The Day of the Mark

The gates of Fateweaver Academy towered like monoliths against the golden morning sky, casting long, regal shadows across the cobbled path that led into the courtyard. For most students, those gates were a symbol of triumph — proof that they had been chosen by fate, that their lives had meaning.

But for Kaito Mori, they were a doorway to the unknown.

He stood still for a moment before stepping inside, his heart hammering in his chest, his hands trembling slightly as he adjusted the strap of his old satchel. His uniform was clean but second-hand, the seams slightly worn, the buttons mismatched. Compared to the gleaming outfits of the other students around him, he looked like someone who had wandered in from the wrong part of the city.

Yet his eyes were full of hope.

Today wasn’t just the first day of classes. It was the day every first-year had waited for their entire lives — the Ceremony of Fate, where each student would receive their Mark.

A magical symbol, etched into their very being by the Mirror of Truth, the Mark of Fate determined their magical potential, their destiny, their role in the great narrative of the world. It appeared visibly on the face — a glowing sigil that pulsed with power, changing color and shape depending on the nature of the individual.

Some would leave today with golden marks, the sign of heroes destined to lead nations and wield unimaginable power. Others would receive silver or bronze, still worthy paths in their own right — warriors, healers, scholars, mages.

But Kaito… he had no idea what to expect.

For years, he had felt different, but he had always clung to a secret dream: that deep inside, maybe he was special — that his true self just hadn’t awakened yet. Maybe his hardships had been the universe testing him. Maybe the world was waiting for this moment to finally show him who he was meant to become.

"What if I’m gold?" he had whispered to himself just that morning, staring at his reflection. "What if I’m more than anyone expected?"

But now, standing among hundreds of other students in the open-air courtyard, that confidence felt like smoke slipping through his fingers. Murmurs of excitement filled the air, along with the rustle of robes and the sparkling hum of ambient magic that surrounded the academy grounds.

High above, a ring of floating statues — the Twelve Founders of Fateweaver — silently observed the ceremony, their stone eyes forever fixed on the center of the plaza, where the Mirror of Truth stood: a towering, crystalline monolith shaped like a sharp-edged flame, glowing faintly from within.

Kaito stared at it, heart racing.

That’s where it happens. That’s where I’ll find out.

An older woman in deep violet robes stepped onto the dais beside the Mirror — High Seer Aravelle, one of the ruling voices of the Council of Prophets. Her presence silenced the crowd instantly. She raised a hand and spoke, her voice carrying effortlessly, imbued with spellwork to reach every corner of the courtyard.

“By the law of fate and prophecy, and by the will of the Threads, we begin the Rite of Revelation.”

A hush fell. The first name was called.

One by one, students were summoned to place their hands on the Mirror. And one by one, they received their Marks.

The Mirror pulsed with magical light as each student approached. Sometimes it shimmered blue, sometimes red, sometimes silver or gold. The colors corresponded with elemental affinities and destiny classes — power types passed down through generations. For each Mark, a visual sigil burned itself onto the student’s skin, glowing proudly under their left eye or across their forehead.

Each time, the crowd gasped, clapped, or murmured in envy.

Kaito watched all of it from the back of the crowd, hands clenched, trying to calm his breath.

It’s almost my turn.

The names rolled by. Bright marks. Cheering families. Teachers smiling with pride.

“Mori, Kaito.”

The moment arrived.

He froze for a second, startled by the sound of his name in the cold, formal tone of the High Seer.

Then he stepped forward.

Each footstep felt heavy, echoing in his ears like drumbeats of fate. He felt eyes on him — curious, disinterested, some mocking already. His mismatched uniform, his small frame, his lack of reputation made him unremarkable. A no-name from a no-house. But none of that mattered now.

The Mirror will see the truth, he told himself. It will show them.

He stepped onto the dais, reached out, and laid his palm flat against the crystal’s surface.

The Mirror remained still.

No pulse. No glow. No heat.

Nothing.

Kaito frowned and pressed harder.

Still nothing.

The silence that followed was unnatural. The entire courtyard seemed to hold its breath.

The High Seer’s expression shifted ever so slightly — not confusion, but recognition. As if she had seen this before. As if she already knew what it meant.

“...No mark detected,” she said after a pause. “Proceed to Class D. Or withdraw.”

The words hit Kaito like a punch to the stomach.

“No… mark?” he whispered.

Gasps spread through the students. A few laughed under their breath. Some looked away in embarrassment for him. A few stared, fascinated — like he was a broken object on display.

He looked down at his hands. Then at the Mirror. Then back at the High Seer.

“There must be some mistake,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Could I… try again?”

But the High Seer had already called the next name.

The next student stepped forward, the Mirror immediately flashing with golden brilliance. The crowd erupted into cheers.

Kaito stepped off the dais slowly, his body numb. His eyes burned, but no tears came.

Why…? Why not me?

He walked back through the crowd like a ghost. No one stopped him. No one asked if he was okay.

No one even looked at him.

He found an empty bench in a corner of the courtyard, sat down, and stared at the stone tiles beneath his feet. In the distance, he heard laughter, celebration, and magic being cast into the sky like fireworks.

But in that moment, Kaito felt like the only person in the world.

For all his hopes, his dreams, his belief that maybe — just maybe — fate had something in store for him…

…he had been forgotten.

Or worse: never considered at all.

End of Chapter 1