Hiral took a deep breath as he stared at the stylized sun on the heavy door in front of him. The same sun tattooed on the center of his chest; both the symbol and source of a Shaper’s power. His power, if he managed to pass the test…

No. No, he couldn’t think like that. He would pass this time. He had to.

“You’re nervous.” The gravelly voice of his teacher and sponsor, Loan, came from behind him. “You always roll your right foot and stand on the edge of it when you’re thinking too much.”

Hiral snapped the sole of his foot back down on the ground, the thin wooden sandal of his ceremonial outfit clapping on the stone.

“Nothing wrong with thinking,” he said to his mentor without turning. “You always tell me to visualize. I’m visualizing.”

“I tell you to visualize success. Shaping. Forging your will and the energy granted to you by the sun to bring your tattoos to life. This, what you’re doing now, is visualizing failing.” Loan’s comforting hand dropped onto Hiral’s shoulder.

Hiral took another deep breath, letting it flow out of his lungs along with the building anxiety. Loan was right; Hiral was nervous.

“I know you want to, so go ahead and take a look at your status window. I can practically see your fingers itching,” Loan said.

“I…” Hiral started. Would it make a difference? He knew what it said. What it always said. But, then again, if it had changed—finally—then maybe it would ease his nerves. “Just give me a second.”

Hiral reached his hand up to the sun on his chest and pushed gently on it, the warmth of the solar energy flowing through his body focusing on that spot. “Do you want me to share the window?” he asked Loan.

“No need. It will be your turn any minute now.”

Hiral nodded and pulled on the only magic he could use, his status window, and the information sprang to life in front of his eyes like he was reading from a luminescent blue page.

Name: Hiral Dorin

Race: Maker

Class: Unavailable

Attributes

Strength (Str) – 18 (0)

Endurance (End) – 18 (0)

Dexterity (Dex) – 20 (0)

Intelligence (Int) – 18 (0)

Wisdom (Wis) – 18 (0)

Attunement (Atn) – 18 (0)

Solar Energy Processing

Absorption Rate: S-Rank

Capacity: S-Rank

Output Rate: Unavailable

Abilities – Tattoos

Herald of Peace (Head, Left) – Unavailable

Herald of War (Head, Right) – Unavailable

Perfect Sense (Ear, Left) – Unavailable

The Crowd as One (Ear, Right) – Unavailable

Equilibrium (Neck) – Unavailable

Wings of Anella (Shoulders, Both) – Unavailable

Spear of Clouds (Spine) – Unavailable

Way of Shadow (Chest, Left) – Unavailable

Way of Light (Chest, Right) – Unavailable

Banner of Courage (Bicep, Left) – Unavailable

Banner of Despair (Bicep, Right) – Unavailable

Touch of the Primal (Abdomen, Left) – Unavailable

Abode of Asinef (Abdomen, Right) – Unavailable

Dagger of Sath (Forearm, Left) – Unavailable

Dagger of En (Forearm, Right) – Unavailable

The Pack (Thigh, Left) – Unavailable

Waters of Frey (Thigh, Right) – Unavailable

Path of Butterflies (Calf, Left) – Unavailable

Disc of Passage (Calf, Right) – Unavailable

Well, the constant training had paid off, with his Str and Dex both increasing by a point—that was no surprise, really. His eyes continued down the page until he found what he was looking for. Output Rate: Unavailable.

“No change to my output rate.” Hiral withdrew the power fueling the status window, and the page vanished. “I’m sure it’s wrong, though. I mean, I can open my status window, so there has to be some output.”

But, when had a status window ever been wrong? No, don’t think like that. It has to be.

“Remember your training,” Loan said, having had this discussion dozens of times in the past. He added a squeeze of Hiral’s shoulder. “You work harder than anybody else. Practice longer. Your mind is sharper than any of the other initiates and ninety percent of the full Shapers. Present company excluded, of course.”

“I’m also ten years senior to any of the other initiates, and older than many full Shapers. Present company excluded.” Despite his words, he found himself quirking a smile back at his mentor.

