Alex stared at the frozen image of his mother on the screen, his chest rising and falling slowly. The silence in the room felt heavier now, pressing in from every direction.
The Orb of Truth?
He already knew what it was. Everyone did. It was a globe-sized device—neither artifact nor tech, but sothing in between. It pulsed with a soft, cyan glow, and when touched, it scanned the very essence of a person, no tricks, no bias, just cold, objective truth.
He rembered the ceremony clearly.
At the age of twelve, every child was required to participate. It was a global event now, woven into the very foundation of their society. Families gathered. Hope and dread filled the air in equal asure. Everyone waited to see if their children would be chosen—if they were worth investing in.
Unlike the rest of the world, each Higher Clan has a smaller version of the orb created by Mom, as their children perform the ceremony in the comfort of their clan.
He rembered stepping forward, placing his hand on the orb. He rembered the silence just before it lit up with its glowing verdict.
Mystic Rank.
Just like Logan. Just like Mogan.
So what was his mother talking about?
His brows furrowed, eyes flicking between the frozen fra and the floor, where the soft glow of the projection danced against broken stone.
You’re the reason we’re in this ss to begin with.
Her voice echoed again in his head.
Confusion clawed at his thoughts. What does that even an? The Orb was revolutionary, sure—but wasn’t it given to the global governnt? Wasn’t that the whole point? His mother had shared it with them to level the playing field. To stop the Higher Clans from hoarding power. It was the one tool that allowed the underprivileged to rise above their station.
He’d read the reports. Heard the stories. How the tech helped governnts rebuild their strength. How entire cities were protected because a single child’s potential had been discovered in ti.
That was a good thing.
So, how the hell did any of that connect to him?
"I did the damn ceremony," he muttered under his breath, staring at the ground. "I got Mystic rank. Just like the others."
Nyxara, who had remained silent since the last revelation, stirred beside him. Her silver eyes were still wide—troubled. Even she, bound to him as deeply as blood, looked as though she had just been thrown into the eye of a storm she didn’t see coming.
She said nothing, but her presence pressed close—quiet, steady.
Alex clenched his jaw. There was too much he didn’t understand. Too many pieces that didn’t fit together.
He looked back up at the screen, where his mother’s image remained still, captured in that single fra of bittersweet reflection.
"...What is this all about?"
His voice ca out quieter this ti. Not in rage. Not in grief. But in sothing far more dangerous.
Uncertainty.
Then she continued, her voice steady yet filled with intensity. "I’m sure you’re curious about how this all relates to you, so let make it clear, Alex: your talent is not of the Mystic rank." Her image locked onto his, conveying a sense of urgency that underscored her words.
Alex’s breath caught.
Not Mystic?
The words hung in his mind like a noose slowly tightening. His gaze locked onto the image of his mother, still mid-speech, as if frozen in ti just to let the revelation settle.
But it didn’t. It refused to.
His hands clenched unconsciously, fingers curling until his knuckles turned white.
He wasn’t Mystic rank?
That didn’t make sense.
He rembered the orb, rembered the color and the swirl of energy. The gentle voice announced the rank for all to hear. People clapped. So envied. Others congratulated him. His siblings had smiled with pride.
So why did it all suddenly feel like a lie?
Before the storm of thoughts could overwhelm him, the projection of his mother ca to life once more. Her tone now carried a heavy weariness, one that had been kept buried for far too long.
"As the one who created the Orb of Truth," she said gently, "I implanted a safe code into it. A hidden override, known to its creator, . The truth, Alex, is that the orb can evaluate a person’s talent the mont they take their first breath. It doesn’t need years. It never did."
She paused. Not for drama—but because the weight of what she was about to say demanded breath.
"From the very mont you were born, your father and I already knew your true talent."
The screen zood slightly, shifting its focus until her expression filled it. Her eyes didn’t tremble, but the tiredness in them was unmistakable.
"And from that mont on... we feared the repercussions. We feared what would happen if the world found out what you were."
Alex’s body tensed, his chest rising unevenly. His throat felt dry.
His mother continued.
"That day during the ceremony—when all the twelve-year-olds of the Thunder Clan gathered to have their talents evaluated—I was there. Watching. Smiling. Pretending. But I had already made my decision long before."
"I used my override to change the result. I lowered your true rank to Mystic. Just like Logan. Just like Mogan. Just like everyone else would expect from a child of ours."
She looked away for a brief mont, the light from the hologram catching a glint of sadness on her lashes.
"I even debated marking you as Legend rank... just to give you the space you might’ve needed, to prepare for what was coming. But I couldn’t risk it."
"There are spies in our clan, Alex. You might not have noticed, but all the Higher Clans monitor each other. We have spies in their clans... so of course they have spies in ours. It’s a ga of silence. One slip, and the board crumbles."
"If I had revealed your true rank... they would have known."
The image held on her face for a heartbeat longer—lined with both the sharpness of a warrior and the weariness of a mother forced to make impossible choices.
"I took it upon myself to intervene. I altered the course of your destiny... just slightly. Just enough to make a difference."
"Because your talent is of a caliber that rivals the gods."
"That is the Demi-god rank."
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