The Kingdom of Lumisgrave had entered an era of unknowns.
It began with whispers, then waves of fear, and now… silence — the kind of silence that doesn't comfort, but questions. A silence that waits for something to happen.
All across the realm, from the hills of Everdusk to the bridges of Hamarveil, people had begun awakening. Not by magic. Not by training. But suddenly, unpredictably — their bodies becoming channels of strange, inexplicable forces.
Some could make wind spiral from their hands.
Others made vines grow through stone.
A boy had been seen painting air itself with glowing energy.
A girl in the far fields had sprouted wings of light — not illusions, not dreams. Real.
These weren't spells. They weren't tricks.
But what were they?
No one knew.
And worse — no one knew what to do next.
Within the towering stone halls of Lumisgrave's palace, confusion echoed just as loudly as in the streets.
Meetings were held daily. Leaders gathered. Papers were scribbled. Reports flowed in about people "changing" — and about those who feared them.
It wasn't only the poor or uneducated who awakened. Some of the noble houses had seen it. Even guards. Even scholars.
The problem was no longer whether powers were real.
The problem was what came next.
> "Should we train them?"
"But train them for what? We don't even know what this is."
"Are these blessings… or warnings?"
"Is this the beginning of something — or the end?"
Voices argued inside the marble halls. Council members, advisors, strategists, and watchers spoke of forming units, dividing people, organizing the awakened by ability, region, age…
But nothing felt certain.
Even the King's face — once unreadable, always calm — now carried a flicker of unease behind his eyes.
> "We have been told to prepare," he said to Julious in private, "but we do not know for what. That is the heart of our fear."
Julious nodded gravely. "It's like sharpening blades in darkness. We do not know what direction the enemy will strike from… or if there even is one."
That was the truth: no monster had appeared, no war had begun. No sign had been seen in the sky.
Only powers.
Only change.
And people were waiting. Restless. Curious. Frightened.
And hope, like a candle in a storm, flickered low.
--
That afternoon, the palace windows were open. A cool breeze stirred the long curtains in the Hall of Arches, where the King sat in contemplation — hands folded, crown resting beside him, not on his head.
Several leaders stood nearby, discussing quietly.
Julious paced.
Farhan sat still.
And then—
Footsteps. Barefoot. Quick. Eager.
A figure entered the hall from the corridor, the sunlight casting a warm glow around his silhouette.
Kabir.
The King's son.
Young. Thin. Barely twenty.
His face was bright, curious, sharp-eyed. His long black hair framed his face like ink dripping over parchment.
He didn't wear robes of gold or ceremonial armor — just simple training clothes and a dark shoulder wrap.
> "Father," he said, breathless but grinning. "I… I think I've found it."
The council paused. All heads turned.
King Farhan raised an eyebrow. "Found what, Kabir?"
Kabir stepped forward, his palms slightly raised, eyes flicking toward the nearby wall lamp — an old iron lantern, recently unlit due to failing oil.
> "I can do it now," he said. "Control it. Not fully. But enough."
Julious stepped closer. "Control what, prince?"
Kabir looked at his hand. For a moment, he hesitated — not with fear, but wonder. His fingers twitched, then steadied. His brow furrowed.
And then — a spark.
A small crackle of blue-white lightning danced between his fingertips.
Gasps filled the room.
The light was soft but sharp — and it leapt from his hand, striking the lantern's base.
FWOOM.
The wick inside ignited. The lamp flickered to life.
The room lit up.
Not brightly — but undeniably.
---
A strange quiet fell across the hall.
Not fear.
Not awe.
But something older.
Hope.
Kabir stood still, blinking. His hand trembled slightly from the energy, but his face was lit with a proud, almost shy smile.
> "I… I can only do small things for now," he said. "But I've been practicing alone. Listening. Feeling when it rises."
Farhan rose from his seat slowly.
He walked toward his son and looked at him — not as a King now, but as a father.
His voice was quiet.
> "You've kept this to yourself?"
Kabir nodded. "I wanted to be sure it was real. I didn't want anyone to think I was just... another dreamer. But today, I felt it answer me."
> "What is it like?" asked Julious gently.
Kabir thought for a moment.
> "It's not like holding power," he said. "It's like being a bridge. Like something ancient is flowing through me, not from me."
No one spoke.
The flame in the lantern burned quietly — but its light felt larger than its size.
It was the first time someone from the royal family had shown awakening.
And he had controlled it. With purpose.
Not destruction.
Not panic.
Just a spark.
Enough to light a lamp.
Enough to stir hearts.
--
King Farhan placed his hand — the normal one — on Kabir's shoulder.
His eyes didn't shine, but they softened.
> "You may have just shown us the path forward."
He looked around at the others.
> "If a boy can master lightning without guidance…"
"…then perhaps others can too."
Julious nodded slowly. "He did not break anything. He did not lose control. He illuminated the darkness."
Camero added, "If he can do this at twenty… imagine the others, the gifted, if given space. Time. Guidance."
Parche stepped forward. "Perhaps preparation does not begin with walls, orders, or weapons… but with understanding."
Farhan turned back to his son. "Will you help me?"
Kabir straightened. "Yes."
> "Then we begin here," Farhan said. "One spark at a time."
Word spread. Quietly.
The Prince of Lumisgrave had lit a lamp with lightning.
Not to fight.
Not to destroy.
But to show that power can mean control, not chaos.