Meridian Lines spanned the towering older man’s cheeks and forehead, running back across his shaved head and then down his neck to vanish beneath the loose robes he wore today. Due to years of Shaping, the lines had a faint luminescence to them against his dark skin. Those same lines glowed where they showed on his arms and the backs of his hands, their power feeding the intricate and similarly shining tattoos that covered him from head to toe.

If Hiral passed the test, mastered his power, that was what he would look like in a few years. Sure, he was leaner than his teacher—the man, like most Shapers, was almost as wide as he was tall, with arms as thick as Hiral’s legs—and, while the tattoos covering Loan’s seven-foot-tall body glowed with the energy he absorbed from the sun, Hiral’s were noticeably dark. Not for long, though. This time, he’d…

“You didn’t shave your head.” Loan’s words interrupted Hiral’s thoughts, and the older man glanced at the unruly mop on Hiral’s scalp.

“I…” Hiral started, but a gong sounded from the opposite side of the door, catching the rest of his excuse in this throat and setting his heart thumping like a drum in his chest.

“Breathe,” Loan said with another squeeze of Hiral’s shoulder. “Let’s go.”

Hiral nodded at his teacher, and the bigger man let go of Hiral’s shoulder and stepped in front of him. He then put both hands on the heavy stone doors and leaned into them, legs bracing.

Muscles bunched on Loan’s back between the wide strips of cloth that crisscrossed his upper half, Meridian Lines flaring as he called on his sun-granted strength. With the power of the Meridian Lines, and being mid-B-Rank, Loan had to have close to 160 Str—almost ten times what Hiral had, or more. A grinding along the stone floor accompanied a gentle grunt escaping the man’s lips, and a gap split down the middle of the doors, bright sunlight piercing the darker room.

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The huge doors, symbolic in the strength required to open them, parted to reveal the open-air testing stadium. A warm, sun-drenched breeze rushed into the opening and over Hiral’s skin, his body instinctively reaching for the light and pulling some of that power into his core. While he couldn’t output any of that power—yet—drawing it in was just as easy as breathing.

“Come,” Loan said, taking his hands off the thick blocks of stone pretending to be doors.

He strode toward the center of the stadium, where seven equally massive Shapers stood waiting along with six much smaller initiates. Barely more than children, the oldest possibly ten years old, if that, they were almost comical beside the huge, sun-powered Shapers.

Years of pulling on the sun’s energy had made the Shapers’ physiques legendary. Each in the B-Rank and standing seven feet tall on average, their corded muscles bunched and flexed with every breath. Like Loan, their Meridian Lines glowed faintly from long use, though their individual tattoos varied widely, giving each of them unique strengths.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” one of the women said when her eyes fell on Hiral stepping into the stadium. “This is a waste of our time.” She focused her ire on Loan and crossed her arms.

“Jukil is right; we’re done,” the man beside her said, turning his attention to the six initiates.

Each of the children stood tall and proud where they lined up, none with more than the sun on their chests and the Meridian Lines running straight up to circle the base of their throats and connect to their shoulders. No tattoos to shape beyond the simple daggers on their inner forearms, and no intricate system of Meridian Lines stretching out across the rest of their body to strengthen their limbs.

Judging by a quick look, those tattooed daggers couldn’t be higher than C-Rank. None of the children would ever be powerful or influential Shapers—but if they passed the test, at least they would be Shapers. As for Hiral…

No. Stop thinking like that.

Still, compared to the full set of Meridian Lines connecting Hiral from scalp to toes, and the multitude of S-Rank tattoos painstakingly etched into his skin, they were practically naked. And yet… and yet they looked at him with pity and disdain. They didn’t hide their smirks, and the one on the left end even went so far as to elbow his neighbor and whisper, “The Everfail.”

“Hush, now,” the eldest of the Shapers said quietly, turning a quick glance on the children. Though her skin stretched and sagged from her almost two hundred years, her tattoos glowed the most fiercely of all. “Though you may have passed the physical test of giving shape to one of your tattoos, you are far from Shapers if you believe behavior like that to be acceptable.” Her eyes turned toward Jukil and the man beside her, as if reminding them of the same fact.

