The ceilings were high, decorated with simple frescoes that were hard to see in the dim light. The walls were lined with tapestries and paintings showing stories of old battles and legends, but they were all difficult to see in the flickering candlelight. Colorful rugs on the floor made walking quiet and comfortable, guiding everyone towards a bright orb at the temple's center. This orb shone brighter than any candle, but its light only reached a small area around it, leaving much of the temple in shadow.

In the line, a sixteen-year-old girl stood conspicuously apart. Not just in the physical space she occupied, but in the aura she seemed to carry — a sense of being perpetually out of sync with her surroundings. Her figure was fuller than most around her, her smile marred by teeth that were dim and missing in parts, not that she smiled. Her shoulders were hunched – an attempt to shrink herself, as if by doing so, she could apologize for the extra room she took up. Where others maintained a respectful two steps of distance from each other, around her, the gap doubled.

This distance wasn't just due to her physical appearance. It was the dirt and grime on her clothes and skin and the unwelcome scent surrounding her that made people step away whenever they came too close. Without fail, their faces would wrinkle, their eyes close, and their breath still.

The priests, devoted to their rituals and prayers, largely overlooked the crowd, their attention on the sacred texts and the smooth running of the ceremony. Some directed the younger participants, indicating where they should stand or when it was their turn to approach the orb, their voices firm yet gentle. Yet, occasionally, their eyes did drop onto her shoes – muddied and ragged, so out of place on the temple's clean rugs and the attire of the other pilgrims.

 The girl kept her eyes downcast, not daring to raise them. But she listened, and she heard. It was what she was good at. It was what she did best. The others her age whispered, barely audible while they shuffled back and forth, some adjusting collars, others smoothing out skirts or trousers.

"I'm hoping for endurance, you know? To never tire," one whispered.

"Think we can choose if we wish hard enough? I’d want to instantly heal from wounds,” another said. Its owner subtly shifted, the sound of his collar, rustling softly

"Wouldn't it be something to have night vision? Seeing in the dark as if it were day.” While she spoke, her hand moved, her dress likewise rustling as she reached for her neck, scratching lightly, 

"That's the disfavored twin."

 It would not be someone who knew her. She knew if she looked up and tried to put a face to a name or lineage, she could not anyway. But even without the speaker’s reminder, she understood her role all too well—a shadow to her sister's brilliance. A foil.

Her family's name was synonymous with summoning arts, and yet, here she was, receiving her gift with the common folk. Her sister's newfound ability to connect with spirits had raised the bar impossibly high. How could she ever hope to match that?

The line inched forward.

"I heard the North is struggling again, rebels and frost."

"Father says if I get a useful ability, it might elevate our house's standing.”

"My cousin got enhanced strength; they say it runs in our blood."

That sparked a thought about the variety of abilities that could truly make a difference for someone in her field. Heightened sensitivity to magical energies was one, certainly. But what else? An innate understanding of the languages of spirits could streamline the process of negotiation, making contracts more straightforward. Or perhaps an enhanced ability to visualize the summon's form, lending clarity and precision to the summoning ritual, thereby reducing the risk of errors. Even a passive skill that allowed for more efficient use of mana could be a game changer, enabling more frequent or powerful summons with the same amount of resources.

Yet, not all her relatives were so fortunate to receive abilities that neatly complemented their summoning. Some got skills that, at first glance, didn't seem useful for summoning at all — like one who could perfectly recall any tune after hearing it just once, or another who had an exceptional sense of taste. Instead of dismissing these gifts, they found creative ways to use them. The one with the musical memory finding that certain frequencies seemed to attract specific spirits. The one with the keen sense of taste began using rare herbs and spices in the summoning incense, discovering that different scents could make the summoning process smoother and more predictable. Now, they were pillars of her family, increasing the esteem of the Alderwood name. Their innovations even made it into history books. 

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What could she hope for? Did she have a spot in her family's summoning world, or even in the larger magic community? Greatness felt like a concept meant for others, not for someone who had always been seen as the lesser half of a pair. Could she, like those family members who hadn't received the perfect summoner's gift, find a way to make whatever ability she got work for her? 

Standing there, thinking about all this, she kept looking at the rug on the floor. It was worn out, its colors dull. 

