A Hole in the Sky

The magical carriage came to a halt with a soft hiss.

The door opened, and Kade stepped down onto polished stone.

He stopped.

The plaza before him spread out like a mirror, an immense circle of white stone polished to an unnatural sheen, reflecting the morning light in soft waves. It looked less like it had been built, and more like it had been grown.

At its center rose three towers.

Kade stared.

For a long moment, he could do nothing else.

They didn’t look like regular buildings. Spires without seams, arches without supports, bridges stretched between them suspended in air.

They didn’t seem bound by stone or gravity.

They seemed... inevitable.

The first tower was silver, elegant and veined with flowing lines of light that pulsed faintly, as if the tower itself breathed.

The second gleamed gold, broader, heavier, with windows set deep into its frame.

And the third stood darker than both, a tower of deep red that drank light instead of reflecting it. Where the others curved, this one cut in sharp angles.

Kade’s throat felt tight.

He hadn’t expected to feel so small.

“Whoa,” he whispered.

Beside him, Bilia had already hopped down, her eyes locked on the silver tower.

“That one’s for the Flame of Grace," she said with the assurance of someone who’d memorized every fact in a book and was thrilled to finally recite it. “It’s where we’re going. Only the Marked get to go to the upper floors. That’s where the Mirrors of Truth are. And the dream gardens. And the vaults.”

Kade glanced at her. “You really know your stuff.”

She puffed up a little. “It’s in our lessons. It is the Silver Tower. The one in the middle, the golden one, is the Flame of Form’s Tower. Mother is aligned to this flame, so is Hanel. And that one, the red one...” Her voice dropped. “That’s the Flame of Will’s. For fighters.”

Kade frowned. “Fighters?”

“She means it’s the order responsible for law and military,” said Hanel, stepping beside them, his voice dry but not unkind. His Marked coat gleamed faintly in the sun, high-collared and perfectly pressed. “The Red Tower judges. The Golden governs. Silver heals and teachs. All from Mother Moon. The Third Moon.”

Kade looked up again, eyes tracing the towers.

“But... I’ve only ever seen two moons. Where’s the third one?”

There was a pause.

Then Hanel said softly, “She’s not in the sky anymore.”

Akalis stood just behind them, she looked more thoughtful than usual.

Kade turned toward Hanel. “Where did she go?”

Hanel nodded once toward the silver tower.

“Mother Moon wasn’t just a moon. She descended. Long ago, when the world was being consumed by the dark. She came down. Met a mortal warrior. And gave birth to the first of the Marked.”

“She gave up the sky?” Kade asked. “That sounds like something out of the old Earth legends.”

“It wasn’t a myth,” Hanel said. “She didn’t die. She became magic.”

The way he said it reverently, sent a chill down Kade’s spine. Like hearing the first lines of a story that had shaped the world.

“She gave her power to her children,” Hanel continued. “The Marked are her legacy. Through them, her light remains. But it was a one-way gift. She never returned.”

Kade looked back up at the sky. This time, he could imagine it: two moons still circling, and an empty space where a third had once been.

A hole in the heavens, shaped by sacrifice.

“She saved everyone,” Bilia added, quieter now. “And the Twin Moons were sad. So now they watch over her children.”

Kade found himself smiling softly.

The twin moons were still visible, even in daylight, ghostly in the pale blue sky.

And inside him, his magic stirred. Like it agreed.

They began to walk, their footsteps echoing lightly across the white stone. The path led straight toward the Silver Tower. As they passed under a low arch shading the entrance, a breeze stirred from between the towers, cool and perfumed with flowers and incense. The air felt heavier here. Older.

“So…” Kade said, glancing up at the tower that loomed above them. “This is where it all starts?”

Bilia grinned. “Yes! This is where they measure your soul!”

That made Kade chuckle. Even Hanel allowed himself a faint smile.

“That’s one way to put it.”

Ahead, the doors to the Silver Tower rose without hinge or handle, an unbroken surface carved with interlocking rings. As they approached, the rings began to glow, pulsing in and out like a heartbeat.

Kade stared, heart bounding.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s see what my measurements are then.”

****

The moment they stepped inside, the light changed.

It fell soft and silver through crystalline panels high above, casting broken halos across pale marble that made no sound underneath their boots.

A man stood in the center of the atrium. He wore simple clothes, white trimmed in silver. Worn with the ease of someone who didn’t need to impress. His sleeves were rolled up to the forearms, ink stains marking his fingers.

