"Son! Breakfast is ready!"
Dad's call cut through the heavy silence of my room, a sudden, violent burst of morning energy that I was entirely unequipped to face. The organic cheer in his tone felt like an insult to the cold, dark I had been drowning in all night. He sounded buoyant. Light.
He was waiting for a celebration. He didn't know yet.
I dragged myself out of bed, my limbs stiff and unyielding, each step toward the door feeling heavier than the last. I could smell the familiar aroma of toasted grains and automated espresso wafting up from the kitchen—a mundane, cruel reminder that the house expected this to be a normal morning.
When I reached the bottom of the stairs and stepped into the dining room, Dad greeted me with a massive, radiant grin. He was already moving around the counter, sliding a freshly prepared plate toward my usual seat.
"I made the good stuff today, I thought we could—"
He stopped mid-sentence. His eyes drifted down to my hands, then to my shoulders, searching for the telltale, lingering shimmer of an Arkan.
There was no glow. Just the faded fabric of my oversized hoodie.
His smile stalled. It didn't disappear entirely—it just froze in place, hovering uncertainly on his face like a mechanical glitch. His brow twitched as his mind scrambled to process the lack of light, trying to figure out the right thing to say, or if he should say anything at all.
I couldn't look him in the eyes. I slid into the chair, my gaze fixed firmly on the plate. I picked up the spoon, my fingers trembling slightly against the cool metal, before setting it right back down against the porcelain with a sharp, hollow click.
The silence in the kitchen became absolute, drowning out the gentle hum of the refrigerator.
"Dad," I said. My voice sounded flat, hollow, and entirely empty of life. "Dad, I'm sorry. I didn't make it."
The admission hung there in the space between us, heavy and toxic, as if the air itself winced at the sound of it.
Dad's face didn't crumble into anger or loud despair. Instead, the change was agonizingly slow, shifting like a thick cloud gradually rolling over the sun, turning his warmth into a gray, clinical shadow. He set his coffee mug down on the counter with a slow, deliberate care, his hands unusually stiff.
He didn't yell. He didn't look away in disgust. Instead, he walked over to my side of the table, his footsteps echoing softly on the floorboards, and gently turned my chair around until I was forced to face him.
Sinking down to his knees to bring himself to my eye level, he reached out. His hands—those steady, precise hands from the labs—gripped my arms.
"It's okay," he said softly. He spoke with agonizing care, his voice hushed and fragile, as if he were terrified that speaking too loudly might cause me to shatter into pieces right in front of him. "It's okay, Hasphien. We... we can try again next year, alright? There's always next year."
Then, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around me.
It was the same firm, familiar embrace from the night before. The same scent of home, the same solid weight. But last night, that hug had been a promise of a bright future. Today, it felt like a safety net for a fallen casualty.
And just like that, the fragile dam I had built around my emotions shattered.
The ache swelled in my chest, hot and suffocating. The tears I thought I had entirely emptied into my pillow last night crept back into the corners of my eyes. But these weren't the loud, frantic gasps of the plaza.
They were quiet. Slow. Bitter.
They ran silently down my face, dripping onto the shoulder of the man who had given everything to support a hero, only to end up holding a ghost.
----------
At school
The academy corridors felt louder than ever—yet entirely emptier somehow.
The Arkan-bearers walked down the hallways as if they were weightless, practically floating over the floor tiles. Under the harsh, humming fluorescent grid-lights of the school, their skin faintly shimmered beneath the crisp fabric of their uniforms. It was a subtle, radiant flex of status.
"I swear I can feel the mana already surging!" one girl squealed up ahead, tossing her hair with a practiced elegance, as if she were already posing for an Upper Iris recruitment poster. "It's like this constant, electric tingle right under my skin. I practically have to hold it back from bursting out!"
"Ugh, you are so lucky! I'm already thinking about the elite scouts from GRID coming to watch our drills," her friend replied, leaning against a row of lockers with a heavy, dreamy sigh. "Imagine being fast-tracked straight to the specialized divisions just because you have a rare Arkan affinity. It's basically a cheat code for life."
