Chronicles of the Untalented

Velira's new spells weren't anything impressive—short bursts of water, basic manipulation, and minor freezing. The kind of magic you'd expect from a novice just getting her footing. Still, she tested them carefully, drawing sigils into the dirt and sending pulses through her effigy like a cautious scientist poking at an unstable reaction.

Silas watched from the edge of the training grounds, arms folded. His effigy stood behind him—silent, still, and always just a little too aware.

They were about to leave when a voice called out.

"Silas. Velira."

A priest approached from across the field. Not the one who had sent them outside the city—this one was younger, thinner, with wild eyes and a half-shaved head that made him look more like a lunatic than a holy man. His robes hung crooked off one shoulder, stained with chalk dust and dried ink.

He smiled like he knew something they didn't.

"I have a task for you," he said casually. "One day's work. Nothing difficult. We're beginning a new cycle of effigy refinements upstairs in the cathedral, and I was meant to oversee one of the batches. But—" he waved a hand, dismissively, "—you know how it is. Things to do. Souls to save."

Velira blinked. "So… you want us to take your place?"

"Just for the day," he said, already turning to leave. "Keep them from dying. Or at least keep the mess to a minimum."

Before either of them could ask what he meant by that, he disappeared down the stone path toward the cathedral.

Silas exhaled slowly. "Refusal's not an option, is it?"

Velira shrugged. "It never is."

---

They walked through the cathedral's arched doors, the light dimmer than it should have been. Instead of heading down to the basement, they were directed up—spiral stairs that twisted around a hollow stone column, the air growing thinner and quieter with each step.

At the top, they found a room shaped like a dome. Seven students waited there, sitting on worn benches, their postures stiff with nerves. They couldn't have been much younger than Silas or Velira, though most of them looked it. Some glanced up with surprise at their approach. Others stared warily at the effigies that trailed silently behind their new overseers.

No one spoke.

Silas gave a nod. Velira folded her arms. There wasn't much to say.

---

The first to step forward was a girl. She had short black hair, a plain uniform, and a forgettable sort of face. She looked like someone you might pass in a hallway and never think about again.

Her hands didn't shake as she drew the circles. She moved with quiet precision—sigils, lines, chalk drawn steady and true. It was only when she lay down in the larger circle that her breath caught in her chest.

Silas recognized the feeling. The moment before the soul splits. Before everything starts to bleed.

The ritual began.

Soul beasts arrived like smoke through cracks—half-formed things with glowing eyes and sharp limbs. Silas and Velira moved quickly, their effigies snapping into action. Normal weapons didn't work against these things.

Two beasts were cut down. Then three.

It was going well.

Until it wasn't.

The girl screamed.

Her body convulsed—once, then twice. Blood dripped from her nose, then her eyes. Her soul, once a soft thread between her and the effigy, began to fray.

Velira swore under her breath, her focus slipping for just a moment. A beast lunged past her.

Another slipped through Silas's defense.

Too fast. Too chaotic.

The effigy in the smaller circle shattered. The girl's body went still.

Silence filled the room like cold water.

One of the clergymen stepped forward from the shadows—no ceremony, no words—and covered the girl's body with a sheet. The way her limbs slumped beneath it made something twist in Silas's stomach.

No one spoke as they cleaned the floor. Even the chalk was silent as it traced new circles.

---

The second trainee succeeded. A boy with wide eyes and too much sweat on his brow. He didn't speak a word as he stood, his effigy trembling slightly behind him.

The third was a girl with sunken cheeks and bruises on her knuckles. She made it too—barely. But her effigy was pale, flickering. She needed to leave quickly before it unraveled.

The fourth failed.

His soul simply… didn't split.

Silas could see it even before the beasts came. The boy sat too rigidly. His eyes darted in panic. When the ritual started, his mind collapsed inward. There was no connection. The effigy sparked once—and then nothing.

His body went limp before the beasts even reached him.

The fifth, sixth, and seventh succeeded—but it was a close thing. One nearly lost control at the end, requiring Velira to pin a soul beast in place with her effigy until it left.

---

By the end of it, Silas had stopped feeling cold.

He felt… hollow. Like the stone under their feet.

Velira didn't say a word as they descended the stairs. Neither did he. The silence wasn't just grief. It was fatigue—the kind that settles in the bones and tells you: you'll dream of this later. And you'll wake up screaming.

Outside the cathedral, the dim sky looked the same as it always did.

They parted ways wordlessly, their footsteps the only sound on empty streets.

The city didn't mourn. It never did.

But Silas did glance once over his shoulder, toward the tower behind them.

And he wondered how many more bodies would be carried out before the week was over.