In the world of Everna, the gods never spoke first.
They listened.
At sixteen, every child placed their hand upon the ancient altar — cold stone etched with runes older than any kingdom—and asked to wait. Some felt warmth bloom beneath their palm. Others felt a chill, a current, a pulse, or an ache that resonated deep in their bones.
And some felt nothing at all.
Whatever answered was called affinity, and in Everna, affinity decided the rest of your life.
Some would awaken fire and burn brightly across the world. Some would inherit lightning and move faster than thought. Others were claimed by water, wind, earth, ice, light, or darkness—paths walked so many times they were worn smooth by generations before them.
A few—very few—would awaken dual affinity and become legends whispered about in taverns and academies.
And those who awakened nothing… simply learned to live small.
Arthur Solomon would turn sixteen in seven days.
He had imagined that moment for years. Standing beneath the towering cathedral pillars. The hush of the crowd. The weight of expectation pressing down as he placed his hand upon the altar. Feeling mana rush through his body. Hearing the priest announce his name and element.
Please, he thought—not to any god in particular, but to the future itself—let it be something strong.
Not for glory.
For protection.
His hair, black as midnight, fell just past his ears, slightly messy no matter how often he tried to tame it. It never stayed in place for long, as if it had a will of its own. When sunlight touched it, there was no shine—only depth, like a moonless sky. His eyes, however, were impossible to ignore. A deep, mesmerizing blue, like a starlit night sky reflected in a glacial lake—calm on the surface, endless beneath.
At the moment, those eyes were focused on a brass scale.
Arthur stood behind the counter of his father's herb shop, carefully weighing dried silverleaf while listening to the familiar rhythm of the morning.
The soft grind of mortar against stone. The muted clink of glass jars. The gentle creak of wooden shelves—the sound of a world that had never once betrayed him.
Not yet.
"Arthur."
"Yes?"
"Careful with that," his father said without looking up. "Silverleaf bruises easily."
Arthur smiled. "You've told me that since I was ten."
"And you still press too hard," David Solomon replied, calm but firm.
That was his father — sleeves rolled up, steady hands, grinding herbs with steady, practiced hands. A broad-shouldered man with kind eyes and faint lines etched at the corners of his face—marks earned not from hardship alone, but from years of quiet laughter and responsibility. Running a herb shop wasn't glamorous, but people trusted David. When someone was sick, worried, or desperate, they came here first.
Behind the counter, Arthur adjusted his grip. His fingers were already stained faint green from herbs, his black hair falling messily into his eyes as he worked. He brushed it aside without thinking.
From the doorway came the sound of hurried footsteps.
"BROTHER!"
The word came like a small explosion.
Arthur barely had time to turn before Cesia barreled in like a small storm, slammed into him, arms wrapping around his waist with absolute conviction, as if she might never let go again.
"Oof—Cesia—!"
She was small for her age, cheeks still round with childhood, eyes bright with the sort of belief adults slowly lost. Her hair was tied into twin tails, one slightly crooked.
She laughed, face pressed against his stomach. "Good morning!"
"Good morning," Arthur said, laughing softly as he patted her head.
"You're going to knock over the shelves one day," David said dryly.
"That's future me's problem," Cesia replied without shame.
She pulled back and stared at Arthur with exaggerated seriousness. "Did you practice smiling today?"
"…What?"
"You have to smile nicely when you get your blessing," she said matter-of-factly. "If the god thinks you look scary, they might not give you their blessing."
His father snorted. "So the gods judge by facial expressions now?"
She crossed her arms. "If I were a god, I would."
A quiet chuckle came from the doorway.
Alice Solomon stepped inside, one hand resting gently on Cesia's shoulder. She met Arthur's eyes and smiled, the kind of smile that carried reassurance without words.She had a calm presence, the kind that made chaos soften just by standing nearby. Her hair was tied neatly, and her eyes always seemed to notice things others missed.
"Eat before you start dreaming too loudly," she said. "The gods won't answer an empty stomach."
