Continuing Chapter 3: The Menju Awakening]

  The Altar of Menju was ancient—built long before even the Kingdom of Eiros stood. It sat on a stone plateau surrounded by blackroot trees, whispering in the wind like they remembered every soul who awakened here.

  Tall robed priests stood at its edge, their faces hidden, their voices low and rhythmic as they chanted in an old tongue.

  In the center of the stone altar stood a single silver goblet, filled with the sacred Wine of Awakening—a dark, thick liquid made from moonfruit, bloodrose, and the crushed tears of a Menju beast.

  Noel and Kaizel stood side by side, their hands slightly trembling—not from fear, but the sheer weight of the moment.

  “Step forward, children,” one of the priests intoned, voice like gravel. “Drink, and awaken your truth.”

  Kaizel went first. He lifted the goblet to his lips and drank.

  For a moment—silence.

  Then, black mist swirled at his feet.

  The air chilled. His shadow stretched unnaturally, writhing like it had a will of its own. Then it snapped back into shape beneath him, tighter, darker, sharper.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  Kaizel’s eyes glowed faint violet.

  He knelt, gasping softly. His body felt lighter, faster. He could feel his heartbeat slowing while his mind grew sharper—like a blade being polished by night itself.

  “…Whoa,” he muttered, blinking at his hands. “I feel… fast.”

  “Shadow-born,” one priest whispered. “Rare. Dangerous. Balanced.”

  “Show-off,” Noel whispered beside him, wide-eyed.

  Kaizel smirked and handed him the goblet. “Your turn, Thunder God.”

  Noel took the goblet, heart pounding like a war drum. He tipped it back—and the taste hit like fire and lightning at once. It seared through his throat, through his chest, through his bones.

  He dropped to one knee, gritting his teeth.

  Sparks leapt from his fingertips.

  A single crack of thunder echoed above—just once—and then... silence.

  No great storm. No burst of power. Just a tiny flicker of electricity dancing across his palm like a dying spark.

  One of the priests stepped forward, brows furrowed. “Unstable… incomplete…”

  The whispers began.

  > “That’s it?”

  “Just sparks?”

  “What a joke…”

  Noel looked at his palm, watching the flicker vanish. The silence was louder than any thunder.

  Kaizel stood beside him, quiet.

  Noel swallowed hard and forced a grin. “Guess I’ll have to work a little harder, huh.

  Kaizel helped Noel to his feet as the last spark fizzled out in his hand.

  The priests said nothing more. Their judgment had already been passed in silence.

  As they stepped off the altar, Noel’s head hung low, eyes staring at the callused lines of his palm.

  He'd dreamed of lightning storms. Of shattering mountains with thunder. Of glowing eyes and roaring skies.

  But all he got… was a spark.

  Back at the foot of the hill, other kids were already whispering.

  > “Kaizel got shadows. That’s so cool.”

  “Noel just got… what, static?”

  “Tch. All bark, no bite.”

  Kaizel shot them a glare that made them scatter. Then he turned to Noel and elbowed him lightly.

  “Don’t listen to them. You’ll probably learn to fry people eventually.”

  Noel gave a dry laugh. “Yeah. I’ll be a walking bug zapper. Fear me.”

  Kaizel grinned. “Hey, at least you won’t lose in hide-and-seek during thunderstorms.”

  Noel cracked a small smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

  > “What if this is all I have?”

  “What if I can’t change anything with just… sparks?”

  Kaizel looked at him seriously for a second, then put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Then we change it together.”

  They walked back to the orphanage under a quiet sky. Noel didn’t feel like a god. He felt like a candle trying to pretend it was lightning.

  But somewhere, deep in his bones, something buzzed—a hum too quiet to notice, like the calm before a real storm.