They laughed, the sound bright, careless, and sharp. It echoed off the concrete walls like a physical slap across my face. They spoke about destiny as if it were nothing more than a trendy new pair of shoes—something they were entitled to, something they hadn't even had to work for.
Every word was a jagged glass reminder. To them, the Celestial Weave was a graduation party. To me, it was the funeral of the person I thought I was supposed to be.
And then there were... the rest of us.
Those of us left without an Arkan sat quieter, tucked away in the margins of the hallway. Still. Motionless. We pulled our limbs close, sitting on benches and leaning against walls like we were trying desperately not to take up a single cubic inch of space. No one said it out loud, but the invisible hierarchy hung heavily in the air: You don't glow. You don't matter. You don't belong.
On my way to homeroom, the crowd parted slightly, and I passed a kid being cornered against a row of old lockers by three senior students.
"You're eighteen and still haven't caught a thread?" one of them sneered, reaching out and aggressively yanking at the kid's plain, unblemished sleeve. "Look at him. Guess the universe just… skipped you entirely."
The kid didn't even look up to defend himself. He didn't fire back. He just clutched the straps of his backpack tighter against his chest and hurried off, his shoulders hunched so low they nearly touched his ears, his heavy silence dragging behind him down the corridor like a dark shadow.
I kept moving, my hands shoved deep into my pockets. Hood up. Eyes down. Staring at the rhythmic passing of the floor tiles. Each step felt heavier, more exhausting than the last.
By the time I slid into my desk at the back of the classroom, I hadn't uttered a single word to anyone. I just sank low into the chair, desperately trying to disappear into the fabric of my own uniform. I pulled my headphones out, jammed the earbuds in, and maxed out the volume. I let the aggressive thrum of the music flood my ears, hoping that cranking the internal sound could somehow turn down the volume of a world that was actively rejecting me.
Then, a hand broke through my line of sight, entering my downcast view.
I blinked, slowly pulling one earbud out as I looked up.
Yinoh.
He didn't say a word. He didn't offer a pathetic, pitying look. He just stood by the edge of my desk and held out a small, chilled plastic bottle. Strawberry yogurt milk. It was a childish preference I had never mentioned out loud to anyone, but somehow, over the years, he had noticed.
I reached out and took it. The biting, condensation-covered chill of the plastic immediately grounded my racing mind, pulling me out of the static in my head more than I cared to admit.
Yinoh quietly slid into the desk right beside mine, twisted the cap off his own drink, and took a slow sip. He didn't offer a forced, hollow smile. He didn't ask any dumb, well-meaning questions about how I was holding up.
Just quiet. Safe. Utterly present.
The silver resonance of his Arkan still pulsed very faintly under his collar, but right now, he was actively keeping his distance, sitting in my shadow so I wouldn't have to look at it.
And somehow, in the middle of all that deafening, arrogant academy noise—that absolute silence was the loudest kind of comfort I could have ever asked for.
----------
Lunch Break
The cafeteria was a war zone of noise, but Yinoh and I managed to blend into the background, slowly moving through the automated service line. I kept my hood pulled low, head down, methodically sipping from a second bottle of strawberry yogurt milk.
But in a school divided by light, peace never lasts.
BAM!
A heavy shoulder crashed violently into my back, hard enough to rattle my teeth. The sudden impact knocked the plastic bottle clean out of my grip. It hit the floor with a sharp crack, bursting open and sending a messy wave of pink liquid splashing across the polished tiles and over the toes of my sneakers.
"Oops," a voice dripped with an insincere, mocking sympathy from just above me. "Didn't see you there, Maxence. Guess it's hard to notice someone who's not… glowing."
I blinked against the sudden surge of adrenaline and looked up.
Ruvane.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and perpetually angry—carrying himself like his body was simply too small to contain whatever was rotting inside his chest. He was the exact kind of guy who had been a miserable bully before getting an Arkan, and now, the heavens had simply given him a spotlight to do it under.
