The Powerless

"Where's my mark? Where's my power?"

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As the sun set, creating long shadows over the village of Baltalaha, Morvane plodded his way home, carrying the burden of dismay on his shoulders.

His heart was in chaos with emotions—

confusion, sadness, and inadequacy. The day supposed to be the genesis of his journey was now, a painful memory.

Silent concern filled the faces of Esmael and Luna as they walked beside him. They tried to comfort him during the walk, but no words seemed to help. Morvane walked with his head down, avoiding much speech because his thoughts had gotten all jumbled up with doubts.

"Perhaps it's only a delay," Esmael softly said, offering reassurance.

"Yeah, probably," Luna whispered, her voice soft. "It happens sometimes, right?"

Morvane shook his head slowly, the sadness in his eyes deepening. "No," he muttered bitterly. "There hasn't been any delays ever since this started. Everyone gets their power during the first full moon of the year. This is. This is different."

He paused, his voice faltering but filled with a quiet resolve. "I'm the first in history to be powerless. Not even healing magic. Nothing. I'm a freak."

The words dangled between them, and Luna and Esmael shared a worried look. They did not know how to make him feel better. They did not know how to mend what had been broken.

When Morvane finally reached the doorway of his home, he dragged himself in, his head bowed. The house was humble, yet it was always warm and comforting. But today, it was cold to him, as if the very walls sensed his desperation.

At that moment, he entered the room and found his grandmother standing up for him, having been waiting in the living room. She had seen the ceremony from the crowd: it was at the moment she knew that her grandson had not received his mark that she knew what happened. Her expression showed a mixture of understanding and deep concern.

"Morvane.", she said softly, a soft whisper of comfort. "I know, my dear."

He did not answer. Morvane simply sat down in the nearest chair and hid his face in his hands. His grandmother came over and knelt beside him, a quiet elegance surrounding her movements.

"Let me check something," she whispered.

Her hands were filled with a pale, soothing glow as she placed them atop of Morvane's chest, tracing the faint marks of the cut hidden under his clothes. She had a sensation of a slight, secretive injury earlier when Morvane hadn't noticed it—a possible result of the chaotic awakening ceremony, some unseen magic striking him without his awareness.

Her healing magic swirled around her fingers, and with a light touch, the wound vanished, leaving no trace.

"Don't worry, my child," she said, her voice warm and soothing. "You will find your power when the time is right. There's no need to rush. All things come in their own time."

Morvane looked up at her, his heart still heavy, but comforted by the gentle presence of his grandmother. She smiled softly at him, her eyes filled with warmth and wisdom.

"You are not powerless, Morvane. You're just on a different path. And one day, you'll understand why."

Morvane did not say anything else after his grandmother's comforting words. He just stood up, his shoulders slumping in defeat, and muttered, "I'm tired. I want to sleep." He walked silently to his room, shutting the door behind him.

But despite the fatigue that weighed upon him, sleep did not come. His mind was too loud, too full of questions and fears. He tossed and turned in his bed, trying to shut out the ache in his heart, but the thoughts kept circling.

Unable to stay still any longer, he threw off his covers and crept out of his room. He climbed out the back window, his feet landing lightly on the ground. With slow, deliberate steps, he made his way to the roof of their small home. There, he sat down, feeling the cool night air brush against his skin.

He looked up at the full moon, its silvery light casting shadows across the land, and his heart grew heavier. His eyes, once so full of excitement, now reflected only confusion and sorrow.

"Why? Why me?" he whispered to the moon, his voice trembling. "Why didn't I get a mark? Why am I different? What am I supposed to do now? Everyone else has their power. Everyone but me."

The moon was silent in the sky and did not provide any answers. The weight of the world pressed down on him. He didn't know how long he sat there staring at the moon with tears welling up in his eyes.

Then, without warning, they fell. Silent tears slid down his cheeks, his body trembling with the intensity of his emotions. The burden of being the only one without power, of being the only one who felt he didn't belong, felt unbearable.

His grandmother, meanwhile, had been looking out the window. She looked around the empty room of her grandson Morvane. Then she noticed that he was up on the roof. She moved quietly to go outside, softly treading with gentle calls.

"Morvane. get down here, child. It's getting late."

