Proem

Most kids got their gifts by the age of ten. Z was no different in that respect. Back then, he lived with a group of 20 or so kids just like him, all from families of fallen nobles. As the days went by, they had all anxiously waited for their element.

On his birthday, the others gathered around him, all of them excited about a new gift in the family. The entire day, at least one person was glued by his side. Usually, it was Icarus, looking up at Zekiah with anticipation in his eyes. The two of them laughed together as the younger kids tripped over their feet trying to crowd around his bed whenever he fell asleep.

Finally, the moment came. That night, Zekiah found himself in a long, narrow tunnel. The boy frowned, squinting his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting. He ran his hand along the wall, surprised to find little chunks of dirt fall into the palm of his hand. He was underground. Shit.

A feeling of unease slithered through his body as he walked forward. His dread grew by the second.

Sure enough, the narrow dirt passage he was in bled into a large opening where the walls turned into solid rock. Around a hundred or so kids gathered around him, all of them looking as disappointed as he felt.

Zekiah took a deep breath. It was fine. There was still a chance he would be a Fiamme. Or a Flare. After all, being the majority wasn’t too bad. He would fit in easily. He would be normal. Right?

The children were herded into a straight line near the front of the room by two ghoulish creatures. Zekiah shuddered at the sight of them.

They had no mouth, just wrinkly skin that stretched out along their jawbone and nose. Their limbs were long and bony, and they had had no eyes, only empty holes.

Instead of ears, two long tusks protruded from the side of their heads, as if penetrating their skulls. Zekiah jumped back when one of the creatures pulled the huge tusk out of its head, using it to poke at one of the children who wouldn’t get in line. The poor girl screamed.

Zekiah couldn’t move. He was petrified in place. For some reason, he had the feeling that something bad would happen the moment he stepped out of the stone room. It was almost empty now, except for a few kids huddled at the front.

The creatures gestured for him to come, and his feet moved against his will as his stomach rose in his chest. He approached the one who called, whose eye sockets stared at him inquisitively. Zekiah gulped, immediately aligning himself with the kid in front of him, a cute-looking girl with bouncy curls in pigtails.

She grinned at him, but Zekiah averted his gaze. They both stepped forward and the next thing he knew, the girl in front of him was swallowed by darkness. He gasped, alarmed, and tried to step back, but a stringy hand placed on his back pushed him forward into the shadows.

To his surprise, he emerged in a silver temple with torches dominating the walls. A gold-crested throne stood at the far end of the circular room with a bright figure posed elegantly on it. An armadillo rested on the arm of the throne, curled up into a little ball as the figure stroked it lovingly.

Zekiah looked around to see nine other kids in the room with him. They each wore matching expressions of doubt.

One brave little soul confronted the figure. His squeaky voice rang out in the room as he said, “I thought the Gods didn’t grant the gifts themselves. Don’t you have someone else to do this for you?”

The figure grinned, leaning forward in his chair. His hand abandoned the armadillo to rest on his knee. “Well, aren’t you a brave one?” his voice boomed across the room. “What if I wasn’t a God? You could’ve had both of us killed for insinuating I was Sorrel.”

The kid raised his chin proudly. “It’s obvious. Anyone would recognize you at first glance. You stand out even when there is no crowd.” The figure— Sorrel— laughed heartily. “I appreciate the flattery, but it won’t get you anywhere.” He sighed. “I almost feel bad for you guys.”

A girl spoke up this time, her curls swishing back and forth as she voiced the anxiousness Zekiah was sure they all felt. Zekiah recognized her to be the same one he had encountered before stumbling into the darkness. “Why?” she squeaked.

The God of Fire grinned. “Why don’t you check the time, love?”

A clock made of shiny steel engraved with imprints of torches suddenly materialized on the wall above Sorrel’s head. The hands pointed to 11:58 PM. The cursed hour.

Zekiah threw up.