashed through the winding streets of Terra, his footsteps pounding the cobblestone roads. Beautifully crafted houses made from strong oak or maple passed him by, each shaped perfectly by wood mages. He came to a halt at the town center, taking in the preparations for the ceremony, and tried to shovel the muffin into his maw.

He really shouldn't be stopping, as he was already close to being late, but he couldn't help himself. He had found himself stopping here every day since he hit eighteen, knowing this would be his month to join the Weave. It brought a new element to what had always been a normal monthly site.

In the middle of the event site stood a ten-foot tall steel-blue arch made from two-foot thick mana marble, the most highly conductive mana material there was. Taking up the whole archway was a magnificent tapestry, a symbol of the Weave, the entity that controlled all things. The scene woven through thousands of threads depicted the Battle of Chaos.

From above, one could see the Deities of Creation holding their ground as waves of monstrosities poured from the very earth of Nifell. Below, the threadwork bore terror as the ten Deities of Devastation reigned nightmares on the world above. The middle bore the greatest piece of history yet, showing the Chosen and Heralds of Creation battling against creatures thrice their size. Steel and spell held firm as chaos formed.

The tale was told to all citizens of Nifell, a story meant to inspire adventurers and create a bond between all Spheres. Only through the Gods and Goddesses of Creation could Nifell hold firm against Devastation. It was a story that Zion had heard countless times through school or family. The tapestry brought it all to life, images seeming to move within the cloth.

Zion shook his head to clear the hold it had on him. The rest of the ceremony site had rows of chairs for family members. At the front, fifteen individual chairs were set aside for the people undergoing the ceremony. A small magic barrier surrounded the site, as it always did, allowing only those of age to enter its confines.

Nervous energy surrounded Zion as he left the ceremony site, now focusing on making it to class on time. Five minutes later, he stood before the large stone doors of Kar’s Prep School, its name boldly plastered on the front of the building. It was one of the few structures made completely from mana marble—an expense that many might find extravagant, but Kar deemed it necessary for his students to absorb mana before becoming adults. There was no proof that this worked, but one didn't look the generosity in the mouth.

Entering, Zion found the hallway a buzz of activity. Younger students giggled while interacting with their classmates, and teachers hurried from one area to the next, disciplining misbehaving students and congratulating those who were doing well. Ignoring the crowd, Zion went to room twelve, home to all his age group.

Opening the door, he found everyone sitting in their seats, anxiety palpable in the air. Feeling embarrassed that he was the last to arrive, he sat down patiently, waiting for the instructors to appear. Glancing around, he saw people muttering study materials under their breath, some scribbling hastily remembered notes, and a few who looked ready to pass out.

"Zion, what should I be studying?" A worried voice asked from behind him. Turning around, he found his classmate Jacob absolutely shaking with nerves. The boy looked ready to have a panic attack.

Zion laughed heartily, the noise causing every eye in the room to fixate on him. The extra attention had him red with discomfort. Eventually, all the eyes settled away from him, and he answered Jacob's question a little less confidently than he would have been without the glaring looks.

"Honestly, man, I have no idea," he shrugged his shoulders, trying to indicate his uncertainty.

"Oh, come off it, Zion. Galen was a renowned hero who reached tier five, and you're telling me he didn't give you a single hint about today?" Jacob scoffed, his glasses bouncing off his nose.

Zion held his arms up in mock surrender, "Truthfully, man, he told me it'd all come in good time and not to worry."

Jacob huffed, falling over the back of his chair, "This is going to freaking suck, man."

He couldn't exactly disagree with Jacob because he was a pile of bubbling nerves as well. True, his nerves were more fixated on getting martial stats during the ceremony tomorrow, but he was pretty tense about the final, too. They both grew silent then, each dealing with their own chaotic thoughts.

A few moments later, the lead instructor, Melody, entered the room, her bright white robes almost blinding. “Good morning, everyone. Hopefully, you are all well-rested,” Melody addressed the class, her eyes sweeping over the lot of them. “From appearance, I would say you didn’t. Pay it no mind, though, as I've yet to meet a class that wasn’t nervous the day before their ceremony.” She stopped at the podium, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Today, though, you get to struggle through the final.”