At first, Morvane didn't respond. He didn't want to face her, not when his emotions were so raw. He wanted to be left alone, to hide from everything, to shut out the world that felt so unfair. But his grandmother's voice, gentle yet firm, called again.

"Morvane, please. Come down. I don't want you out there alone."

He hesitated for a moment longer, the words swirling in his mind. Then, slowly, he stood up, the weight of his sorrow still heavy on his chest. He climbed down from the roof and went inside, where his grandmother was waiting.

She smiled softly, but her eyes said otherwise. She had seen his tears, and she knew. In her hands was an old leather-bound book, worn from years of use.

"Do you want me to read you a story? Something to help you sleep?" she asked with a gentle, soothing voice.

Morvane looked at her, a small, sad smile tugging at his lips. "I'm not a youngster anymore, Grandma. I don't need bedtime stories."

But his grandmother only chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with warmth and affection. "You're never too old for a story, Morvane. Sometimes, stories help us find the answers we're looking for."

Morvane hesitated, his heart lifting a little at the thought of his grandmother's comfort. "Maybe. just a little one," he muttered, sitting down beside her.

And so, his grandmother opened the book. Her voice is low and calm as she began to read. The words wrapped around him like a gentle blanket, and despite his worries, Morvane found himself listening. The world felt a little less heavy, and for the first time that night he started to feel a flicker of peace.

His grandmother opened the book. The soft rustling of pages filled the silence in the room. She glanced at Morvane, who sat beside her, his face looking a little softer.

She began to read in her soft, comforting voice, weaving a tale to soothe his troubled heart.

"Once upon a time, there was a child born into an noble family of reputation. Since he was born, his parents harbored much anticipation for him. Like all other children in the family, his appearance was expected to bring him a sense of activating his powers whenever the full moon was about to rise. All the family were rejoicing; they thought nothing would be so different from other members of the family lineage."

Morvane listened intently, the cadence of his grandmother's words soothing the tension in his chest.

"But on the day of his awakening, just like you, Morvane, he received no mark. No sign of magic. No power awakened."

The story continued, painting a picture of the young boy who, despite his noble birth, became the subject of ridicule.

"Everyone mocked him, calling him weak, useless, a failure. Even his own family members, the ones who had raised him with so much hope, turned away from him in shame. He was discarded and left to fight for himself in a world that demanded power and magic from everybody."

The pain of the boy's story went along with his own, but Morvane's throat remained tight as he listened. But Morvane's grandmother never faltered with her voice.

"But even though he had no power, even though he was abandoned by his own blood, he didn't give up. The boy trained, he worked hard, day and night. He focused on his strengths, honing his skills in ways that others would never have thought of. He became determined to prove that strength doesn't always come from magic."

She paused for a moment, looking up at Morvane as she continued, with her voice being warm and proud of the little boy in this story.

"And one day, when his town caught ablaze with such a terrible fire, the little boy ran forward into the blaze. He wasn't magical enough to end it, neither was he potent enough to hinder the destruction caused by the flame.

But he didn't hesitate. With his bare hands, he rescued an entire family, carrying them out of the burning building, saving them from certain death."

Morvane's eyes widened as the story unfolded, his heart aching for the boy who had nothing, yet everything.

"And though he had no magical powers or elemental forces at his beck, the townspeople saw it in him: his courage. They cheered him for that, for his strength of spirit. They saw that the power was not in the mark, but in the spirit."

The grandmother returned the book to its place at rest, smiling warmly at Morvane.

"This was his power," she continued quietly, "not elemental magic, not light nor dark. His power was in his heart and his unrelenting courage and unwavering ability to never stop."

Morvane looked at her, as if his head was slowly breaking through the idea of the tale.

"And now," she added, "You, too, have the same power. We all have power within us. Most of us use the mark given to us as a guide to awaken our abilities, but there are some who do not receive a mark. They are the ones who must find their own path, their own way to awaken their strength."

She reached out and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, her eyes full of wisdom.

"You have a power within you, Morvane. You just have to learn where to find it and how to bring it out."

Morvane sat still, listening to his grandmother's words sink into his heart like the weight of stones. For the first time that night, he felt a spark of hope. His path was different, but it was far from over.

"Remember, Morvane," she whispered, "True power comes from within."