Soul lanterns burned as Kalen left the house. Their thin yellow flames dancing in the early morning light. In the quiet hours of the early dawn before the village had awoken the world felt lighter, was lighter. Right now there wasn’t a soul out there to ask anything of him.

  He followed the path to the well determined to start his work. Reaching the well, he looked over towards the other side of his village to the other houses. Many with soul lanterns that flickered with that soft yellow light, others with soul wards glowing a harder yellow outlining characters in different scripts. Somewhere, a rooster crowed. Somewhere else, a soul spark flared, brief, but bright.

  Looking down at his own hands Kalen sighed. Still, he hadn’t sparked even after sixteen winters. His hands held no power, just rough skin and quiet disappointment.

  He shook it off. So what if it wasn’t his day? He had work to do—no time to mope. He hauled the bucket up with a grunt, muscles straining as cold water splashed his boots. Then he started to head back.

  After walking for a few minutes, a strong breeze curled through the trees of the forest. The forest with its gnarled trees that the elders warned about. A forest too old, too wild, and too forgotten. Everyone wondered what was in those woods, but no one would dare go in as long as the elders forbid it.

  What was that? He thought while looking towards the trees. It seemed like there was a flicker of light followed by a shift in the trees. The light came back brighter and deeper in the forest. It pulsed—a cold blue and wrong. He couldn’t say what it was, but something was wrong. Then as quickly as it came it faded and left.

  Kalen stood there staring into the forest for a dozen heartbeats, but nothing was there. “I guess my eyes are playing tricks on me. I need to get more sleep.” He turned back and started walking to his house. Still, it felt as if someone was watching him, but inspecting him. He still, nevertheless went back to his work.

  After the sun rose the village began to stir. An excitement present in everyone, or almost everyone. It’s the day of the new embers ceremony. A day where those who newly obtained their spark are celebrated.

  People rushed from house to house, place to place, preparing things for the festivals. The smell of different fresh treats wafted through the air of the village. With sounds hammering off in the distance. People baked foods, gathered goods, built stands and stages. Children ran about. The only one who wasn’t helping was Kalen.

  After all, why would anyone want his help. He had no powers, no soul. To the people of the village he was useless. He had tried to help when he was younger, but what was your help worth when someone with their spark at 10 winters could do twice as much in half the time.

  The best he could do was stay out of their way. He followed the edges of the square, avoiding the lines of people stringing up lanterns of various shapes and the people setting up booths. Him doing his job the best he could, stay out of everyone’s way.

  “Kalen!”

  The voice stopped him dead in his tracks. His head dropped knowing where this was going. He didn’t even have to look to know who it was.

  Rowen.

  He took a slow breath before turning around. Rowen stood a few paces back, arms crossed, wearing the dark orange robe of an early flame. He glowed slightly like he was primed to do something. Two of his friends flanked him, both grinning waiting for something—anything—to happen.

  “Didn’t see you on the list for the ceremony,” Rowen said, far too loud for any normal conversation, but no one cared everyone just continuing with their work.

  “Clerical mistake right?”

  Kalen didn’t answer. He never did anymore. He learned pretty quick how much worse words made things.

  Rowen stepped forward getting in Kalen’s face. “Sixteen winters after all that time still no spark. You must be cursed or defective. Huh or maybe you’re just soulless.” One of his friends chuckled.

  Kalen met Rowen’s eyes, but again he said nothing. He’d learned that silence stung worse than anger, sometimes.

  Rowen didn’t like that.

  He reached out and knocked the bucket from Kalen’s hands. Water sloshed across the dirt road. Splashing both their boots.

  “Oops,” Rowen said.

  Kalen’s jaw tightened, but still he didn’t move. Didn’t give them the reaction they wanted.

  “You should go into the forest Kalen,” Rowen said, his voice dropping just a little. “They say sometimes broken things go into the forest and come back whole or not at all”

  The boys walked off laughing, jostling each other like they'd just won something.

  Kalen knelt to pick up his bucket. His hands cold, wet, and shaking, but they weren’t shaking from the cold.

  He stood up and went back to go get more water. He prayed that maybe he wouldn’t have to see them again today and renewed his commitment to staying away from them as much as possible.

  After hours of careful avoidance. The sun was low in the sky almost ready to set. The village fervent with activity and excitement for the festival starting at sundown. Kalen started to make his way to the center of the village.

  Arriving at the outskirts of the center people crowd the stage and booths. A roar of singing, conversation, and laughter omnipresent. In the crowd groups form with people dancing in the centers.

  But something draws Kalen and he looks towards the forest. Trees sway with the breeze, he spots a deer, one with its antlers broken off. He stares making eye contact with the animal. It doesn’t run, doesn’t move. Its eyes tell him to come closer to venture into the forest, that it knows what it’s like to be broken. To look for his missing parts, to try and come back whole.

  A loud crash happens in the distance, a small crowd getting too rowdy. He looks back and the deer is gone.

  Kalen walks into the village center and towards the big stage. Announcements are starting.

  “People of Ember Hollow, gather close, bear witness.

  Today, under the eyes of the Eternal Flames, and by the glow of our own souls, we honor all those who have kindled their spark.

  The New Embers

  From a mere spark, each and every soul begins humbly. But when that spark happens—when the fire in their souls catches—it marks not only strength, but becoming.

  These young ones have taken one step on the paths of their ancestors. Their souls speak and today we are here to listen. To see a glimpse of the path they’ll walk.

  Today we celebrate their awakening for tomorrow they carry the weight of our village.

  Now, let soul flames shine, let music rise. And let all who walk without their spark know this:

  Every flame has its time, its place, its purpose.”

  Hope filled Kalen every year he heard this. Thoughts flooded his mind. Surely I’ll get it this year and I can finally be someone.