They gathered around the table, steam rising from the bowls she set down. The warmth seeped into him slowly, chasing away the lingering chill from earlier thoughts.
"Seven days," Cesia announced suddenly, hopping onto a stool and sitting up straight. "Seven days until Brother touches the altar."
Arthur smiled, unable to stop himself. "You're very invested in this."
"Of course I am," she said seriously. "If you get a cool affinity, everyone will know you're my brother."
"And if I don't?" Arthur asked lightly.
Cesia frowned at the question, as if it were ridiculous. "Then I'll still tell them. But it'll be better if it's cool."
She leaned forward, elbows on the table, eyes practically glowing. "It should be lightning. Or fire. Or—" she gasped softly, "—something with wings."
He chuckled. "Why wings?"
"So you can fly me around town and scare everyone." she said, completely serious. "Walking is sooo slow."
"I am not scaring people."
"You can scare bad people."
He smiled, warmth settling in his chest. This—this was his world. Not glorious battles or divine halls. Just a small house, a herb shop that barely closed before sunset, and a family that laughed together in the mornings.
They weren't rich. But they weren't struggling either. The house was theirs. The shelves were full. And the future felt… stable.
Alice reached over and gently straightened one of Cesia's crooked ribbons. "He doesn't need wings to protect you."
Her words were gentle, but they carried weight.
For a moment, no one spoke.
David glanced at Arthur then—not long, not suspiciously—but with an expression Arthur couldn't quite read. Something thoughtful. Something distant.
"So," David said at last, casual as he returned to his meal, "have you thought about what affinity you might awaken… and where you want it to take you?"
Arthur hesitated—just for a heartbeat. "Not yet."
David nodded once, accepting the answer without pressing.
"Whatever you get," he said calmly, "remember this. Power doesn't decide what kind of man you become."
Arthur met his father's eyes and nodded. "I know."
And he truly believed it.
He didn't care which affinity answered him.
He only wanted this—this table, these voices, this morning—to last.
Outside, Everna stirred. Vendors called out their wares. Apprentices rushed past, late and laughing. Children his age gathered in excited clusters, boasting and speculating, arguing over which element was strongest.
Fire. Lightning. Light.
Arthur listened quietly.
After breakfast, he helped his father prepare a delivery. As they stepped outside, the town felt alive—voices overlapping, footsteps hurried, laughter echoing between stone walls. Posters announcing the upcoming Blessing Ceremony fluttered in the breeze.
One week, Arthur thought again.
The wind shifted as they passed near the edge of town, carrying with it a strange chill. He paused, glancing toward the distant hills where a newly discovered dungeon entrance shimmered faintly in the air.
It hadn't been there last month.
His father noticed his gaze. "Don't stare too long," he said lightly. "Dungeons bring trouble as often as they bring fortune."
"I know," he replied, turning away.
He didn't know why, but a faint unease crept into his chest, subtle and fleeting—like a shadow passing over the sun.
He shook it off.
I'm just nervous, he told himself. Just excited. That's all.
Behind him, his sister waved enthusiastically from the doorway. His mother stood beside her, calm and smiling.
He waved back.
His father adjusted the basket on his shoulder and started walking again.
He followed.
Seven days remained.
Seven days before the altar.
Seven days before the gods listened.
He had no way of knowing that this ordinary morning in Everna — this warmth, this laughter—was already becoming precious.
That his affinity would awaken where no god ruled.
That the world he trusted was already preparing to take everything—
—and call it fate.
______
Author's Note :
Thank you for reading.
This story begins quietly on purpose.
Everna is a world where power is decided early, where lives often follow the paths chosen for them at sixteen. Chapter One is not meant to impress with strength or spectacle—it is meant to show what is normal, what is warm, and what is worth protecting.
Arthur's journey does not begin with ambition, hatred, or rebellion. It begins with belief.
The chapters that follow will be darker, harsher, and far less forgiving—but everything that breaks later is built here first.
Thank you for stepping into Everna.
Take your time with this beginning.
And when you're ready, turn the page—because Chapter Two begins where certainty ends.