The Sevenfold Surge (2)

The line was slow but it wasn't quiet.

Every time a child stepped forward, a thousand silent prayers bloomed. Parents held their breath. Grandmothers clutched their hands. Whole villages stared down at the bowls like they could will the flames to shimmer something—anything—besides red.

Then the child would stretch out their hand… hover it over the Colorless Flame… and...

Boom. Red.

The same shade every time.

The same unimpressive, dull-toned Combat Flux.

Some kids smiled anyway. Most didn't.

I watched one boy ahead of me—freckles, shaggy hair, skin darker than mine and marked with vine tattoos—walk up with so much excitement in his face you'd think the gods had whispered his name.

The moment his hand hit the bowl, the red flared to life.

His face didn't fall right away. It took a second. Just one small second for the world to crash into his spine and remind him:

You're not special. You're not the one.

His parents didn't even try to hide it. They just kind of exhaled, like relief mixed with disappointment.

I looked away.

The thing was, Combat Flux wasn't bad. Far from it. It kept humanity alive. You could run faster, jump higher, hit harder, resist more. It made soldiers. It made survivors.

But it was everywhere.

Even people born in caves after the Ashven Blood Rain had it. Even the hermits in the wilds of deserts had it. Ninety-nine percent of the world had Combat Flux. So when people said it was common, they meant it.

And maybe that's what made the red so loud.

Every flare felt like a stamp that said:

"You're like the rest."

I stood in line, waiting. My palms were getting sweaty. I kept rubbing them on my dress, acting like I wasn't looking at the bowls even though I couldn't stop.

Flare after flare, red. Red. Red.

Some deeper than others, sure. But nothing truly rare. Nothing worth more than a brief nod from the crowd.

Except for one bowl.

The line to my right gasped. A few people actually pointed. Then I saw it.

It was emerald.

A perfect, radiant emerald flame spiraled from the obsidian bowl like vines coming to life in real time.

The girl standing over it was maybe taller than me. She stood so still, like the air around her had turned to glass.

Even from here I recognized her.

She was the daughter of the jungle villages, judging from the chiefly outfit of the jungle.

And now? She was the first to not be ordinary.

The crowd exploded.

It wasn't just cheers but full-on rejoicing. People clapped, laughed, even shouted her name. A group of elders began chanting thanks to the Rune God. I saw her mom weeping, arms thrown to the sky, all for one moment of color that wasn't red.

I clenched my fists and stared at my bowl still ahead. It looked like it held nothing. Just emptiness. Like all the others.

But I knew better.

We hadn't even finished cheering for the emerald flame when another wave of awe hit the crowd.

A boy, maybe twelve paces from me, stepped forward to his bowl. He looked unsure, like most of us. Baggy gray tunic, scar across his brow, thick mountain boots way too big for his feet.

He was quiet.

But the second he stretched out his hand, boom.

Sapphire.

The flame burst like a sky tearing open. It was purple, deep and pure, spiraled upward with a cold clarity that took our breath away.

The boy actually gasped.

He took a step back, blinking like he thought he was dreaming. Then he looked up at the stands, eyes darting, and when he found who he was looking for, he beamed.

His people—mountain folk from the north, judging by the patterned cloaks—leapt to their feet, cheering like they had won a war. A woman collapsed to her knees, wailing joyfully.

The boy raised both arms, laughing through his teeth, half-sobbing, yelling "I got one! I got one!" over and over as if he needed to make it real just by saying it.

For a second, we all shared it with him. That moment. That hope.

But it didn't last. The red returned.

Child after child, another red. Then another. Then two more. Then ten. Some tried to hide their disappointment. Others didn't even bother.

The lines moved again. And then, it was me.

I swallowed and stepped forward.

The obsidian bowl was matte black, like cooled lava, with little spider cracks near the base. There was nothing inside it that I could see. Not a glimmer. Not a flicker. Just absence.

But I knew it was there. The Colorless Flame.

I hovered my hand just above it. My fingers trembled slightly just enough to be real. In my past life, I already knew what color it would've turned.

Orange.

The Alteration Flux of Metal. I used to be able to twist blades, draw iron from sand, crush whole bunkers with magnetized fury. I was a walking arsenal.

But not anymore.

The God of Time had taken that from me. Or maybe… changed it.

I didn't know what Flux I had now. I didn't know what kind of power was inside me anymore.

I wasn't afraid of weakness. I'd been broken before. I'd died before. But for some reason…

I didn't want this flame to turn red.

So, right there, in front of thousands of people—children, parents, chiefs, villagers, even Lilith herself—I did something I never thought I'd do.

I closed my eyes… and prayed.

"Please."

I prayed to the one who gave me this second chance.

"Please, God of Time… let it be anything but red."

I opened my eyes.

The bowl lit.

And the color—