Around his neck hung a thin chain bearing a single moonstone, milky and soft, glimmering faintly in the filtered light.

“Marked Badania,” he said, bowing. His voice was gentle, practiced. “You are most welcome. The High Priest is completing a dedication. Please, follow me.”

He turned without further ceremony, and they fell into step behind him.

The halls of the Silver Tower were wide, but never empty. Murmurs drifted like wind through leaves, chants from far-off chambers, the rustle of clothes, the steady trickle of water somewhere unseen.

As they passed a long corridor that opened into a vaulted space beyond, Kade slowed.

Through a high archway, he glimpsed a wide chamber filled with people.

They were commoners.

Some sat in rows, waiting. Others moved forward in soft procession, speaking with white-robed attendants. Further inside, silver light flickered, and the scent of medicinal herbs hung in the air.

“What’s that room?” he asked.

The scribe slowed, glancing back. “The Healing Halls. The Silver Order does not turn away the sick or wounded.”

Kade’s eyes caught on a pair of figures entering the room. A man, young, gaunt, cradled something in his arms, wrapped in a pale blanket.

A toddler. Its face peeked out, red-cheeked and fussing softly.

The woman at his side reached to soothe it.

Something in Kade’s chest pulled tight. A pressure. A memory.

Hospitals. Pain. Loneliness.

He looked away.

Hanel’s eyes lingered on him.

Beside him, Bilia tugged his sleeve. “You okay?”

Kade forced a smile. “Yeah. I’m good.”

But even as he said it, warmth spread through his ribs, his magic, responding like it always did, like a second heartbeat.

Steadying him.

He exhaled slowly and kept walking.

****

They turned into a narrower corridor, arched and dim, its curvature rising like the inside of a great shell. At the far end, the scribe stepped forward.

He lifted the crystal pendant from his neck, pressing it gently to a crescent-shaped sigil carved into the wall.

The rune pulsed.

Lines branched outward like veins of moonlight, and the wall itself gave a quiet sigh, like stone remembering breath.

Then the floor beneath them shifted with seamless grace.

The entire chamber rose, carrying them upward through the tower’s spine.

Kade grinned. “It’s a magic lift.”

Bilia blinked. “A what?”

“Nothing,” he muttered, smiling to himself.

The room ascended in silence, lit only by the slow pulse of the rune lines wrapping around its circular edge. There were no cables. No groaning machinery. Just upward motion that felt more like floating than movement at all

Then, with a gentle halt, they stopped.

The doors parted outward without a sound.

Light greeted them, bright, reverent.

The air changed.

****

The room they entered was vast in the way temples feel when they are old and sacred and built with intent reverence.

There was no ceiling, only a wide opening above, revealing blue sky and the faint silhouette of the moons, still lingering in daylight.

At the far end stood a half-moon dais, carved directly into the floor. Lunar sigils wove around its edges, faintly glowing with embedded light.

The entire chamber was circled in celestial patterns: arcs, rings, intersecting lines that mirrored the heavens.

On the walls were a mosaics of darker tiles, forming the likeness of the Mother Moon. She stood tall, arms outstretched, her robes flowing and merging with stars. Around her were four children, each gleaming, each distinct.

Kade’s breath caught.

But it was the center of the room that held his gaze.

A child stood on the dais. He couldn’t have been older than five. Dressed in ceremonial white, the boy looked fragile, a silk ribbon tied around his wrist. Three beads threaded through it, silver, gold, and red, clinked faintly as he trembled in place.

Behind him stood his parents, dressed in formal attire, stiff with nervous energy. The mother gripped her own hands tightly. An older girl, maybe a sister, stood a few paces to the side, silent and still.

The scribe raised a hand.

“We must wait,” he said quietly, “until the High Priest concludes the rite.”

He was already there.

The High Priest stood at the brazier, tall and old, his presence like gravity. His hair, long and streaked with silver, trailing behind his head.

He lit the three-tiered brazier.

The flames rose silver.

Then his voice, strong, unhurried, filled the chamber.

“Magic,” he said, “is not merely power. It is soul. It is body. It is blood. It reflects will it.”

His words echoed in the wide room.

Kade didn’t realize he was holding his breath.

“That’s Teyel,” Bilia whispered, pointing to the boy. “He just started school. Youngest awakened in years.”

Kade watched the boy.

He looked small. Uncertain but trying to appear brave.

“He must be strong,” Bilia muttered, frowning.

