A woman with an hourglass for a head. A grinning hunchback. A man with a sword for his tongue. A naked woman who conceals her breasts with her hands. A fat green man. A god of all creation.

  These were the judges.

  “You actually did it,” the hourglass said. “Stupid boy.”

  “It is not stupidity. It is courage, and I have more respect for him,” said the man with a sword in his mouth.

  “Lucky he is durable,” the hunchback put in. With a curious eye, he inquired, “Do you know how much pain you are in right now?”

  “How is Ezra?” the naked woman asked. “She’s been visiting a lot lately and we’re concerned. It’s not to say we don’t enjoy her company, but why does she have to come by every day?”

  They all fell quiet. Then the hourglass broke the silence. “She’s a very annoying girl.”

  “There’s no need to gossip,” said the fat green man. “If it bothers you so much, why don’t you tell Ezra to her face?”

  The naked woman said, “That’s too awkward.”

  “Where am I?” Jeromy whimpered.

  All six stared at him as if he was insane. Rheina flipped through the pages of a book in front of him. “You’re in hell,” he said. “You’re dead.”

  “Oh,” murmured Jeromy.

  “I’ve spent nearly a thousand years searching for your name in the Book of Life, but I can’t find it anywhere. What’s your name again?”

  “Jeromy.”

  “No Jeromy here.”

  “Maybe you simply missed it, like you always do,” the man with a sword for a mouth said. “If we digitalised, we would have run a search query and not be wasting so much time.”

  “You know how I feel about adopting earthmen technologies. They are finicky and stupid, and I hate the smell of glass—” Rheina stopped himself from ranting any further. “Anyway, a thousand years is more than enough time to confirm Jeromy does not exist.”

  “He’s right there,” the sword-mouthed god said. “How does that make any sense?”

  Rheina shut his book, dismissing the sword-mouthed god with a wave of the hand. “Since you have no soul, I can’t judge you. You are free to return to the Living World.”

  “Thank you,” Jeromy said.

  “Alright, I’ll be keeping an eye on you from now on. Be careful not to die again. You might not find your way back.”

  “Jumping out the window,” the fat green man barked. “How ridiculous.”

  “Bye,” Rheina said. He snapped his finger.

  Pain. From the bright sun beaming down on him to the hammering aches coursing through his bones, Jenne longed for sleep. He kept his eyes shut and focused on breathing, waiting for the pain to ease. A shade fell over him.

  Hamis floated above. He was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the air, staring down at Jenne. “Why are you lying on the ground?” Hamis whispered.

  “No,” Jenne groaned. “I fell. From the tower.”

  “Why?” the boy whispered again. “Were you trying to fly?”

  Before Jenne realised it, he was upright, his body moving without his control. Hamis continued to observe him, still cross-legged, elbows resting on his thighs and chin propped in his palms.

  “You’re so… different,” Hamis whispered.

  He waved a hand, and the strings of time snapped. Jenne collapsed to the ground and gasped for air, though he wasn’t sure he had been suffocating at all.

  He felt the back of his head, still uncertain how he had survived the fall without injury. Was he responsible for the small crater in the ground? Dusting stone chips from his hair, he asked Hamis whether he would be in trouble for damaging the walkway.

  “I don’t think so,” Hamis said, wincing at the crater. “I don’t think anyone cares what you do in your spare time.”

  Jenne tried to stand, but the migraine swung back, forcing him to remain on the ground, seething.

  “Maybe I should keep an eye on you from now on,” said Hamis.

  A flood of marker ascension engulfed Jenne, lifting him off the ground once again. Hamis drifted through the air, leashing Jenne to himself. There was no sense of wind, no burning glare of sunlight—only motion without resistance.

  As they hovered across the school, questions plagued Jenne’s mind. Had he truly seen the gods, or was he hallucinating? His dreams felt so real, yet none of them made sense when he woke. Had Franka pushed him from the window, or had he jumped on his own? Why had he died? Why had he come back to life? And why was Franka still standing at the window, waving at him as he left?

  Am I going crazy?

  “Ashey, I found him!” announced Hamis the moment they entered the hut.

  “Sure, do whatever you want. Just don’t come in here,” she called from behind her bedroom door. “I’m busy right now.”