Jukil had the decency to look abashed, until her eyes settled on Hiral again. “Well, what are you waiting for? Let’s get this over with.” She jabbed her finger toward the center of the stadium.

Hiral let the bite in her words roll off him like the warm breeze. Her attitude wasn’t anything new. She’d been the same—no, worse—the year before. This time… this time, he would prove her wrong. He’d show them all he could do it, that he could pass…

“Your tenth attempt,” one of the Shapers said. “Nine times, over nine years, you’ve come before us, and been unable to shape even the smallest thing. Not the Daggers of EnSath on your wrists, the Wings of Anella on your shoulder blades, neither of the Ways of Light or Shadow nor the Waters of Frey, or the…”

“Vule,” the eldest Shaper said softly.

The Shaper who’d been listing off Hiral’s past attempts gave a small bow of his head to the elder. “No offense intended, Ilrolik. I’m merely curious as to why this initiate, this… man…”

“Everfail,” one of the children snickered, but straightened at a sharp look from Ilrolik.

“As to why he thinks this, his tenth test, will be any different,” Vule went on as if the child hadn’t spoken at all.

Hiral waited for a small nod of Ilrolik’s head before he answered. “I’ve trained extensively for the year since my last test, and my father has finished the last of the tattoos on my…”

“The Spear of Clouds is finished?” one of the quiet Shapers interrupted. “Truly?”

“… Yes,” Hiral said slowly. “He finished it within the last pass, and the bandages came off…”

“Yes, yes, yes, you heal slowly,” the not-so-quiet-anymore Shaper said, striding out from the rest and right up to Hiral. “We know. Just show us the spear.”

“I wasn’t planning on shaping the spear…” Hiral said, and the Shaper waved a quick hand to dismiss the thought.

“Of course you weren’t. Nobody has been able to shape it in thousands of passes, despite how many hopefuls have it inked. The odds of you bringing out more than a puff of light in the vague shape of the spear is so small, I would never…” He trailed off at a slight cough from Ilrolik. “Ahem, yes. Let’s see it, then.”

“I don’t… This isn’t why I’m here…” Hiral said, looking at the man.

“Please humor us,” Ilrolik said, coming up beside the other Shaper. “Your father’s work is masterful, and to finally see his rendition of the S-Ranked Spear of Clouds is a treat for us. We will proceed with your test after that.”

Hiral’s eyes went to Loan, and the man gave a small nod as he and the other Shapers walked over and encircled Hiral.

“As usual,” Loan said, “Master Dorin’s work is exceptional. It took my breath away the first time I saw it. Hiral, if you would…” He gestured to the wide swaths of cloth over Hiral’s shoulders.

Even the initiates crept over as Hiral slid the shoulders of the ceremonial robe down his arms so they hung loosely by the tight belt around his waist.

“Well, where…?” Vule started to ask, but the gasp from one of the Shapers behind Hiral had the whole group moving around behind him. Predictably, there were twelve more sharp intakes of breath as the others joined the first.

Hiral stayed perfectly still as their eyes became glued to the spear tattooed up the length of his spine. The less he moved, the sooner this would all be over so he could take the test.

“The detail… Amazing,” Jukil said in barely a whisper, and fingers traced down Hiral’s back.

“Master Dorin has truly outdone himself with this,” Ilrolik said. “His work is usually so small, but the scope of this has allowed for unprecedented detail. The spear almost looks like it could shape itself with the faintest application of power.”

“There has never been a more perfect version of the Spear of Clouds, I’d dare say,” Loan agreed. “Other than the original, I would imagine. Though, since none of us has ever actually seen it, perhaps my statement holds some truth.”

“It does… It does,” Ilrolik said as more fingers ran along Hiral’s back.

“My test?” he asked, turning to face the semicircle of gawkers.

“Such a waste,” Jukil said with a shake of her head. “If Master Dorin is capable of this, I should go talk to him about getting…”

“It’d do you no better,” Vule quickly interrupted. “You don’t have the Solar Absorption Rate or Capacity necessary to shape a tattoo of that Rank. None of us do, other than…”

All eyes turned to Hiral, more than half the people scowling out of jealousy, the other half out of disappointment.

