The classroom was a low hum of activity, the faint crackle of Etherion trickling through the air as students fidgeted and muttered under their breath. Every now and then, a small spark would pop from someone’s hand or a student would summon a fleeting gust of wind, testing the limits of their abilities. Most of the displays were small, inconspicuous—enough to pass the time while they waited for the lesson to start. Zeke Alaric, the uncontested star of the school, didn’t even bother to hide his aura, letting his Gravity Affinity leak out like a slow, steady pulse around him. It wasn’t flashy, but everyone felt it. The room held its breath when he did it.
“Can you *not* do that in class, Zeke?” Rhea’s voice cut through the hum like a needle through fabric, sharp and casual. She was sitting beside Darius, leaning over a circuit board she was tinkering with, her fingers working quick and deft as she adjusted the tiny metal components.
“What, this?” Zeke’s voice rang out from the other side of the room, amused, confident. The low pull of gravity beneath him intensified slightly, sending his chair floating just enough to make it hover inches above the floor. The desk tilted awkwardly beneath him, sending a few pens and papers scattering across the table, but Zeke barely seemed to notice. “It’s not *that* much, is it?”
Rhea sighed, shaking her head, not bothering to look up from her work. “You’re going to ruin your desk,” she muttered. “And probably half the building while you’re at it.”
Darius glanced across the room at Zeke’s group of admirers, a few students laughing along, no doubt thrilled by his little display. Zeke was always showing off. Always the one who could do everything effortlessly, without breaking a sweat. His Gravity Affinity gave him a quiet, unspoken dominance in any room. Darius didn’t resent it. He had no need to—he was used to the disparity by now. It was hard to feel threatened by someone whose greatest skill seemed to be *existing* loudly.
“Show off,” Darius muttered to himself, turning his attention back to the notebook in front of him.
Rhea flashed him a quick grin, sensing his mood. “You know you don’t have to let it bother you. You’re not the one in *his* seat.”
“No, but I’m in *this* one,” Darius said, gesturing to his corner seat with a slight tilt of his head. His spot, away from the usual buzz of attention. Safe. Out of view.
“You sure about that?” Rhea asked, her voice a little lighter than before. “It’s not *that* bad, you know.”
Darius didn’t look at her, not immediately. Instead, his eyes scanned the rest of the class, taking in the murmured conversations and flashes of Etherion here and there. He exhaled quietly. “Yeah, but it’s better this way.”
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The lesson started, and Mr. Darnel wasted no time getting into the details. The students around them reluctantly settled into their seats, and the usual wave of murmurs quieted to a dull hum. Mr. Darnel was a man of few words but many eyes—his sharp gaze sliding over every student in turn as he wrote a new set of equations on the board.
“Alright,” he said after a brief pause, voice sharp, not bothering to wait for silence. “Channel Calibration. You all know the drill. If you don’t get this right, you’ll be a risk for burnout or worse during the Trials. Pay attention.”
Darius let the words wash over him. This was the stuff that barely registered anymore. Calibrating Etherion channels, understanding how energy flowed through the body, and making sure everything was in sync—it wasn’t new. He knew it. He had worked with it long enough to understand the basics by heart, even if he had never had the luxury of an Affinity to make it easier.
He scribbled down the equations as Mr. Darnel explained them, trying to focus on the lines that connected theory to practice. How to calibrate without overexerting yourself. How to avoid energy imbalances. Darius had his own way of controlling his Etherion, a way that didn’t rely on Affinity—because he didn’t have one. No Fire, no Wind, no Gravity. Just pure Etherion, manipulated with cold precision.
But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same as how Zeke or the others did it. No one noticed when he succeeded—no one cared when his technique was flawless. They only cared when the big displays happened. When *the flashy stuff* happened.
He didn’t mind. At least, that’s what he told himself. He wasn’t one of them, and that was fine.
