In our world, magic isn't a gift for the lucky few—it's everywhere. Everyone can use it, though not everyone is a master. But for me, Lance, the spark just hadn't hit yet.
"What do you think I'll get?" I asked at dinner, picking at my food.
My mom looked up. "There's no telling, honey. Your dad has his fire, I have the wind. And your sister? Well, she's got Sky Magic, and that hasn't happened in our family for generations. It's not about blood; it's about the soul."
"I've never even seen her use it," I muttered.
My father's face went stone-cold. "And pray you never do, Lance. That kind of power... it takes more than it gives. It could kill her just for using it."
Later that night, I heard them arguing through the floorboards. Mom didn't want me to know how dangerous the world was, but Dad insisted. "He's fourteen," I heard him growl. "He needs to be ready for the cruelty out there. If he stays soft, he won't survive."
The next day, we went to the station to meet Flora. She looked older, taller, but she still had that annoying smirk.
"Hey there, little rival," she laughed, messing up my hair.
"Forget 'rival,'" I snapped, though I was glad she was home. "After that comment, you're officially my enemy."
We spent the day at the creature park, watching the beasts play. It was the last normal moment I remember. When we got back to the village, the air smelled like ash. Men in grey clothes—the Night Cult—were everywhere.
Mom pushed me into a crawlspace, but Dad and Flora didn't hide. They fought. Dad was a monster with his fire magic, literally burning a path through them. But then, a flash of blue light blurred past him.
In a second, Dad was on the ground, his arm... gone. Just sliced off by a bolt of lightning. Flora screamed and ran to him, but they caught her with a strike to the chest.
Seeing them like that—broken—something inside me snapped. The ground beneath my boots groaned. Earth magic. I tried to fight, I really did, but I was a kid against professional killers. They swatted me aside like a fly.
One of the cultists stepped over me, his boots stained with my family's blood. "This is the end," he whispered.
"The end?" Flora's voice came from the dirt. It sounded different—deeper. Cold. "I'll show you the end.
She didn't stand; she floated. The sky turned black as a bruise. Lightning didn't just strike; it rained. She whispered two words: "Weather Demolition."
The world exploded.
When I woke up, the "Blue Coats" were there, fixing the buildings with their fancy spells. But they couldn't fix us. Flora was in a coma. Mom was shaking and wouldn't speak. And Dad... Dad just sat there, staring at the empty space where his arm used to be.
I finally understood what he meant at dinner. The world i
sn't just magical. It's cruel.