The world fell silent. Not even the wind dared to stir.
A stillness like no other descended over the square—a silence so complete it felt unnatural. Even the soft flutter of the golden banners seemed to freeze in the air, as if the very fabric of reality paused to make sense of what had just happened.
The Bishop staggered back a step, robes billowing faintly from his movement, face pale beneath the glow of the rising sun. His fingers trembled as he pulled them away from Reed's now-limp hands.
"H-How… how is this possible?" he asked, barely above a whisper, though the weight behind his words crushed the square like thunder. His voice cracked with disbelief, and his usually stern face was wracked with fear.
The reaction was understandable.
For centuries, the Blessing Ceremony had revealed only six colors—Green for nature, Blue for water and calm, Red for war and power, Gold for healing and light, Purple for illusion and trickery, and once in a generation, White—symbol of divine balance and unmatched potential.
But never… never Black.
To the gathered crowd, to the Bishop, to the history of Asteria itself, Reed's mark wasn't a blessing. It was an anomaly. An impossibility. Perhaps even a curse.
And to some… an abomination.
Reed barely heard the murmurs rising like wind through tall grass. He had no time to reflect, to wonder, or to protest.
The moment the Bishop let go of his hands, the strange, oppressive aura vanished—and so did his consciousness.
His knees buckled. The crowd gasped. He collapsed in a heap of limbs and blue ceremonial fabric, eyes fluttering shut as darkness took him again.
When Reed awoke, the world felt… sterile.
A pale white ceiling greeted him. The room was small and coldly clean—walls bare, air filtered and crisp, furniture minimal and polished. A single window, covered by sheer curtains, let in diffused sunlight that washed the space in a soft glow. A chair, a side table, a vase with wilting lilies, and the bed beneath him. That was all.
His thoughts came slowly, like drifting snow settling into form. What happened? Where am I?
Then it hit him.
The ceremony. The Bishop's voice. The silence. The screaming. The black light that wasn't supposed to exist.
He sat up with a sharp breath, heart pounding, trying to make sense of it all. Confusion gave way to fear—but mingled with it, undeniably, was something else.
Curiosity.
What did it mean to bear the color of shadows?
The door creaked open.
The Bishop entered quietly, his robes slightly more casual, but the gravity in his eyes unchanged. He moved with careful steps, as though afraid to disturb the fragile air around Reed, and settled onto the nearby chair.
"Hey, son," he said gently, voice low and cautious. "How are you feeling?"
Reed blinked, wary but honest. "I feel… good?"
And it wasn't a lie. In fact, he felt too good. His muscles were relaxed yet energized. His chest rose and fell with ease. His senses were sharper, his awareness clearer. There was a distinct pulse beneath his skin—not painful, but undeniable.
The Bishop tilted his head, watching him closely. "That's good. That's very good, actually. Tell me—do you feel any different than before? Any strange surges, strength, changes in perception?"
The question was more than routine. Every Blessed manifested unique traits depending on the color of their light. Red-bearers often gained enhanced strength, Gold—healing, Purple—heightened senses and wit, and so on. Occasionally, a powerful surge of energy accompanied a blessing, disrupting the environment. It was vital to monitor new Chosen for any signs of instability.
"I guess…" Reed hesitated, then glanced at his hands. "I feel lighter. Like I could sprint through a forest without getting tired. Maybe a little stronger, too. But… that's all. I'm sorry if that's disappointing."
The Bishop shook his head, an amused breath escaping his lips. "No, no. Don't apologize. That's plenty for now. And honestly, I'm relieved. Sometimes the rare ones… they don't wake up for days. Or they wake up in pain."
He rose slowly, stretching his back. "Do you need anything? I had a nurse assigned to check on you regularly, but it seems they're on break. I wanted to be the one to explain things first, anyway. You'll want to get some rest. It's a long trip to the Academy."
Reed blinked. "The Academy? Right…"
He'd read about it. Rilton, the capital of Asteria, housed the crown jewel of magical study—the Grand Academy. A sprawling fortress-city where Blessed youths trained to understand their powers. Mages, warriors, scholars, and healers studied under one roof, learning survival, diplomacy, magical control, and even common life skills like trade and law. It was both a school and a proving ground.
Still, his heart ached. "Wait… what exactly happened to me? That color… what was it?"
The Bishop didn't answer immediately. He gazed out the window for a moment, as if expecting the light outside to offer clarity.
Then he turned back.
"That color," he said quietly, "is the first recorded instance of a Black Mage in our history. And it's drawn… significant interest. Not only from the Kingdom, but from neighboring nations as well."
"Black Mage," Reed repeated, the words tasting strange on his tongue. They didn't sound bad. Just… foreign. Like a cloak he'd never worn before. One stitched from night and mystery.
"But what does it mean?" he pressed. "What will I learn? Can I even cast spells?"
"That's what we're going to find out," the Bishop replied. "You're a special case. Once we arrive, a curriculum will be built around your abilities. Specialized. Unique." He said the word carefully. Unique was a polite substitute for unknown.
Something in his tone shifted, faint but telling.
There was more to this than just magic lessons.
"You should rest," the Bishop added. "I'll go ask the conductor when we're expected to arrive."
Reed narrowed his eyes. Expected to arrive?
"Wait… What do you mean when we arrive?" he asked slowly.
"Oh," the Bishop said, blinking. "Didn't I mention? You boarded while unconscious. You're on the Rilton Express now—a masterpiece of modern engineering. Smoothest ride in the realm, fueled by arcane engines designed by our top magi-tech artisans. This train can—"
Reed barely heard the rest.
His heart dropped. "Wait—I didn't get to say goodbye."
The Bishop's enthusiasm faltered. He rubbed the back of his neck.
"I know," he said, voice quiet. "Your mother and sister were there. They saw you faint. The medics assured them you were stable, and once we told them it was urgent, they agreed it was best to let you rest. Your mother asked that you write often. Very often."
Reed swallowed hard, throat tight. It wasn't enough. But it was something.
"…Thank you," he said.
The Bishop gave him a sympathetic nod. "Freshen up. You'll want to look your best when we arrive."
With that, he stepped out, leaving Reed alone with nothing but the soft churning rhythm of the train to keep him company.
He sat still for a long time, thoughts crashing and swirling in his skull. What would the Academy be like? Who would teach him? Who would his classmates be? Would they fear him… or worse, hate him?
But none of those questions would matter.
Because what awaited him at the Academy was not a lesson plan… but a reckoning.
And Reed had no idea how unprepared he truly was.