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The bell rang, signaling the end of the period. Students filed out in waves, their conversations quickly escalating to excited chatter about the upcoming Trials. The clamor of the cafeteria quickly followed, as the high school’s heart of social activity buzzed with life. The loud clinking of trays, the familiar shuffle of feet, and the occasional burst of Etherion from someone showing off or setting off a minor demonstration.
Rhea and Darius made their way to their usual table near the back of the room, a quiet corner where the rush of students was mostly a distant noise. Nate Carter, ever the contrarian, was already sitting down, arms crossed over his chest, leaning back in his chair like he didn’t have a care in the world. He wasn’t the type to put much stock in the Trials either, but that didn’t stop him from offering sarcastic commentary on everything.
“You guys are way too serious,” Nate said, watching Zeke continue to draw attention across the room, his chair now floating just above the table. “It’s like he’s performing for an audience every time he moves. I’d hate to be that predictable.”
Darius leaned against the table, crossing his arms. “Predictability’s one way to get through life, I guess.”
“You know, you’re just as guilty as he is,” Rhea said with a mischievous smile, not looking up from the sandwich she was unwrapping. “You may not show off your power, but you do this whole... 'I’m invisible’ thing. The quiet guy who watches everything but says nothing.”
“I’m not trying to be invisible,” Darius muttered, though he wasn’t sure it was entirely true.
“You’re good at it, though,” Nate added, giving him a lazy grin.
“I’m just... observing,” Darius said with a shrug.
“I’d call it a survival tactic,” Rhea said, her voice teasing. “You know, keeping your head low until the storm passes?”
Darius rolled his eyes, but there was a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Sounds about right.”
Nate leaned in. “So what’s your plan? Stay under the radar until the Trials?”
Darius hesitated. “I don’t have much of a choice.”
Rhea’s eyes flicked between them. “You could always try standing out.”
Darius didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his eyes drifted toward the far end of the cafeteria, where the Vayne siblings stood. Kieran Vayne, his older brother and one of the most talented Etherion users in their year, was in the middle of a conversation with a group of classmates. His presence commanded attention, as always. But it was Evelyn Vayne beside him that caught Darius’s gaze. Her Light Affinity shimmered faintly, just enough to create a subtle, radiant aura around her.
There was something different about her. Quiet, observant—like him. She didn’t draw attention the way her brother did, but there was an unspoken power to her that commanded respect. Evelyn didn’t flaunt her abilities like Zeke or Kieran. She just *was*. And for some reason, Darius found that intriguing.
“You’re staring,” Rhea said, nudging him with her elbow.
Darius blinked, and when he looked back, he found himself not caring if she had noticed. “I wasn’t staring.”
“Sure you weren’t,” Rhea said, not buying it. “I’ve seen you look at her a couple times now.”
“I’m not—” Darius started, but Rhea only laughed.
Nate raised an eyebrow, glancing toward Evelyn. “I wouldn’t mind meeting her. Something tells me she’s not the type to put up with Zeke’s nonsense.”
Darius couldn’t help but smirk at that. “Yeah, something tells me you’re right.”
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The day passed slowly, a blend of lessons and passing moments. Darius went through the motions of his routine—focusing on his work, keeping to himself, and avoiding the attention of those who didn’t matter. He didn’t mind it. Most of the time, it was easier this way.
As the final bell of the day rang, signaling the end of classes, Darius slung his bag over his shoulder, ready to head home. Rhea waved to him from across the hallway, already gathering her things. Nate gave him a half-wave, then went off to meet up with a few other classmates. They weren’t going home yet, not today. But Darius was used to that.
As he turned down the hallway, heading toward the exit, he caught sight of Evelyn again, this time standing near the doors, her back against the glass as she waited for someone. Her eyes flicked toward him for just a moment, and when their gazes met, she offered a faint, almost imperceptible smile. Then, as quickly as it appeared, it was gone.
Darius didn’t know why, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that her presence had shifted something, just enough to make him wonder if maybe he wasn’t as invisible as he thought.
