Nine years ago, in the western reaches of Wanera Island, two children scurried between buildings of a desert village.

  “Slow down!” Firnix called out to his older sister, breathless.

  Anagi wheeled around to face him, bouncing on her feet. “If we don’t hurry we’ll miss out on a good spot! Don’t tell me you’re tired already.”

  Firnix quickened his pace. “I-I’m not… not tired. At all.”

  It was unfair her strides covered so much more distance than his, but he didn’t point it out. He didn’t want her to think less of him.

  “What’s so exciting at the front gate anyways?” he asked, hoping to slow her down.

  She didn’t slow. “You’re following me and you don’t even know?”

  His face heated.

  She paused and ruffled his hair as he came up by her.

  Unable to see properly with the bangs in his eyes, he nearly fell over. His face heated even more, and he dipped his head so she couldn’t see. “Stop it,” he muttered, even though he enjoyed it. Just a little.

  Anagi giggled. “They say a Soulcaster is coming to our village. You know what that is?”

  “Of course. They’re people with magical powers!”

  She giggled again, though he didn’t understand why this time.

  They stopped at an intersection as she decided which way to go, allowing him time to greedily gulp air. Not much time, unfortunately.

  “He was sent by the government to help us with our Horned Merkel problem,” she said. “All by himself. And he succeeded!”

  He didn’t know what government was, but he recognized Horned Merkel. “Oh, the lizard that was scaring all the adults.”

  Then he recognized an opportunity. “I know all about Horned Merkels. If the adults listened to me for advice, they could’ve beaten the one nearby themselves.” He struggled to keep up pace and still talk, but even Anagi was beginning to tire. “Like… like… like how they’re vulnable when they shed their skin. That’s the time to strike.”

  Having grown up with parents who served as herbalists in the lower district, he’d had plenty of opportunity to learn about the life sciences. Horned Merkels were just oversized lizards with horns. Even if he didn’t know much about them — they were quite rare — he could use his knowledge of lizards. It would surely impress his sister.

  “You’re so cute, Firnix,” she laughed, and his spirits fell.

  “What do you mean cute?”

  “Merkels all shed their skin piece by piece over time. There’s never a time when they’re vulnerable. Besides, this one was reported to be an adult. They almost never shed skin at that age.”

  Again, she knew more than him. Humiliating.

  As they neared the front gate, voices filled up the sun-sweltering air. Anagi wasn’t the only one excited to see the Soulcaster. Firnix hadn’t seen one before in his life, same as most of the rest of the village, probably. Out here in the outskirts of San Tora, far from the big cities of Soulcasting and power, outsiders rarely ever visited. Let alone a Soulcaster.

  They reached the back of the crowd on the east edge of the path leading in from the front gate. Tall, adult bodies swarmed like locusts, necks craned to the right.

  Anagi was taller than Firnix by a lot, but she was still just a ten year old. She wouldn’t be able to see anything over the adults’ heads either.

  She didn’t look the slightest bit discouraged. She grabbed his hand and smiled mischievously. “Hold on tight!”

  “Huh—”

  She waded into the sea of bodies. Firnix stumbled behind her, gripping her hand as tight as he could. The air was hot and thick, and he couldn’t see past his nose.

  So scary.

  A few adults looked down at the two children as they jostled by, but Firnix kept his gaze on the ground to not meet their expressions. To his surprise, no one shouted in anger, or stopped their advance.

  And they made it to the front.

  “What do you think?” Anagi said, ruffling Firnix’s hair. “We’re small, we could easily squeeze through the crowd. And no one’ll complain if we’re at the front since they can all see over us. I’m awesome, right?”

  “Wow,” he whispered, gazing over the wide open, dusty path and the closed, front gate made of stone to the right. He’d seen this many times before, having lived in the village his whole life, and thought nothing of it. But now, somehow, this sight felt like finding an oasis after a long trek through the dunes. Many of the adults at the back didn’t have nearly as clear a view.

  Anagi is so smart. And cool.

  The front gate creaked open. The crowd on either side of the path immediately fell into the silence of hushed whispers.

  The shift in atmosphere had his hairs standing on end. He peeked out, shielding his eyes from the harsh sun with a hand. Sand stretched out as far as the horizon.

  A quadrupedal mammal with a pristine white coat of fur tottered through the entrance. A man sat astride its back, reclined and hands loose on the reins.

  Firnix’s mouth hung open. “That must be a horse!”

  “And that must be the Soulcaster!” Anagi said. She jumped up and down, vibrating with energy.

  Firnix’s gaze slid up to the man.