  “She’s not busy,” Hamis whispered in Jenne’s ear. “She just doesn’t want anyone to know she shaves her legs.”

  “Hamis, what have I told you about boundaries?” Ashey shot back. “And no, I don’t shave my legs.”

  “Why don’t you?” Hamis asked, confused.

  “Please, leave me alone.”

  “Don’t you want to meet Jenne? He’s right here.”

  “I’m studying,” she said.

  Hamis led Jenne into the kitchen and settled him on a stool. The fridge door swung open by itself, and an ice pack floated into Hamis’ hand. He pressed it against Jenne’s head.

  “Ashey didn’t mean to be rude,” Hamis explained. “There’s a lot of pressure on her. Do you know why? It’s because her mum’s Schemel. Ashey has to be the best, while the rest of us get to kick back and do the bare minimum. My father doesn’t even want me here.”

  “Mine neither,” Jenne snorted. He took the ice pack off his head. “How good is she? Ashey, I mean?”

  “Not sure. I’ve never seen her do any magic. She’s always nose-deep in her textbooks, always acting like we’ve got an exam tomorrow.”

  “Don’t you know her from before?” asked Jenne. “I thought you two already knew each other.”

  “Not really.” Hamis returned to the fridge and rummaged around. “Her mum paid me to be her friend because Ashey didn’t have any. We met once, and then I kind of forgot about her again—catch!”

  A bright can of soda shot through the air towards Jenne. Startled, he threw up his arms to shield his face, but the impact never came. Slowly, he lowered his hands to see the can of cola hovering in front of him.

  “Sorry,” Hamis muttered. “Old habits.”

  The marker led Jenne to his room, which looked pretty much as he expected. Candy wrappers, soda cans, and half-eaten sandwiches floated around the bed. Comic books, video game controllers, a phone, pens, and papers were scattered across the desk. Jenne ducked under a school bag drifting past him. Heavy drapes blocked out the sunlight, casting the room in a dusky blue haze. A large television was mounted on the wall, a mini-fridge hummed in the corner, and piles of half-finished sketches cluttered the desk. On the wall hung a small portrait of Hamis with a white-haired girl at his back, both laughing.

  Hamis switched on the television, and the console by the wall hummed. The screen’s glow lit their faces. “Here,” he said, handing Jenne a controller. “Are you any good at Dominus?”

  “This is my first time with a controller.”

  “How come? Don’t you have video games in the south?”

  “We do, but I never really wanted to try.”

  Hamis set up the game anyway. “Move the joystick to select the character you want. See? It’s not that hard.”

  Jenne didn’t enjoy the vibration in his palms. Part of him wanted to leave, but he stayed and played one round. Apart from taking hits, he barely managed to do anything with his character. He lost the next match and the one after that until Hamis grew bored and switched to a single-player action-adventure about Jacqolin and his conquest of the Grem Islands. Sitting back and watching someone else have fun turned out to be enough fun for Jenne.

  Having lost track of time, they missed both lunch and dinner and had to settle for Hamis’ leftover sandwiches, which, surprisingly, still tasted fresh.

  “How did you get so used to your powers?” Jenne asked, realising it was a silly question. “Don’t you run out of ascension at some point?”

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “Nope,” said Hamis.

  Jenne opened his palm and focused hard. Rivulets pulsed through his veins, accompanied by a tickling sensation. He closed his eyes and pictured a sphere.

  “Nice,” said Hamis. “That’s impressive. Well, not as impressive as the stuff you did in the video, but still nice.”

  “Thanks,” said Jenne. “This is all I can manage for now. Renna Sorel says I just have to keep trying to get better.” It also helped him sleep when his blood was empty.

  That night, however, he slept little. Strange dreams kept waking him, and by dawn he was dizzy from exhaustion and desperate for water. He slipped out of bed, grabbed his bottle, and tried to make as little noise as possible on the way to the kitchen.

  A silver glow filled the apartment, illuminating the furniture in sharp detail. It took him a moment to realise it wasn’t moonlight. No moon shone that brightly. He could see through the darkness. It should have thrilled him, but instead it felt natural—like something he had always been able to do without ever noticing.