The late afternoon sunlight spilled across the streets of New Dawn, painting everything in a warm, hazy glow that softened the sharp edges of the city. The high-rises that loomed above seemed less imposing under the gilded light, their glass and metal facades glinting faintly as the day began to slip into evening. The sidewalks, however, were alive with motion. Streams of students poured out from the gates of New Dawn High, their chatter and laughter mingling with the low hum of passing cars and the occasional chirp of a bicycle bell.
Darius Kaelen was among the throng, his bag slung over one shoulder, his gaze fixed straight ahead. The voices around him blurred into an indistinct hum, a backdrop to his own thoughts. He adjusted the strap of his bag, his pace unhurried, yet deliberate—like someone walking to avoid a destination rather than reach it.
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Behind him, Rhea Calloway caught up easily, her footsteps light and quick. “Hey, brooding genius,” she called, falling into step beside him. Her red hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and the straps of her bag were weighed down with something metallic and lumpy—likely another of her Etherion gadgets in progress. “I know that look. Don’t even try to tell me you weren’t spiraling about the Trials just now.”
“I wasn’t spiraling,” Darius said, his tone clipped but not unkind.
Rhea arched an eyebrow at him, her lips curving into a knowing smirk. “Right. So you just happened to look like someone heading to his own execution.”
“Isn’t that what the Trials are?” Darius muttered, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
“Depends on who you ask.” Rhea shrugged, shifting her bag as they rounded a corner. The streets were quieter here, the afternoon noise fading as they moved toward the quieter residential areas that branched off from the main thoroughfare. “For people like Zeke, it’s a parade. For people like you, well... okay, it’s more of a guillotine situation.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Darius said dryly.
“I’m just saying,” Rhea continued, her tone bright as if she hadn’t noticed the edge in his voice. “You’ve been practicing. You’ve got a strategy. All you have to do is—”
“Win without an Affinity? Impress the judges without any of the flashy stuff they actually care about?” Darius cut in, glancing at her with a faint, tired smirk. “Sure. Easy.”
Rhea didn’t answer right away, her expression softening. She was about to say something when a third voice interrupted.
“You two really don’t know how to have a normal conversation, do you?”
Nate Carter stepped out from the shadow of a lamppost, falling into step on Darius’s other side. Tall and lean, with a perpetually relaxed demeanor, Nate had a knack for appearing exactly when the tension between Darius and Rhea hit its peak. His hoodie hung loose over his frame, his hands buried in its pockets, and his expression was one of practiced nonchalance.
“Darius doesn’t do normal,” Nate continued, glancing sideways at him. “Rhea doesn’t do subtle. It’s why this works.”
“Glad to see you’re contributing,” Rhea said, rolling her eyes but grinning all the same.
Nate’s smirk widened, but he didn’t reply, his gaze drifting toward the horizon. The three of them walked in companionable silence for a while, the rhythm of their footsteps filling the spaces between words.
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They stopped at a small convenience store tucked into the corner of their neighborhood, its neon sign flickering faintly in the fading light. The automatic doors whooshed open as they entered, and a faint jingle played from somewhere above them, the sound as tired and familiar as the store itself.
Rhea made a beeline for the snack aisle, her gaze darting between bags of chips and shelves of candy with a laser focus. Nate, meanwhile, wandered off toward the drink coolers, his pace unhurried as he scanned the rows of brightly colored cans.
Darius lingered near the entrance, his eyes drifting over the small crowd of customers. A few other students from their school were here, but they were too absorbed in their own conversations to notice him. He let out a quiet breath, the cool air inside the store a welcome contrast to the warmth of the streets outside.
“Darius,” Rhea called from somewhere in the depths of the snack aisle. “Come settle a debate. Sour gummies or chocolate bars?”
“Chocolate,” Nate’s voice chimed in from the drink section.
Rhea appeared around the corner, holding up two bags of candy like they were competing weapons in a duel. “But sour gummies are objectively better.”
“Says who?” Nate asked, sauntering over with a can of something energy-flavored in each hand.