He had dyed his once-black hair a vibrant, aggressive crimson with a stark streak of white cutting through the middle—a loud, desperate haircut he must have rushed to get the very moment the ritual ended, just to ensure no one missed his new status. But while the hair was cheap paint, his skin carried the real prize: a soft, celestial sheen under the cafeteria lights, glowing as if his very molecules were bragging about his ascension.
"Still empty, huh?" Ruvane snorted, folding his massive arms over his uniform chest. "Guess the heaven actually has taste, after all. It knows a blank canvas when it sees one."
I didn't respond. The entire section of the cafeteria had gone dead silent, dozens of eyes locking onto us. I just looked down, using the edge of my hand to desperately wipe the splattered milk off the fabric of my jacket, refusing to meet his gaze. My heart thudded violently against my ribs—not with fear.
With shame.
With the kind of quiet, suffocating ache that settles deep in your gut when you realize you have no words to defend yourself. Don't react. Don't let him see the bleeding. Don't let him win.
But I didn't need to fight.
Suddenly, a hand shot out and shoved Ruvane back—hard enough to make the big guy stumble two steps over the slick tiles.
Yinoh smoothly stepped into the space between us, putting his back to me and facing Ruvane down. He kept one hand casually shoved into his uniform pocket. He was calm. Measured. Like a storm that already knew exactly how the winds were going to bend. There was no panic in his posture, no ragged breathing, no raised voice. Just an absolute, crushing presence.
Yinoh's eyes didn't burn with a fiery anger; instead, they scanned Ruvane with a flat, entirely unimpressed scrutiny. He looked at the newly Threaded bully like he was nothing more than an annoying fly buzzing a fraction too close to his food.
"…You done?" Yinoh asked, his voice as cold and heavy as slate.
Ruvane scoffed, adjusting his collar to show off the faint glow pulsing beneath his skin. "Just reminding the Arkan rejects where they belong in the food chain, Yinoh. You shouldn't waste your breath."
Yinoh tilted his head slightly, his expression remaining an unreadable mask.
"You want attention that badly?" he said, his tone entirely unfazed. "Did your house run out of it?"
A sharp twitch pulled at the corner of Ruvane's arrogant grin, his posture stiffening as he leaned in closer, trying to use his height to intimidate. "You've got a remarkably big mouth for someone babysitting a threadless loser," he shot back, his voice dropping to a low hiss.
Yinoh's tone didn't rise to meet the aggression—instead, it sank. It became flat, ice-cold, and lethal. He took one slow, deliberate step forward, crowding into Ruvane's personal space.
"Keep talking," Yinoh said, his voice barely above a whisper, yet it carried clearly through the silent cafeteria. "And I'll make sure everyone in this room finds out exactly who you were before you got your pretty little glow."
A sudden, sharp ripple of whispers ran through the surrounding students, gossip firing across the tables like wild sparks. Everyone knew everyone's secrets in Upper Iris, and Yinoh held the keys to the heavy ones.
Ruvane looked around nervously, his eyes darting to the crowd, realizing the audience was turning on him.
"Tch." He scoffed, taking a defensive step back and raising his hands. "Whatever. Enjoy your pathetic pity party, losers."
He turned on his heel and stormed off toward the exit, muttering a string of bitter curses under his breath.
The cafeteria noise slowly began to rush back in like a returning tide. I stared at Yinoh's back, my throat tight. "You... you really didn't have to do that, Yinoh."
Yinoh turned around, his intense expression instantly melting away as he fell back into the lunch line.
"I know," he said, his voice dropping an octave as he looked at the pink puddle on the floor. "But you didn't deserve that garbage."
Without another word, he reached into his own tray, pulled out his unopened bottle of strawberry yogurt milk, and nudged the chilled plastic against my knuckles.
"And besides—" Yinoh stooped down, gracefully picking up my empty, ruined bottle from the floor and shaking a few lingering drops out of the plastic cap. "This stuff is ridiculous. That idiot legally owes me fifteen Orins for the property damage."
I blinked at the sheer absurdity of him bringing up the price of school dairy right after threatening a new Arkan-bearer.
Then, a genuine smile finally broke through the heavy fog of my morning.