Hanel’s voice came quiet beside her. “Not all early awakenings are signs of strength.”

Bilia crossed her arms. “But most are. I’m already seven. If I awakened now, it’d be weaker.”

Akalis spoke then, calm as ever. “I awakened two months before my eighth birthday.”

Bilia’s head snapped toward her. “You never told me that.”

Akalis gave her a soft smile.

Bilia fell quiet, seemingly thinking about this.

Kade’s attention was pulled by a shift near the entrance.

Crimson coat.

“Hi, Velis,” Kade said before he could stop himself.

The air changed.

Bilia turned. Akalis’s gaze sharpened. Hanel’s posture straightened.

Velis stepped into the chamber, hands clasped behind his back. His crimson coat, more vibrant than Kade remembered, cut a stark line through the white and silver room.

“Hello, Kade,” Velis replied smoothly, as if they were casual acquaintances.

As if he hadn’t cuffed Kade’s wrists and called it a procedure.

Akalis’s voice was like a blade sheathed in velvet.

“Marked Velis. This is a curious place to find a Red Order member.”

Velis inclined his head. “I was informed that the ward under your protection experienced an unusual awakening. I came to observe.”

Hanel spoke up, measured and quiet. “This isn’t Red Tower jurisdiction.”

“No, it’s not,” Velis agreed. “But the report reached us nonetheless. And I happened to be nearby.”

There was something under the words. Friction.

Kade watched their faces, felt the weight of words he didn’t fully understand.

Then, softly: “It’s because you don’t trust me still.”

The silence that followed was immediate.

Velis blinked. Akalis turned slowly to look at Kade. Hanel didn’t move, but the focus of his presence shifted to Kade.

“You think something will go wrong,” Kade said.

Like he was reading the room aloud.

Velis opened his mouth. Hesitated.

Then: “There should be no reason for anything to go wrong.” Firmer. “I’m here to witness. That’s all.”

He nodded once and moved aside.

But the weight lingered.

Akalis didn’t look away. Her expression was thoughtful now, measuring.

Hanel gave a low hum, barely audible.

Bilia scowled fiercely after him. Completely loyal. “Why doesn’t he trust you?” she whispered.

Kade had no answer.

*****

A ripple of movement drew their eyes to the dais.

The High Priest stepped forward, cradling a tall crystal vessel. Within it, a silvery substance sparkled, neither liquid nor light.

Bilia clutched Kade’s sleeve. “This is it,” she whispered. “Now they see how much light he has.”

Kade leaned toward her. “What happens?”

“That’s moon water,” she said. “When it touches your skin, it glows, stronger if your magic’s strong. Oh, and the colour says which alignment you belong to.”

He nodded, watching.

Akalis added, her voice soft and edged with nostalgia, “The last time I saw it fill a room was when Elsen was tested. Nearly blinded us all.”

Kade blinked at her.

She smiled a rare warm smile.

He turned back, heart quickening.

The High Priest lifted the urn above the boy’s head.

“The Rite begins,” he intoned. “Let the moons see the soul, and call it forth.”

He tipped the vessel.

The first drop landed on the boy’s forehead.

And light bloomed.

A ripple of nearly white light spread across his skin, brightening ever so slightly. It deepened, layer by layer, glowing until the child looked carved from moonlight.

The chamber itself responded, the silver in the mosaics catching the light and shining.

Kade stared in awe.

Bilia was trembling beside him. “He is strong,” she whispered.

Then the light faded.

The boy exhaled. He smiled up at the priest.

He smiled back.

“Marked by the Flame of Grace," she said. “Blessed be the light that carries healing.”

The mother rushed forward, wrapping the child in shaking arms. The sister joined, laughing through tears. The father gathered them all in his arms, eyes wet.

Kade couldn’t look away.

“That magic was silver,” he said, “what was it?”

Hanel leaned toward him. “Each Flame has its colour. Flame of Grace silver. The Flame of Will is red. Flame of Form is Golden.”

Kade nodded slowly. That was odd. His magic was none of the three. His magic was blue.

The magic stirred gently in his chest.

It felt ready. Listening.

Then the scribe approached, face serene.

“It is time,” he said. “Come, so we may help you prepare.”

Kade hesitated, one last look toward the boy, the flames, the dais.

Then he stepped forward.

As he followed the scribe from the chamber, his magic pulsed in anticipation.

He smiled softly.

“I’m going to learn your name,” he whispered to it. “Finally.”