“Says me.” Rhea smirked, dropping both bags into her already-full arms. “I don’t see either of you making any strong cases.”
“I don’t care as long as it’s edible,” Darius said, his tone half-distracted as he glanced toward the counter. The cashier—a middle-aged man with a perpetual scowl—was eyeing them as if expecting them to start trouble.
“Noted,” Rhea said, stuffing a bottle of water into Darius’s hands before heading to the register. “This one’s on me.”
Darius opened his mouth to argue but stopped when she shot him a look that brooked no discussion. He sighed, pocketing the water as they paid and left, the jingle of the door following them back into the evening.
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The sun dipped lower as they made their way to the park, a familiar haunt where they often spent the hours after school. It wasn’t much—just a small patch of grass and trees surrounded by low fences and dotted with a few worn benches—but it was quiet, and that was what mattered.
Rhea plopped down on the nearest bench, dumping her haul of snacks onto the seat beside her like she was preparing for a feast. Nate sat on the backrest, one leg dangling while the other rested on the seat, his energy drink already half-empty. Darius leaned against a nearby tree, the cool bark pressing into his back as he unscrewed the cap of his water bottle.
“Alright,” Rhea said, tearing open a bag of chips. “Let’s talk strategy.”
“For the Trials?” Nate asked, raising an eyebrow. “What’s the point? Darius is going to wing it like he always does.”
“Wing it?” Rhea shot him a look. “He’s been practicing for weeks.”
“Practicing what?” Nate asked, smirking. “Staring at Zeke and pretending not to care?”
“Hey,” Darius said, his tone mild but pointed. “I don’t stare.”
“Sure you don’t,” Nate said, leaning back and taking a slow sip of his drink.
Rhea rolled her eyes. “Ignore him. He’s just bitter because his ‘I don’t need a plan’ approach isn’t fooling anyone.”
Nate gave a lazy shrug. “Plans are overrated.”
As the conversation drifted into familiar territory—Rhea debating strategy, Nate poking holes in it—Darius let his gaze wander toward the horizon. The city stretched out beyond the park, its lights flickering to life as the last rays of sunlight faded into dusk. For a moment, he let himself forget about the Trials, about Zeke, about everything that waited for him at home. Here, in this quiet corner of the world, surrounded by people who didn’t expect anything from him, it was easier to breathe.
“Darius,” Rhea said, pulling him back to the present. “You’re zoning out again.”
“Sorry,” he said, taking a sip of his water.
“Don’t be,” she said, her grin softening. “Just... don’t forget you’re allowed to have fun, too.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, and for the first time all day, he meant it.
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The park was quiet, save for the occasional distant rumble of traffic and the faint chirp of crickets hiding in the overgrown grass. It wasn’t much of a park by anyone’s standards—just a narrow strip of green squeezed between apartment blocks, with a creaky swing set on one end and a cluster of old, crooked trees on the other. The city had clearly forgotten about it years ago, letting nature reclaim what little space it could. That suited Darius and his friends just fine.
Rhea had already claimed the bench nearest the trees, sprawling across it as if it were a throne. The snacks she’d bought were spread out beside her in an unceremonious pile, wrappers already crinkling as she tore into a bag of spicy chips.
“Chips first, candy second,” she declared, as though she were outlining a sacred ritual. “Anything else is just wrong.”
“Or,” Nate said, perching on the backrest of the bench with one foot braced on the seat, “you could mix them. Spicy chips and sour gummies. Combine chaos with chaos.”
“You’re disgusting,” Rhea said flatly, though there was a faint smile tugging at her lips.
Nate shrugged, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp, always scanning the world around him. He had a knack for slipping into places unnoticed, for blending into the background until he decided it was time to speak. Maybe it came from his family—he didn’t talk about them much, but Darius knew his father was a soldier, strict and distant, the kind of man who expected more than Nate was ever willing to give. Nate’s laid-back exterior was a shield, and he wore it well.