  Then they stopped as quickly as they came on. Why get my hopes up? This year won’t be any different, just like all the other years, but this year will be the year I don’t get my hopes up.

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  He let out a sigh his hopes, dreams following.

  Looking back towards the stage the First Elder was finishing.

  “Now please welcome this year’s Embers!”

  Children, seven or eight winters with few older and few younger, flooded the stage.

  Quickly attendants flanked the Elder holding bowls of what seemed like water with a slight orange tint, but only the ignorant would say those bowls contained water. They contained veyra, pure and distilled. The First Elder turned waving the first child forward.

  Taking the bowl of veyra he held it out to the child. “Just place your hands in the bowl.”

  The child did as he said placing her hands in the bowl. The veyra felt warm yet cold, soft yet rough, tranquil yet chaotic. After half a heartbeat the girl felt a drain on her soul. Veyra flowed through her arms her hands into the bowl. The liquid veyra appeared to roil, but quickly stilled with crystalline structures spreading out from her hands. She looked up at the first elder worried she had failed.

  “Our first ember, a Forger” he announced to the crowd, a round of applause rose before quickly quieted by the elder. “She will help the village thrive through making devices of the soul” The elder then handed her a robe, dark red with a white anvil and hammer on the back. The First Elder continued.

  The next child walked to the bowl sticking his hands in carefully as if the veyra would burn him. The liquid in the bowl began to flow in controlled patterns.

  “Our second ember, a Manipulator! He will help the village by keeping it hidden from the outside world. Keeping us safe.” He handed him a robe, dark red same as the last, but with a symbol of an eye covered and surrounded by lines flowing in all directions almost hiding the eye. The elder waved the next child forward. The child practically ran and dived into the bowl almost spilling some of the veyra.

  “There’s no rush little one,” said the First Elder.

  This time the veyra seemed to concentrate in the girl’s hand. A sphere of veyra turning, spinning, roiling. Then it dissipated leaving small waves in the bowl.

  “Ah a Projector you’re a rarity.” The crowd cheered louder and longer until the First Elder signaled for the crowd to be quiet. “She will a warrior, one who strikes on behalf of the village from afar—our second line of defense.” Handing her a robe this one had a circle with other circles around it flowing outwards projecting waves of veyra.

  The next child, a boy, walked shyly forward and placed his hands in the bowl. The veyra seemed to concentrate near and around his hands. The boy smiled thinking that he would get to be a Projector too, but it never full concentrated. It formed what seemed like a film around his hands. The boy frowned, but the First Elder smiled.

  “Don’t worry little one you’re something just as special. You are an enforcer” he announced. “You will be the first line of defense, the physical strength of the village. The techniques you learn will help you do things that should physically be impossible for others.” He handed the child a robe just like the others, but this one had a symbol of a stone wall with intricate carving. The wall looked as if it were hundreds of years old, yet it stood proud just as he would. The crowd roared with applause and shouts before continuing onwards.

  I would have given anything to be on that stage thought Kalen. He looked to the sky asking whatever gods would listen. Why not me? Why couldn’t I have it? What purpose do I have? Am I to wander as a bother for the rest of my days? He sighed knowing he wouldn’t get any answers no matter how many times he asked those question and no matter how many variations he used. He was empty, soulless, soul dead and as such was forbidden from even learning about the techniques. The schools claiming their teachings were too dangerous. Looking to the sky one last time, hoping to see any signs. The only thing he saw were stars staring back.

  Looking back towards the stage he saw performances starting. Manipulators made images, illusions using the veyra in the air. Dragons flew through the sky doing tricks, scaring children, but leaving them awestruck. All the illusions seemed so perfect to Kalen, his soul not strong enough to see through any of them. I’m just glad Rowan hasn’t learned any illusions, Kalen thought. The performance went on showing mystical creatures of all colors. Some vibrant greens or purples. Other oranges, reds, and yellows so bright one could mistake them for fire.

  The performance seems to end with the music slowing down. Then two new children wearing light orange robes go up. They walked from opposite sides of the stage meeting in the middle. They bowed towards each other. The crowd cheered shouting for their picks—a show duel. Both kids seemed to focus the crowd quieted waiting for something to happen. All of a sudden they moved forward with explosive power and speed. They take turns striking each other. They move fast enough that Kalen can’t keep up with them. A few winters younger than me, he thought, yet they’re faster and stronger than I’ll ever be.

  A new performance starts after the duel ends. Four children, only a winter or two younger than him, with robes of bright vibrant reds walk onto the stage. They bow to the crowd before getting into positions around the stage. They all take different stances readying techniques. They all launch their techniques into the sky. They blot out the stars exploding into colors. Vibrant colors spread in the sky over the crowd. Children look up in awe of the power and Kalen with them. If only he could’ve been up there with them. The one thing he’s always wanted. To be on the stage with all the other children. To impress the village, to impress his parents—even if they weren’t with him now.

  The children bowed before walking off the stage. The First Elder returning. “Now it is time for the true celebration to begin.” People began to move. The crowd at the stage began to dissipate. Then crowds formed around the stands, people lining up to get different foods and play different games. Kalen, not interested in any of it, left the festival and began to walk back to his house.

  After a few minutes, he looked to the forest—something once again drawing him. He stared, something deep inside—almost instinctual—telling him to stay for a minute. He watched looking for any sign of light or movement. Then a slight change in the trees. They shifted back and forth briefly. A deer between them. A deer with its antlers broken off. It stared, its eyes captivating under the moonlight. Without a sound the deer ran away. A light pulsed, that same cold blue, in a way that was inherently wrong. Then it stopped once again. He stared for seconds, then minutes, but there was nothing. He continued on his path knowing he needed his rest to even have a chance of keeping up with everyone else.