  His broad shoulders carried a rich jacket of white and gold fabric, and his face bore an easy smile that seemed to drink in the crowd’s cheers at his presence. His shoulder-length hair was a bright orange. Was that normal? Everyone in the village had black or brown hair.

  The Soulcaster raised his arms, and the object in his grasp caught the sunlight.

  A gory, horned skull as large as his chest. Droplets of blood fell from it, mingling with the hoofprints his mount left behind in the sand.

  Anagi moved to cover his eyes, but Firnix got on his toes to look over her hand. “I’ve seen blood before,” he grumbled.

  She sighed, eyebrows furrowed, but her face instantly morphed into something sunnier as she turned back to the Soulcaster. His horse was just about to pass by them.

  “Good lord, may you give us a demonstration?” she called out.

  Wow, Firnix thought, attention glued to his sister. She doesn’t even talk with that much respect to Ma and Pa.

  The Soulcaster threw his head back and laughed. “Of course, my child!” he cried out.

  Three orbs of glowing orange light materialized. They spun in a circle over his head, slowly accelerating until they were each a blur, forming a ring — no, a halo.

  The crowd ooh-ed and aah-ed. Anagi’s eyes were bright and glossy.

  Firnix was too stunned to react. That man had just created three little suns over his head. How awesome was that! Was he even just a man?

  The ring of light suddenly split. The three orbs — actually, there were six now — flew in random directions over the crowd’s heads. Some people shrunk away while others reached up to touch the lights, but no one kept silent at the spectacle — the marvel.

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  “Hey, Anagi?” Firnix whispered, pulling on her sleeve.

  Her eyes remained on the Soulcaster. “What?” she asked absently.

  “He wasn’t born like that, was he?”

  “Of course not,” she said with that dismissive tone, as if she was talking to a little child. “All Soulcasters have to grow and develop their powers. From noncaster, to Base, to Medial, and so on.”

  “You sound so enthusiastic about it,” Firnix noted. “Do you want to become a Soulcaster too?”

  Her wide eyes snapped to his, holding with a different emotion now. Fear. She quickly glanced up at the adults near them. None of them were paying attention, and she breathed out.

  “What did I say?” Firnix asked, shifting uncomfortably.

  She seemed to deflate, as if all her fiery excitement had been blown away by a foul wind. “We cannot become Soulcasters.”

  “We can’t? But you said—”

  She put a hand on his head, silencing him. He put on a show of trying to squirm out of her strong grasp but gave up quickly.

  “Everyone can become a Soulcaster, but most of us, in our great nation of San Tora at least, actually can’t.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  She winced. “Maybe Ma or Pa can tell you. I guess you’re too young, they haven’t told you anything yet.”

  He reddened, half-embarrassed, half-angry. “Too young? You’re still a kid too!”

  “I’m very old compared to you.”

  He pouted, but gave up on arguing.

  As minutes passed and the crowd near the gate dispersed, Anagi ruffled his hair. “Let’s go back home.”

  With a slumped posture, she trudged back. Firnix followed on her heels, playing her words over and over again in his head.

  What did she mean they can, but can’t become Soulcasters? Why did she look so defeated?

  It didn’t make sense. She was always perfect. I should be the one who’s feeling defeated. He’d always lived in her shadow. He could never impress her, no matter what he did, because she was always better.

  He remembered how she’d looked at that Soulcaster. The respect she’d given him. Even just once, he wanted her to look at him like that too. Because that was the way he looked at her every day.

  He wanted to prove himself to his older sister.

  “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  “Foraging the rocky hills again? Don’t come home with scrapes like last time,” she said. “Ma will yell at me again.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m not leaving the village this time!”

  After all, the Soulcaster was inside.

  It didn’t take long to find him.

  A sizable group of villagers had followed him down to the tavern to point and gawk. Firnix entered the sour-smelling establishment and located the orange-haired man quickly. No one sat too close to him, despite all the attention. Firnix paused, unsure of whether he was allowed to speak to the Soulcaster. Was there some rule keeping the villagers from drawing nearer?

  Just as he thought to turn away, the Soulcaster met his gaze.

  Firnix froze.

  “You look like you have something to say. Come here.”

  Firnix took a seat beside the Soulcaster. He stared intently at the swirling lines on the wood of the table.

  I shouldn’t be here.

  But Anagi spoke to him earlier!

  And I can’t impress her if I’m always scared! I should be brave like her. No, braver!

  “What’s a runt like you doing in a place like this?” The Soulcaster asked, gesturing to his tankard. “You came here just to meet me?”

  Firnix nodded.

  “Ask away.”