“Your loss,” Nate said, popping open his energy drink and taking a sip. “You never know until you try.”
“Some of us like to live without regrets,” Rhea said, tossing a chip at him.
Darius leaned against one of the trees, watching the two of them with a faint smirk. They had this easy way of filling the silence, of turning even the dullest moments into something resembling entertainment. It wasn’t something he took for granted. His world was quieter without them—a little too quiet.
“What about you, Darius?” Rhea asked suddenly, turning to him with an expectant look. “What’s your weird food combo?”
“I don’t have one,” he said, taking a sip of water.
“Liar,” she said, narrowing her eyes. “Everyone has a weird food combo. Come on, spill.”
He hesitated, then shrugged. “Fine. Peanut butter and crackers. Not weird, just simple.”
“Boring,” Rhea said, shaking her head. “I expected better from you.”
“It’s efficient,” Nate said, raising his drink in mock toast. “I respect it.”
The three of them had fallen into this rhythm years ago, an unspoken balance of personalities that somehow worked. Rhea was the spark—loud, clever, always full of energy and ideas, though she rarely finished what she started. She talked big about the gadgets she built and the things she’d invent someday, but Darius knew it was more than just talk. Rhea had a knack for seeing how things fit together, how pieces became a whole. It was the people part she sometimes struggled with.
Nate, on the other hand, was the anchor. Steady, calm, unshakable in a way that could either reassure or infuriate, depending on the situation. He didn’t care about the Trials, or the Etherion rankings, or much of anything that involved proving yourself to someone else. “Other people’s expectations are their problem,” he’d said once, and he meant it. But Nate also had a sharp edge, a quiet intensity that showed itself when you least expected it. Darius had seen it once or twice, in the rare moments when Nate’s mask slipped.
And then there was Darius. Somewhere in the middle. The observer. The one who spoke when he had something to say, but rarely before. He was used to being overlooked, and he didn’t mind—most of the time.
“You ever think about just skipping the Trials?” Nate asked, his voice light but curious. “I mean, really. What happens if you just... don’t show up?”
“You mean besides getting booted out of school?” Rhea said, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, that’s a great plan.”
“Not the best long-term strategy,” Darius agreed, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced.
“Okay, but hear me out,” Nate said, leaning forward, his tone shifting to something quieter, more thoughtful. “What if the Trials are just a waste of time? What if all this—” He gestured vaguely toward the sky, as if it encompassed the whole system of rankings and tests and expectations. “—doesn’t actually matter?”
Rhea frowned, uncharacteristically serious. “It matters to some people.”
“Like Zeke?” Nate said, raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, sure. He lives for it. But what about us? What about the people who aren’t part of their little system? Why are we jumping through their hoops?”
Darius didn’t answer right away. He could feel both of them looking at him, waiting for his take, but he wasn’t sure he had one. Not yet.
“It’s not about their system,” he said finally, his voice low but steady. “It’s about what comes after. You skip the Trials, and it doesn’t matter if their rules are stupid. You’re out. No second chances.”
“And that’s fair to you?” Nate asked, his tone sharper now. “That they get to decide who’s worth what?”
“Of course it’s not fair,” Darius said, meeting Nate’s gaze. “But what’s the alternative?”
Nate didn’t reply, his eyes narrowing slightly before he leaned back again, letting the tension drain out of him. “Yeah. Guess that’s the question.”
Rhea broke the silence with a loud, exaggerated sigh. “Okay, that’s enough existential crisis for one day. We’re supposed to be relaxing.”
“Are we?” Nate asked, smirking. “I thought we were debating snacks.”
“Same thing,” Rhea said, tossing a candy wrapper at him. “Now shut up and eat something.”
Darius watched them bicker, the weight of the conversation easing slightly as they fell back into their usual rhythm. The sky above was fading into twilight now, the first stars beginning to blink through the haze of city lights. For a moment, he let himself forget about the Trials, about his father, about everything waiting for him beyond this moment.
For now, this was enough.