Departure - Chapter 4

Children gathered near the entrance, dressed in the same white and navy as Lance and me, their nervous chatter blending with the murmur of parents who waited just outside. The air smelled faintly of incense, sharp and briny. Like the many herbs I’d probably steeped in water before. We filed inside, our soft shoes brushing against the old wooden floor. Lanterns swayed in the rafters, their flames dancing a golden light over the navy banners that hung between the walls. The front of the chapel was marked by a wide altar, seashells, and coral laid neatly around the base as offerings from years past.

I felt my knees tremble. This was it. “Stay steady,” Lance whispered beside me, so low I almost thought I imagined it. I nodded once, clutching the hem of my dress until my knuckles ached. One by one, the children were called forward. They stepped to the altar, placed their hands upon the etched crest carved into the wood, and whispered their names. A faint light would respond, revealing their affinity—tiny motes of energy drifted upward, shimmering in the air. I tried to focus on the ones ahead of me. The first, a boy with sandy hair, pressed his hands to the crest. Light spilled upward, not in shards or sparks, but in a warm outline of a net with a fish caught within it. “Affinity: Fisherman,” the elder declared as the townsfolk nodded approvingly. No surprise there—his father apparently taught him the trade since he could walk.

Next, a girl, smaller than me, whispered her name. The light took the shape of a ladle, steam curling from its edge. “Affinity: Cooking.” Her mother wept with joy, clapping her hands together, and the girl’s cheeks turned scarlet. Others followed: a boy attuned to carpentry, his light forming the clear lines of a saw and timber. Another girl with a healer’s touch, the glow becoming herbs bound neatly with twine. Each gift felt practical and familiar. Meant to weave into the town’s way of life. But then, my name was called.

“Chloe Mallory.”

The sound of it seemed to echo far longer than it should have. My legs weakly carried me forward, though they felt like they didn’t belong to me. Each step floated and dragged at the same time. I reached the altar, my reflection faintly visible in its polished surface. My hair shone brightly under the lanterns; the scale bows glimmered the same sea green as before. I breathed in once, slow and steady. Like Father had taught me. I pressed both palms to the crest. Warmth surged beneath my hands, flooding upward into my chest. It wasn’t painful, but it was consuming, like a tide pulling me farther from the shore than I dared to swim. My lips parted without meaning to, and I whispered, “Chloe Mallory.”

The altar responded.

Light gathered, sharp and clean, then fractured into shards that shimmered like glass. They turned, spun, and rearranged themselves into a single symbol. It was a single, open eye. Its surface glimmered as though reflecting everything it saw. The elder’s eyes widened at the sight, looking at me with curious eyes.

“Affinity: Appraisal.”

The word left the elder’s mouth; his voice was calm but edged with something that I couldn’t put my finger on. Murmurs rose like waves breaking against the rocks. Rare. Curious. Completely unusual. I forced myself to stand tall, to keep my eyes forward, even though my heart was threatening to pound its way out of my chest. Inside, I repeated Father’s words like a prayer: “Say nothing more. This is enough. Appraisal is what they need to see.” But still, as the light slowly dimmed and my hands fell back to my sides, I couldn’t stop the thought that whispered through me.

“This gift is not the only thing I carry.”

I turned from the altar, my eyes briefly finding Lance in the crowd. He gave me a small nod, steady and sure. My legs felt like reeds swaying in a current, but I was able to walk back to my spot securely. The ceremony went on. Many of the other children found paths as bakers, tailors, herbalists, and scribes. Ordinary, steady futures that drew smiles and hope from their families. But mine…was something else entirely.