Perhaps her path to making a mark in the world of summoning didn't have to be straightforward. The rug was there for only a few reasons: to make the temple's stone floor softer for people to walk on and to add some color and warmth. Maybe, like the rug, she could find her own purpose, using whatever skill she gets to make her own mark, no matter how small it might seem. Who said she had to change the world? To be better than her sister?

As the line inched forward, the sound of shuffling feet and the soft swish of priests' robes filled the air, guiding those who had received their abilities. Some were led out of the temple, their steps echoing softly against the stone floor, while others were directed into a separate room for further instructions.

Her twin had always been the epitome of success and grace. Even from birth, the differences were stark. Her sister emerged into the world with ease, greeted by smiles and warmth, while her own arrival, days later, was fraught with difficulties, setting the tone for their lives.

"Remember how she was reading books at five, while you were still figuring out the alphabet?" her caretaker would say. "And magic? Oh, she could summon light without a thought before school age. You, though..." The sentence always trailed off. 

"As she made her mark in prestigious academies and attended elite gatherings, we were all swelling with pride. And you? Bless your heart, you were here, pouring your soul into mastering the simplest incantations.” Then, under her breath, she’d add, “If only I had been assigned to her.”

With each step towards the orb, her stomach twisted tighter. She had reached a point of acceptance, or perhaps defeat, no longer harboring illusions of outshining her sister. Yet, this resignation didn't bring peace; instead, it was accompanied by a nauseating mix of anxiety and a faint, lingering hope.

The closer she got, the more pronounced her feelings became. It wasn't just nervousness about the ability she would receive; it was the culmination of years spent in the shadows, always second, always less. Finally, she felt like she was walking towards a verdict on her worth. The final verdict before her execution.

But underneath all the sickness and fear was a whisper within her asking, "What if?" What if the ability she was about to receive set her apart, unique and unmatched?

In history, there were tales of passive skills of immense power — abilities that defined the course of battles, shaped the destinies of kingdoms, and left marks on magic itself. One such legend spoke of an individual whose skin could deflect any spell, rendering them invincible in battle. Another was of a person who exuded an aura of calm, a presence so powerful it could quell the rage in any heart, preventing conflicts before they even began. 

 It was utterly incomprehensible to try to emulate such effects with magic, to the point that whenever they trod, the fallout they left behind was simply considered the work of nature.

As she stood there, on the brink of her own fate, she couldn't help but wonder if she might join the ranks of those legendary figures, her name whispered in awe through the annals of magical history. 

Something changed. The person in front, previously just another shadow moving forward, continued their path without pause — forward, steadily forward, until they were no longer in sight. This continuous motion, unbroken by any other, signaled her turn was next. The gap was now hers to close.

Her ears caught on the priest's directive. "Gently place your hand upon the orb, focus your intent."

She shut her eyes, grappling with a whirlwind of thoughts. What if my ability is just as unremarkable as everyone expects? Or what if it's something amazing?

Her eyes snapped open at the sound of the priest's voice. "Next, step forward."

Already?

Moving forward, her eyes still downcast, she edged closer to where she knew the orb must be. But within a few steps, she knew it was the orb. It was warm, like a flame. But it wasn’t just a warmth of the skin, it was a warmth of the very soul. It was this inexplicable sensation that finally urged her to lift her gaze.

Before her, the orb glowed with an inner light, pulsating gently. It seemed alive, its core radiating a spectrum of colors that danced like flames under glass.

Turning to the priest, she found reassurance in his demeanor. There was no sign of impatience, just a serene acceptance that comforted her. His presence seemed to say that no matter how long it took, the moment would unfold as it was meant to,

The scent of incense hung heavy in the air, enough to make her head feel light. Her palms were sweaty, her breathing shallow. But as she drew nearer to the orb, a wave of tranquility washed over her, softening the edges of her anxiety. It was as if the orb itself was whispering to her soul, urging her to release her fears and step into the unknown with courage. In that moment, her lifelong doubts and the shadow of her sister's achievements… they didn’t quite disappear. Instead, they just muted, becoming less overwhelming.

For the first time, she stood on the cusp of something truly her own. Something that, unless by some cruel twist of fate, would be something her sister would not share. The thought emboldened her.

“It’s do or die,” she mumbled.