“Next year, he’ll have the Emperor’s Greatsword tattooed…” Vule started, trailing off at Ilrolik’s hand on his shoulder.

“Let us begin your test, Hiral,” the old Shaper said.

“And, just in case you forgot what it is you’re trying to do,” Vule said, and nodded at the six young initiates, most of them less than half Hiral’s age. “Shape,” he commanded them.

Almost as one, the six children touched the dagger tattoos on the insides of the left forearms with the fingers of their right hands. The suns on their chests glowed faintly, and as they pulled their right hands away, glowing light—almost like smoke—flowed from their dagger tattoos for several seconds before solidifying into life-size versions of the weapons. None of their Output Rates could be higher than E-Rank with how long the shaping took, but that was still infinitely higher than Hiral’s.

“Well done, initiates,” Vule said before turning his attention back to Hiral. “The minimum expected of a Shaper. Nine times you have…” He stopped with a glance at Ilrolik, then started again fresh. “Your turn.”

Hiral nodded and took a deep breath, focusing on the solar energy stored within his body. It flowed through him like a raging river, the S-Rank power—his potential—just waiting to be tapped and shaped. All he had to do was draw it through the tattoo of his choice to prove to them he could be a Shaper.

The Spear of Clouds running the length of his spine—the weapon said to have separated the ground from the sky itself—was too much for him at this point. As much as he hated to admit it, it was beyond him for the moment, as were most of his other tattoos. Sure, they were all technically S-Rank, but with the level of detail his father had put into them, they should more likely be classified above that.

No, like the other initiates in front of him, Hiral’s best bet—and biggest chance of success—lay in the first tattoos he’d received: the daggers on his forearms.

With another deep breath, he moved the fingers of his right hand to the tattoo of a dagger on the inside of his left forearm. Unlike the simple things held in the hands of the initiates, daggers that looked like things of simple metal, the tattoo on his wrist was a weapon seemingly made of water. Blade and hilt both.

It was one of a pair, with the other sitting on his right wrist. Together, the Daggers of EnSath were said to have slain a beast of fire threatening to burn the world to cinders. Beautiful. Powerful. Deadly.

The wall between Hiral and his dreams.

“The same tattoo you tried in your first test?” Vule asked.

“Back to basics,” Hiral said, not really paying attention to what his mouth was saying as he instead focused on pulling the solar energy in his body out through the tattoo.

Nothing happened.

Stomach flipping at the memory of all his past failures, Hiral pushed it back down and focused harder on the tattoo. The energy was there, waiting for him to call on it, just like when he used the status window. So he called as hard as he could, pushing his will and everything he had into shaping the dagger.

Still nothing.

“Whenever you’re ready…” Vule said, and Hiral glanced up to see the Shaper focused on cleaning the dirt out from under his fingernails.

“Just… visualizing…” Hiral said, and spared a look at Loan.

The man gave Hiral a nod of encouragement, but there was a tightness around his eyes. Unlike the other Shapers, Loan wanted Hiral to pass… but he didn’t really believe it any more likely than the others.

All the more reason Hiral couldn’t fail. He lowered his eyes to focus on the one thing he needed to do.

Come on, he practically screamed in his mind at the energy in his body. It was everywhere in him, in every muscle and bone. It was so much a part of him, it practically glowed, but never once came when he called, like something was blocking it.

If the solar energy in his body was a river, then there was a dam obstructing it somewhere, and that meant one thing—he needed to rip it right down.

More focus. More pulling. His fingers drove into the skin of his wrist as he willed the energy to come through. His eyes squeezed shut as something wet and warm ran down his wrist.

“Hiral,” Loan said quietly, but Hiral blocked out his words. It was… It was right there… literally on the tips of his fingers…

A flash behind his eyes hit him at the same time a jolt of searing pain ripped through his body and dropped him straight to the ground.

His head bounced off the warm stone as darkness clouded his sight from all sides and a single child’s voice filled his ears.

“…Everfail…”