Chapter 3: The Colorless Spark.
The afternoon sun slanted through our window, setting the dust motes dancing like tiny, lazy stars. Wilhelm had the day off from the forge, which meant he was “helping” me with the mending while I shelled peas.
He wasn’t helping, not really. But I didn’t mind. His presence was a warm, solid thing, something steady to lean on. With him nearby, the world’s whispers felt far away.
Then came the knock.
“Wilhelm! Are you in there, or has the forge finally claimed you for a statue?”
Roric’s voice carried through the door, bright and teasing. My heart did its usual, traitorous leap.
When Wilhelm opened the door, Roric filled the frame, tall and confident, sunlight pooling around him like it had been waiting.
“Elsbeth,” he greeted me with an easy smile. “Don’t let your brother laze about. A day off’s no excuse for idleness.”
“He’s… helping,” I said. Somehow, the words came out steady.
Wilhelm laughed. “I’m being exploited! I deserve tea.”
He crossed to the hearth, where the cold kettle sat. With a muttered “Ignis ardeat Lumonius Einshigel,” a small orange rune flared on his forehead, bright, deliberate, and alive. A jet of fire shot from his fingertip, kindling the wood instantly.
I’d seen it countless times before, but this time the sight caught me, that glowing rune, the mark of a soul anchored.
"Roric?" I asked before I could stop myself.
He turned, one brow raised. "Hmm?"
"When you were tested... did you know it would work? Before the light appeared?"
Wilhelm snorted. "Of course he knew. Everyone's light appears…"
"Not everyone's," I whispered.
The room went quiet. Roric's easy smile faded into something gentler and more serious.
"I was terrified," he admitted, crouching to my eye level. "My mother told me about my birth-glow, of course. I’d seen dozens of testings. But standing there in the circle... I was still scared it wouldn't work. That I’d be the one exception."
"But you weren't," I said, the words coming out almost as a question.
"No." He paused, his gaze drifting as if remembering. "They said my light at birth was strong. My mother even has the midwife's testimony, signed and sealed." A faint, fond smile touched his lips before fading into seriousness. "But that didn't matter in the moment. That brightness was just a story. I still had to stand there and prove it was true. Until the rune lit up under my own will... I couldn't be certain."
A desperate, fragile hope sparked in my chest. "So... the light at birth... it happens for everyone? No exceptions?"
He understood what I was truly asking. His expression was pained but honest. "For everyone," he said softly. "The moment a baby is born, before it takes its first breath... its forehead glows. Its color, its mark. For a heartbeat, it blazes like a tiny star. Then it fades beneath the skin."
I pictured it—a sky full of newborns, each one shining for an instant. The image was beautiful. And it was the cruelest thing I had ever heard.
"None?" I whispered, the word barely audible.
He hesitated, a silent apology in his eyes, then shook his head. "None. They say the magic we use later... it's not learning something new. It's just remembering that first light. Calling it back up."
Remembering. The word was no longer a concept. It was a verdict. It settled inside me, not like a stone, but like a lead weight, pulling everything down into a cold, dark silence.
***
The day arrived faster than I wanted.
The smell of soap and starched linen filled our little house. My new tunic was stiff and white as bone, scratching at my neck.
“Stand still, Elsbeth,” Mother murmured, braiding my hair with silver ribbon. Her fingers trembled, though her voice stayed calm.
Through the doorway, I saw Wilhelm already dressed, his clothes easy and familiar. He looked like someone who belonged.
Then Father appeared, tall enough to fill the frame. Even in his best clothes, the faint scent of forge-smoke clung to him, warm, metallic, safe. He didn’t speak of magic or the test. He simply placed his hand on my head, rough and comforting.
“Whatever happens,” he said quietly, “you are my daughter.”
The words should have comforted me. Instead, they made my chest ache worse.
We stepped outside into sunlight. The whole village seemed to be watching. Their smiles were kind, but their eyes were curious and measuring.
“There’s Heinrich’s girl,” someone whispered. “Today’s the day.”
I kept my gaze on Father’s back, following his broad shadow toward the silver-capped temple that loomed over the rooftops. The spires caught the light, gleaming like the bars of a cage.
The incense inside was so thick I could taste it, sweet myrrh and pine sap clinging to the back of my throat. The marble floor was cold beneath my thin shoes.
Today, I turned eight. Today, I would be tested.
