The ceremony ended in whispers.
The crystal stood untouched, gleaming faintly with every flicker of lantern light, but Zane’s hand had done nothing. No glow, no resonance, no warmth. Just silence.
Where there should have been cheers, there was only pity. Where there should have been recognition, there was only an awkward dismissal.
Homeschooling had sheltered him from the stares of other children, but not from the weight of expectation. Every family line, every cousin, every name in the bloodline seemed to spark something when they touched the crystal. Everyone... but him.
Later that night, Zane stormed into his room and collapsed onto his bed. His chest burned, but no tears came. Instead, he buried his face in the pillow and screamed until his throat was raw.
He threw his books, his quills, his training notes to the floor. His mother’s careful handwriting on lesson scrolls ripped under his grip. None of it mattered. Nothing mattered.
When the storm of frustration dulled, Zane turned his eyes to the wall, where his shadow stretched in silence. His only companion. His only "friend."
It stared back at him, always mimicking, never speaking. He tried stepping on it, grinding his heel into the ground as if forcing it to react. But nothing happened. Just empty imitation.
"...Pathetic," he whispered hoarsely.
The door creaked. Selena, his mother, entered quietly, her presence filling the ruined room with a gentleness that clashed against his chaos. She took in the scattered mess, the broken boy curled on the bed, and said nothing at first. She just sat beside him, smoothing a hand over his hair.
"Zane," she said softly. "No one has to know about tonight."
He turned his face toward her, eyes red with frustration.
"When you turn fifteen, we’ll try again. But this time..." Her gaze hardened slightly. "It will be in front of your cousins and the rest of the family. That’s the price of waiting."
Zane’s throat tightened. Humiliation later... or humiliation now.
He clenched his fists beneath the blanket, feeling the weight of her deal. He wanted to scream again, to reject it, but all that came out was a bitter whisper:
Selena kissed his forehead gently. "Then it is decided. Rest, my son. The night is over, but your story is not."
She stood and left, the door shutting softly behind her.
In the quiet, Zane’s eyes drifted back to the shadow by his bed. For just a second, though it was probably only exhaustion, he thought its shape lingered a moment too long before following him.