The sun peeked timidly over the mountains of Zinara, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson. The first rays of morning touched the village of Kael, one of the oldest settlements in southern Dorado. Its black stone houses and red rooftops seemed to breathe under the early mist. It was a new day in Aertis, but to Zenit Castellaro, the world remained old, cruel, and predictable.

  “Zenit! Hurry up, you’re late again!” shrieked the voice of Aunt Rema from downstairs.

  Zenit sighed, eyes fixed on the wooden ceiling above his bed. He didn’t want to get up. He didn’t want to face the stares. He didn’t want to hear the whispers.

  “The boy with no Magic Power… what a disgrace to the Castellaro clan.”

  His fists clenched instinctively. Slowly, he rose, adjusted his crooked glasses over his round face, and grabbed his faded black cloak.

  He descended the stairs silently, avoiding eye contact. His aunt was already slicing vegetables with her shadow magic, knives floating mid-air with lethal precision.

  “Take this to Mike. He left it here yesterday,” she said, tossing a small wooden box at him.

  Zenit caught it mid-air, barely keeping it from hitting the floor.

  Mike. The perfect guy. Heir to the Gallagher clan. Master of Blue Fire. Handsome, athletic, popular. And somehow, his best friend since they were kids.

  The village was already awake. Merchants were setting up stalls in the central square, guards patrolled the streets, and children ran through the alleys, laughing. Zenit walked with his head low — ignored by some, stared at by others. No one feared him. No one respected him.

  “Hey, Zenit!” a cheerful voice called from his left.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  There he was. Michael Gallagher. Wearing his usual wide smile, golden eyes gleaming, and that natural aura of leadership.

  “Dude, did you see yesterday’s training? It was insane! My dad summoned a wall of magma, and Master Aedan ran over it wearing a full fire armor! You should’ve come!”

  Zenit gave a soft, closed-mouth smile.

  “I was... studying. Arcane history.”

  Mike laughed. “Always the nerd. I like that.”

  The day went on like any other — Zenit on the sidelines, observing. The magic academy had rejected him three times. His body didn’t emit a single spark of PM. But that night would change everything.

  Taking one of his usual evening walks to the abandoned temple outside the village — a place he visited when he wanted to be alone — Zenit noticed a strange light emanating from the ruined altar. A silent, violet pulse lit the stone circle like a heart beating in the dark.

  He stepped closer, cautiously. Every step made the air colder, as if the night itself were holding its breath. The nearby vegetation was withered, as if burned by some dark flame. The stone beneath his feet vibrated with ancient, forgotten energy.

  At the center of the cracked altar, floating just inches from the ground, was a ring. Black as the void, glowing with a faint purple pulse, and surrounded by slow-spinning arcane runes, orbiting like tiny moons.

  Zenit froze just a few steps away.

  “What… is that?”

  “Come, heir of the void…”

  The voice entered his mind uninvited. Deep, ancient, heavy with promise and power. Zenit stepped back, but his body trembled — as if something unseen had taken hold.

  His hand reached out, trembling. His fingers brushed the ring — but there was no contact.

  The ring shot toward him.

  Pain exploded through his body. A burning current tore through his nerves, like blades of fire and ice carving his insides at once. Zenit screamed, collapsing to his knees. His eyes rolled back. His mind drowned in visions.

  Wars in nameless realms. Armies of the dead marching under shattered moons. A throne of bone wrapped in black mist. And a faceless king with a sword buried in his heart.

  Zenit gasped and fell sideways. The pain vanished as suddenly as it came. He lay on his back, drenched in sweat, staring at the starless sky.

  He felt… something. Inside. A foreign energy — cold and sharp — throbbing like a second heartbeat.

  He lifted his hand. His veins pulsed dark under the skin. The ring’s runes were now burned into his wrist, branded like a curse.

  Zenit sat up slowly, trying to steady his breath. He didn’t know what had happened. But something had changed.

  The boy with no Magic Power now carried a forbidden secret.

  And this was only the beginning.