  He recalled the sun-like orbs, how they flew through the air and captured everyone’s attention and awe. Especially how they captured his sister’s. “I want to be like you. Can you teach me?”

  “Like me?”

  “A Soulcaster.”

  “A Soulcaster? Why would you want that?”

  “I want be awesome too.”

  “Awesome, huh?” The Soulcaster swished the liquid in his tankard, frowning. “You are from this village, yes?”

  The Soulcaster seemed a lot less friendly all of a sudden, but he couldn’t figure out why. “Yes?”

  “So you’re of low caste.”

  “Low caste?” Firnix had heard that term from somewhere. He looked around for help, but the onlookers were well out of earshot, murmuring and pointing.

  Oh, right! Something about how our nation divides its people. I guess everyone in this village is considered low caste, whatever that means.

  “Even if you’re a kid, this is no joke. It’s just no joke.” The Soulcaster’s frown deepened. “This won’t do. You can’t be a Soulcaster. Forget the thought. Go on, scurry away.”

  Not him too. Everyone always said he wasn’t good enough. I want to be worth something too. “Please, mister, please,” Firnix said. When he saw the man make a shoo-ing motion, he added, “anyone can be a Soulcaster. It’s not something you’re born with. I’ll grow, I’ll develop! Just tell me how?”

  The Soulcaster’s eyes seemed to bulge. “I told you to leave. Did your parents not teach you manners?”

  Firnix’s lip trembled, unsure of what was wrong. “Manners?”

  The Soulcaster stood. “Yes, manners. An understanding of your place in this world. If manners aren’t taught, we’d be nothing more than a nation of monkeys.” And he grinned, an odd grin, unlike anything Firnix had seen on his sister or parents or anyone else. “It has to be done. Show me to your parents.”

  “My parents?”

  Shaking from nerves, equal parts excitement and apprehension, he led the way back home.

  Will I really learn to create glowing orbs? he thought. No, every Soulcaster has a different ability. Maybe I can learn to conjure exotic plants, or talk to rare animals. Oh, that’s a good one! I could protect the village from dangerous beings like the Horned Merkel by talking them out of harming anyone.

  Anagi is going to be so proud of me. I’ll do whatever I need to for that to happen. Whatever I need to.

  Firnix’s house squatted on the outskirts of the village, almost right by the wall opposite the front gate. Every building was in a state of humble disrepair around here. He was used to it, but the Soulcaster seemed surprised by every loose brick and cracked windowpane.

  “This is it,” Firnix said, pointing. “Are you going to ask them for permission to teach me?”

  “I’m not going to teach you anything,” the Soulcaster said. “At least, not in the way you’re imagining.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  The Soulcaster raised an eyebrow. “Do you really not know? The low caste cannot become Soulcasters.”

  “Low caste?

  “You don’t know what that is? Hm, this far from civilization, I suppose you’ve only met Low castes your whole life.”

  “B-but everyone can become a Soulcaster—”

  “This again?” The Soulcaster dropped to his haunches and looked Firnix in the eye. “You’re right. All you need is a Soulcaster’s Will. A strong ambition. But in this nation, the low caste can’t be allowed to get the power to disrupt our nation’s peace. Our nation’s order.”

  “I don’t want to disrupt any peace or order! I just want—”

  “You’ll understand when you’re older.” The Soulcaster rose. “You’ll understand that sometimes, important things can only be protected by bitter acts. If those among the low caste are encouraged to dream of Soulcasting, it’ll be too large a problem to manage. Unfortunately, your desire deserves a punishment. Your parents aren’t supposed to have raised you to be ignorant like this. They’ll have to be killed—”

  “They didn’t do anything wrong!” Firnix shouted. His throat constricted as he realized how disrespectful it was to interrupt. But he continued. “Punish me. I’m the one who was stupid and talked to you! I didn’t know…”

  “Sorry.”

  Nothing the Soulcaster said could’ve stung more. Sorry? Really?

  “We can pretend this didn’t happen—”

  “I gave you that chance,” the Soulcaster said, nose flared, “but you went and ruined my mood. I come help you lows out in the middle of nowhere to be treated like something inherently greater. Because I am. I don’t want brazen little gutterlings thinking they can grow up to be like me.”

  The Soulcaster went into the house.

  Firnix sat against a sandstone wall, hunched over, knees drawn to his chest, head cradled between his hands.

  It’s all my fault.

  What now.

  It’s all my fault.

  Mom. Dad. Anagi.

  He’s going to kill me after them.

  And he resolved on the most pathetic course of action.

  Maybe there was something he could’ve done. Talked the Soulcaster of out it. Bit the man in the leg, making himself a target instead. Something.

  Instead, he ran.