Wilhelm stood tall beside Father, his fire rune a proud memory still whispered about in the village. Mother hovered near me, adjusting my collar again and again.
“Clear your mind,” she whispered. “Focus, Elsbeth.”
I nodded, though my hands were shaking.
The High Priest’s voice rolled through the temple like thunder in slow motion. “When a god of magic loved a mortal woman, he gifted his power to her and her people. For this, he was cast into torment until the heavens were moved by a song of lament. He was freed, but with a divine decree: Magic shall flow only for as long as the people remember my name.
Thus, we chant the old names when we weave our spells. Thus, we hold our festivals, lest we forget. Our power is a sacred trust, and our faith is the wellspring from which it flows. To forget the Shapers is to lose the light they gave us.”
“Children of magic, come forth. Show the gifts the god has granted you.”
One by one, they did.
Liam, son of Barin, crimson flame.
Anya, daughter of Sela, soft green growth.
Others followed: water, earth, and metal. Each success drew approving murmurs and proud applause.
And then...
“Elsbeth, daughter of Heinrich.”
My legs felt like water as I walked forward. The circle seemed too large, too empty. I could feel every eye on me.
I stopped at the center and lifted my chin, just as Mother had taught me.
The High Priest nodded encouragingly. "Speak the words, child. Let your light emerge."
I took a breath and spoke as clearly as I could: "Lux venia, Einshigel."
And something happened.
Not nothing. Something.
A faint light flickered at my forehead, so subtle I almost thought I'd imagined it. But the priest's expression changed, his eyes widening slightly.
"Again," he said, leaning forward. "Speak clearly."
"Lux venia, Einshigel!"
This time I felt it, a gentle warmth blooming at my brow. The light appeared again, stronger now, visible to everyone.
But it was wrong.
It had no color.
Not white-gold like the light mages. Not any of the seven colors that should appear. It was transparent, like looking through water, like heat shimmer on a summer road, like the edge of glass catching sunlight.
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Not applause. Something else. Something uneasy.
The priest stepped closer, studying my forehead with intense focus. "What... what color is that?"
"I don't know," someone whispered from the crowd.
"It's not shadow; shadow has depth, darkness. That's just... colorless."
I dared a glance toward my parents.
Mother’s face had frozen into something brittle and proud. Her eyes met mine, not with comfort, but with the terrible, quiet dignity of a woman holding herself together.
Father… Father couldn’t look at me. His head bowed. The space around him felt empty, hollowed out.
And in that silence, I understood: I had brought shame home with me.
When Mother’s hand found his, their fingers locked tight, united against the world. But I wasn’t part of that unity. I was what they were defending against.
“Come, Elsbeth,” Mother said when it was done.
Her voice was clear, calm, and stripped of warmth. Father walked on my other side, silent as stone.
We left the temple that way, a proud family with a hollow center.
Behind us, applause swelled for the next child, eager to bury the moment I had ruined.
The words followed me home.
The spark is absent.
I curled on my bed that night, face buried in my pillow, tears soaking the rough cloth. Outside my door, I heard their voices, low, worried.
“…a seamstress? Perhaps an apprentice?” Mother’s tone wavered. “She’s clever with her hands, Heinrich.”
Father’s reply was a sigh, heavy as iron. “No dowry. No magic. Who will take her? Who will protect her when we’re gone?”
Gone.
The word hollowed me out.
When I finally fell asleep, it was with my chest burning and my pillow damp.
I stood in a forest of light. The trees glowed, their leaves made of glass. The air hummed with power.
A figure stepped forward, tall, radiant, and woven from golden-green light.
“Elsbeth,” he said, and his voice was wind and water and bells. It felt familiar.
“Who are you?” I asked. “Are you here because I failed?”
He smiled sadly. “A vessel is not a failure for being empty, little spark. It is a promise waiting to be filled. Your story is not the one they wrote for you in that temple. It is older. It is…”
The light shattered.
I woke with a gasp. The room was grey and ordinary again. The dream was gone.
I lay there, trembling, the dawn creeping through the window.
“It was just a dream,” I whispered.
In the silence, his words echoed: “a promise waiting to be fulfilled.”
And now, the villagers have seen it with their own eyes—
the fact that Elsbeth is “colorless.”
How will they see her from now on?
How will they treat her?
And furthermore— that “mysterious being” appeared before Elsbeth.
What does he want from her?
Next time, same place, same time.
Please look forward to it.
Thank you for reading.