Even in the absolute dead center of my lowest point… I looked at my best friend and realized I wasn't alone in the dark.
----------
The sharp, metallic chime of the afternoon bell finally faded, signaling the end of the lecture. Before the echo could fully die out, the ceiling intercom crackled to life with a static hiss.
"Attention all students. All newly recognized Arkan-bearers are instructed to proceed directly to the main gymnasium following the final period. GRID Orientation and official registry documentation will begin immediately. Please ensure you have your academy identification cards ready for scanning."
The intercom clicked off, and chatter instantly erupted in the corridors outside the classroom. Excitement. Nervousness. A blinding, collective pride. The machinery of Upper Iris was already moving, gathering its new pieces.
I slipped away from the noise, finding refuge on the outdoor bleachers overlooking the academy's lower field.
Down below, a group of students had gathered on the grass. Yinoh was right in the middle of them. He was laughing, sprinting across the turf, light on his feet as he kicked a worn-out soccer ball back and forth with a few classmates. He looked exactly like he used to—the same easy movements, the same effortless grace he possessed long before yesterday's ritual.
His silver celestial glow was fainter now, subdued by the bright afternoon sun, but it was still there. A persistent, shimmering aura that trailed behind him like a ghost.
I sat completely still under the shade of the overhead lattice, watching them. The sunlight filtered through the overhead beams, painting fractured, broken patterns of light and shadow across the concrete beneath my sneakers. A third bottle of strawberry yogurt milk rested in my palm, condensation weeping down the plastic, but I hadn't taken a single sip. My appetite was entirely gone.
He looks so... light.
Like gravity had less of a hold on him now. Like the suffocating, leaden burden I had been dragging around since last night wasn't his to feel. And that was fine. That was exactly how it should be. I didn't want him to carry my dark.
Still, as I watched him score a goal and get cheered on by the others, I couldn't ignore the absolute silence sitting heavily in my own chest. The vacuum that had started at the Celestial Weave was growing colder and denser with every passing hour.
----------
By the time I went back inside to gather my things, the school was mostly a ghost town, the Threadless students having vanished home while the chosen packed into the gymnasium.
I was tossing my notebook into my bag when a shadow fell across my desk. I looked up. Yinoh was standing there, slinging his heavy bag over one shoulder.
"Hey," he said, his voice quiet in the empty room. "The GRID orientation is starting in a few minutes. Think you can hang out and wait for me? I'll walk you home right after it's done."
I paused, my hand freezing on the zipper of my backpack.
He was still trying. Even with the elite future opening up its doors for him, he was still trying to include me in the only little ways he knew how. He didn't want to leave me behind.
But looking at him—seeing the faint silver resonance humming beneath his uniform collar—something in me fractured. I didn't want to sit in the hallway outside the gym like a waiting dog. I didn't want to be the charity case he walked home out of pity.
I forced a small, practiced smile to my lips, praying it looked real.
"Can't today," I lied smoothly. "Dad asked me to run an errand down in the lower district before dinner. Said it was pretty urgent."
Yinoh's face faltered. Just a fraction, but I caught the slight drop in his shoulders.
"Oh… okay," he muttered. He hesitated, his eyes lingering on me as if he were trying to read the text I had scratched out of my Whispering Rite. He looked like he wanted to say something more, to push past the wall I was building, but he ultimately just nodded. "Alright. I guess... I'll see you tomorrow then?"
"Yeah. See you tomorrow."
We exchanged a brief, familiar wave.
Then I turned my back, zipped my bag, and walked out of the classroom alone. I left the quiet room, the academy, and the warm comfort of his glow completely behind me.
As I walked out into the cooling afternoon air, I searched my gut for bitterness, but found none. I wasn't angry at Yinoh. I wasn't even jealous of his luck. He deserved every bit of the light he had received.
But as the distance grew between us, I could feel something fundamental shifting deep inside me. The soft, vulnerable boy who had knelt before the sky was hardening into something else. And as I stared down the long, lonely path toward my house, I didn't know yet if that change was going to save me... or become entirely dangerous to the only bond I had left.