The storm rolled in just before dawn, the kind that split the skies over the Draythorne stronghold like judgment from the heavens.
Kaelion sat alone on the marble edge of the awakening altar, his cloak damp, his fingers numb. The wind howled like a beast in chains—but he remained still, eyes fixed on the glowing runes beneath his boots.
This was the day. Core Awakening Day.
The last of the seven.
He knew the story the world whispered about his family. Six siblings—each a living legend. One tamed fire. Another bent lightning. One ruled over death itself. The Draythornes weren't just nobles. They were rulers of the elemental world, crowned by the heavens.
And then there was Kaelion. The last-born. The quiet one. The one who, at sixteen, had yet to show even a flicker of elemental talent. No blazing aura. No burst of raw power. Just a boy with silver eyes who walked the palace halls like a ghost no one dared claim.
He exhaled through his nose, the cold curling from his lips like smoke. His breath was steady.
If the gods thought this was the day he would break… they didn't know him at all.
Footsteps echoed behind him. Sharp. Proud.
"Still pretending not to be afraid?" came the voice of Flare Draythorne, the firstborn. Her crimson cloak billowed behind her, heat shimmering from her form despite the chill in the air. "You don't have to act tough, little brother. If your Core Awakens as stone-grade… you'll still be one of us."
Kaelion didn't look at her. "That would be a lie."
Flare's eyes narrowed slightly, though her smirk never left. "You always were dramatic."
More siblings gathered—Magnar, the walking mountain; Sylvaine, with her blade-thin frame and colder-than-steel gaze; Frostelle, untouched by time or affection; Zephyra, lightning-eyed and impatient; and Thorne, the shadow walker, who said nothing as usual.
Each took their place around the altar, silent witnesses to the final Awakening of House Draythorne.
"Begin the Rite," the priest intoned, stepping forward. "Let the world reveal what it has buried within the soul of the Seventh Son."
The circle lit up.
Kael stepped forward. He could feel the magic crawl beneath his skin like spiders—ancient, invasive, merciless.
The Rite of Awakening didn't ask questions. It stripped away everything you thought you were and showed the world what you were born to become.
Kael clenched his fists as the altar flared. A prism of light exploded around him—six colors, one for each elemental core. The air thickened. His vision blurred.
Then—
Nothing.
The lights vanished.
The altar dimmed.
Silence.
Not just silence… emptiness.
The runes beneath him flickered, then died. No element claimed him. No affinity took root. The priest stared, dumbfounded. His siblings exchanged sharp glances.
"He… has no Core?" Zephyra said first, tone edged with disbelief.
"That's impossible," Magnar muttered.
Even Thorne's cold eyes showed something like surprise.
Only Flare spoke clearly. "The Core is void. It didn't even reject him. It just… didn't awaken."
Kael slowly opened his eyes. He saw their expressions.
Shock. Confusion.
Pity.
And somewhere, buried deep in their perfect faces—relief.
Because now, it was certain.
He would never rival them.
He was harmless.
The priest cleared his throat. "By the will of the elements… Kaelion Draythorne is deemed Coreless."
---
He didn't speak until much later, long after the crowd had scattered, long after the cold had bitten through skin and bone.
He stood alone in the high spire chamber overlooking the storm-churned cliffs of the western wall. Lightning lit the horizon. The wind battered the glass.
He didn't cry.
He didn't curse.
He stood still.
And then—
A sound.
Like glass cracking… inside his skull.
A voice, deep and mechanical, thundered within him:
> [COREBREAKER SYSTEM ACTIVATED.]
Kaelion's breath caught.
> [Zero Core detected. Host is unbonded, unranked, unaffiliated.]
> [Verdict: Rejection by the World Order. Coreless Status.]
> [Override Condition Met.]
> [Initiating Primordial Path…]
A searing heat tore through his chest—not flame, but creation.
Kaelion fell to one knee, clutching his chest as light poured from under his ribs in jagged golden streaks. His eyes widened. Not in fear. Not in pain.
In recognition.
He knew, somehow, without needing to be told:
This was his Core.
No element. No borrowed gift. No divine blessing.
It was raw.
Unbound.
And it was his.
The voice spoke once more.
> [Welcome, Kaelion Draythorne.]
> [Begin Trial One: Survive.]