  He entered the kitchen and turned on the tap. Suddenly, the overhead light flicked on, stinging his eyes. Ashey stood in the doorway, startled. She took a step back. “Take all the time you need,” she said. “You don’t have to talk to me.”

  “Please don’t leave,” Jenne said quickly. “I’m sorry for what I did today. I shouldn’t have walked past you all.”

  The girl squinted at him. She lingered at the doorway as Jenne drank his water, stealing the occasional glance at her. Eventually, she stepped into the kitchen and went to the fridge.

  “I don’t shave my legs,” she said. “Sometimes words just fall out of Hamis’ mouth. Don’t take him too seriously.”

  “Sure.”

  She pulled out a huge gallon of juice and set it on the counter. “Can you pass me a glass?” she asked. “It’s supposed to help me stay awake at night so I can study. It’s hell out here.”

  “I don’t feel ready.”

  “You don’t have to be scared,” she said. “If you need any help, you can always come to me. I have notes from my old tutor.”

  Their first lesson was with Father Jade, a priest who taught Contextual History. They gathered by a small lake within the school grounds, sitting together on the grass. Father Jade was a burly man with flowing locks of hair. His red robes hugged his muscular frame, and a whip was coiled at his waist.

  “Demettle Dues became a Gaverian when Henrikia needed one most. He saved us from the wrath of Varmel Sorel, who had gone mad at the time. Demettle defeated Varmel, sparing Henrikia from destruction. Hamis Deus, your grandfather, is a great man.

  “Ren Ashel Sorel became a Gaverian to atone for the sins of his father and ancestors. For every city Varmel and Thorel destroyed, Ashel built one in its place. Ashamel, your grandfather, is a great man.

  “Jenne Aster, you have no history. That is why you are the most interesting to me. So, I will start with you. Do you want to become a Gaverian?”

  The weight of the priest’s gaze made Jenne uneasy. He worried his answer might offend his classmates.

  “I don’t want to be a Gaverian,” Jenne admitted. “There’s nothing in it for me.”

  “I see,” said the priest.

  Now it was Hamis’ turn. “I don’t want to be a Gaverian either,” he said. “To be honest, it’s kind of stupid. Just because I was born with magic doesn’t mean I owe this country anything. I don’t want to be stuck in the Midder-Lands. There’s so much more out there for me.”

  “Ashamel,” the burly priest called. “How about you?”

  Ashey hugged her knees and shrugged. “I don’t know,” she mumbled. “I want to be a Gaverian because my mum says I have to.”

  “Interesting,” said Father Jade. “That’s all for today. Next week, I hope we can have a real lesson.”

  “Wait,” Hamis interrupted. “You’ve got to say something about yourself too.”

  Father Jade laughed. “That’s fair.” He glanced down at the whip at his waist, his smile widening. Then he raised his arms, letting his sleeves fall back to reveal the truth—he had no hands, only two stumps.

  “When I was your age, nothing mattered more to me than becoming a Gaverian. I wanted to be important. But it’s impossible for a non-ascender to become one, so I chose the next best thing: soldiering. A few years later, I found myself in the middle of the Great Oppression. Long story short, I had my moment to prove myself. Genevie was in my sights. She was vulnerable. I went for the kill. And this is how it ended.”

  He adjusted his arms, pulling the sleeves back over them.

  “Genevie did this to you?” Hamis asked.

  “Her hounds did,” Father Jade said. “It was the first time I cursed God.”

  The next day, they attended Bio-Ascension class with Doctor Leonard. After finding their seats, the doctor sketched a human body on the board and asked, “What is the most important body part of an ascender?”

  Ashey flipped through her notebook, scanning every page for the answer. Hamis shot his hand up, eager for attention.

  “It’s our brain,” he said. “Everything we do starts in our heads.”

  “That’s the obvious answer,” Leonard replied. “But there’s something equally—if not more—important.”

  “Almost there,” Ashey muttered, still turning pages.

  It was the hands. Schemel had once taught Jenne that an ascender losing their hands was like a gunman losing his gun.

  When no one offered the answer Leonard wanted, he said, “The hands, everyone. Your hands are more important than anything else you have. You can have a mind full of ideas, but once your fingers are gone, your spell-casting days are over. You’ll learn more about the significance of hand signs in Spell-Casting class.”

