Prologue – Powerless
October 15, 2009
I was born into a legendary family.
My dad? A master of fire. My mom? She controlled ice and water and was completely immune to magic—something rare even among elite supers. In our bloodline, the second-born child was always something special. Not only did we inherit our parents' abilities, but we often awakened ancestral powers going all the way back to the first generation of superhumans.
When I arrived, the expectations were sky-high.
But as I lay in my crib, the room was unnaturally quiet. No flames. No frost. Not even a spark.
My family stared, their smiles faltering.
"Quick, call the doctor!" my grandma said, urgency in her voice. "He'll know what's wrong."
The doctor came. Checked my pulse. My eyes. My aura.
Silence.
"Well?" Grandma pressed. "Say something before I yank it out of you."
He cleared his throat. "Uh… I'm not sure, ma'am. Maybe he's just a late bloomer. Give it five years. His powers might still activate."
The celebration fizzled into awkward glances and silent hope. Hope that I wouldn't be the disappointment no one wanted to name.
Five years passed.
Still nothing.
No flame. No wave. No shimmer of light.
I sat in the backyard, watching my cousins soar through the air, trailing sparks and wind like it obeyed them. One of them, just ten, bent the sky with a gesture. The breeze followed him like a loyal pet.
And me? The wind ignored me.
Inside, voices murmured through the walls.
"Still nothing?" "It's been five years." "Do you think he's… broken?" "Maybe cursed?"
That last word stuck. Cursed.
I slipped into my room, hoping the walls wouldn't follow. Above my bed hung portraits of my ancestors—stormcallers, warriors, elemental masters. One of them froze a mountain in rage. Another made a desert bloom.
And I couldn't even warm a cup of water.
That night, I stared at the ceiling, wondering if the stars ever looked back.
And then I dreamed.
Not a normal dream. Not one you forget after waking. This one felt older than sleep itself.
I floated in a cosmic void, stars blinking like ancient eyes. At the center, a being of pure thought and memory—shifting, unformed, infinite—watched me.
"You're not broken," it whispered, its voice like mine, and not mine. "You're just unshaped."
I reached toward it—
—but woke up before I could touch the light.
Heart pounding. Hands trembling.
And for one second, my fingertips shimmered. Not with fire or ice—but something else. Like frost and starlight mixed into something the world hadn't named yet.
Then it vanished.
Just like the dream.
Just like everything else.
I never told anyone.
Not because I didn't trust them.
Because I didn't trust myself.
What if it was just my imagination?
What if that flicker was desperation, not destiny?
Still… it didn't feel like a dream.
It felt like a warning.
Or maybe… a promise.
Or perhaps—the beginning.