  The following day, they had Ethereal Meditation with Father Bliss. He told them it was the easiest class to pass—all they had to do was connect with their inner selves. Gathering in a treehouse, they settled on the bare floor as Father Bliss posed a question. “What can kill an ascender?”

  “Cancer,” said Hamis. “Maybe.”

  “A gun?” Ashey suggested.

  “Oh, I know—two guns,” Hamis added. “Is this a trick question?”

  “Hunger, thirst, a gut punch,” Ashey rambled.

  “’A gut punch’, really?” Hamis scoffed.

  “I’m sorry, but isn’t there anything better we could be doing?” Ashey asked. “There are so many things that kill ascenders. How are we supposed to know what you want to hear?”

  ‘Ascenders kill ascenders.’ It was a saying coined by the former General of the Black Army, Mark Agathan, during the Great Oppression. Jenne kept the thought to himself.

  After hours of silence, Father Bliss finally dismissed the class.

  Miss Class had them next for Spell-Casting. Their task was to draw every type of triangle they knew. Ashey smacked her notebook against her forehead, struggling to remember which triangle had three dots in the middle and which had two. Hamis easily sketched the ripper, crafter, and marker triangles.

  Jenne, though, had studied with Ezra for years and knew how to draw all six types. Still, he only drew the two most common—the crafter and ripper triangles—to avoid drawing attention. Miss Class announced that their assessment scores would be posted by the end of the next day.

  Friday arrived, bringing Hyper-Physical training. Schemel pulled up in a military vehicle, dressed in a green trench coat and orange-tinted sunglasses. At her side was a lanky man with snowy white hair.

  Hamis burst out of the house and ran straight into the man’s arms. It was his uncle, Firios Deus, a Gaverian who had once fought under Schemel’s command.

  With Hamis occupied, Schemel turned to Ashey and Jenne. She spread her arms wide, grinning.

  “Come on,” she said. “Don’t tell me you haven’t missed me.”

  Back at the villa, they gathered on the front porch, with Schemel seated between Ashey and Jenne. Opening her palms, she instructed them to do the same.

  “Since this is your first week, we won’t push too hard. Let’s review the basics. Jenne, craft a sphere.”

  Jenne conjured a glowing yellow ball between his hands. Schemel praised his effort and told him to create another. He obeyed, and soon the two spheres hummed violently—then collided.

  “Ashamel,” said Schemel. “It’s your turn.”

  Ashey frowned at her open palm, staring hard at nothing. Jenne’s suspicion about her was right. Despite being a born crafter, she could not craft.

  “Did you see how Jenne did it?” Schemel asked. “That’s how little effort it takes. Can’t you put in just a bit of effort?”

  “I’m trying, Mum.”

  “No, you’re not,” said Schemel. “You don’t try. You never try. How can I teach you if you’re not willing to learn?”

  “What do you think I’ve been doing this whole time?” Ashey yelled. “Maybe try asking first instead of assuming you know everything.”

  “Alright then, show me what you can do,” said Schemel. “My eyes and ears are yours. Impress me.”

  Jenne wished he were out in the trees, leaping between branches with Hamis and Firios. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Ashey when all she did was stare at him. The tension between the three of them grew unbearable until Ashey stood and vanished indoors.

  Schemel watched her go, then continued the lesson with Jenne. He crafted different objects: a flower, a drop of water, a heart, a field of grass, a bird, the sun, and the moon.

  “You’re good enough at this,” she said. “I think we can move on from crafting static pieces to more dynamic ones. Craft a bird and make it fly.”

  “Fly?” Jenne repeated. “How am I supposed to do that?”

  Schemel tapped his forehead. “Use your imagination.”

  Jenne tried, but no matter how much he willed it, the bird never took to the air.

  “Do I need to study flight patterns first?” Jenne asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever paid much attention to how birds actually fly—oh, I just realised something.”

  “Tell me.”

  “I was wondering why crafters don’t craft much.”

  “Crafters don’t craft much? What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, the Blood Storm is known for fire and ice. You and every other Sorel craft light. Jacqolin, I guess, does lightning. I just didn’t get why no crafter could… do it all, you know. Craft whatever, whenever.”

  “And you know the answer now?”

  “Yes,” he snorted. “Because it’s really hard just to be good at one thing. It’s not possible to master everything.”

  She was about to reply, but paused, pressing a hand to her heart. “You’re correct,” she said. “The teachers have been complaining about your attitude. I don’t see any problem at all.”

  As the day drew to a close, they joined the staff in the church for a service led by Father Jade. He spoke about purpose and motivation, emphasising that everyone had a mission to fulfil before their time in the Living World ended. He urged them to pray to God for guidance and clarity in discovering their destinies.

  Hamis, Ashey, and Jenne sat together in the same pew, but none of them prayed. Jenne didn’t understand his friends’ reluctance, though he had his own simple reason: he no longer felt any connection to God, and questioned why he should seek guidance from a deity who had ignored him.

  During the service, their phones buzzed in their pockets. Ashey checked hers and grimaced at what she saw. Jenne opened the message: a long passage detailing the points system for graduating as a Gaverian.

  Each year, the school allocated one hundred points to be distributed. Whoever earned the most graduated; the rest had to start over. Jenne scrolled to the list of the highest-performing students in each year group:

  Year 315

  Votress Gallant – 61

  Ursel Gallant – 39

  Year 314

  Alakam Gallant – 36

  Votress Gallant – 33

  Ursel Gallant – 31

  Year 313

  Sevin Astra – 39

  Alakam Gallant – 38

  Votress Gallant – 23

  Ashamel Sorel – 0

  Year 312

  Erisa Zeal – 33

  Votress Gallant – 27

  Sevin Astra – 20

  Alakam Gallant – 20

  Ashamel Sorel – 0

  Year 311

  Jay Arson – 85

  Ursel Gallant – 5

  Sevin Astra – 5

  Erisa Zeal – 5

  Votress Gallant – 0

  Alakam Gallant – 0

  Ashamel Sorel – 0

  Jenne could have scrolled further, but he understood the point. Schemel’s earlier words about graduating in less than a year suddenly made sense. In theory, someone could spend fifty years in Se Fina without ever graduating.

  As he navigated to his own score, a warm hand touched his arm. It was Ashey, her green eyes watery with concern.

  “What’s your score?” she asked.

  Year 316

  Points Remaining: 90

  Jenne Aster – 3

  “What did you get?” Jenne asked. She only shook her head.

  They had ninety points left to fight over. If Jenne had three and Ashey had none, that meant Hamis was in the lead with seven. Maybe Jenne shouldn’t have been so idle in class.

  Hamis stuck his tongue out as he played a mobile game on his phone, unconcerned about being at the top of the class. He didn’t even bother to ask what Jenne and Ashey had scored.

  After the church service, Schemel pulled Jenne aside and asked him to follow her. They went to the headmistress’s office, where a new computer had been set up. Schemel guided him to the seat in front of it.

  It took a moment for Jenne to realise who was on the screen: Aron and Maselli. But was it really them?

  A grin spread across his face before he could stop it. He gnawed at his tongue, gripping his knees as he shook his head, trying to keep tears from spilling.

  “Jerry,” said Aron.

  “Yes?”

  “Jerry, stop crying and look at me.”

  Jenne rubbed his eyes. “Sorry,” he murmured.

  “Excuse me—he no longer goes by that name,” Schemel interjected, resting her hands on his shoulders. “His name is Jenne now.”

  Aron and Maselli stared at the High Commander. They must have known she was close to Jenne, but seeing it with their own eyes was different. “Jeromy, how are you?” Aron asked.

  “I’m much better now,” Jenne said. “Renna has been good to me.”

  “I heard,” said Aron. There was so much more he wanted to say—you could sense it. Jenne felt the same. He had longed for this moment, and now that it was here, he felt he was wasting it.

  “Your mother and I are proud of you. I can’t wait to tell everyone my son is the first-ever earthen Gaverian.”

  “Okay,” Jenne said, swallowing down a knot in his throat. “I’ll try my best. I’ll be home soon.”

  “Jeromy.”

  “Yes?”

  “You’ll do fine.”