DEVOUR THE GODS: They had all the power. He took it

The fire mage's fist connected with my jaw before I saw it coming.

I hit the cobblestones hard, tasting copper and rain. Above me, Damien Cross stood silhouetted against the academy's golden windows, flames dancing between his fingers like trained pets.

"Stay down, Thorne." His voice carried that particular brand of pity reserved for broken things. "You don't belong here anymore."

I spat blood and pushed myself up. My hands scraped against wet stone, finding purchase in the grooves worn by centuries of boots much more important than mine. The expulsion notice crumpled in my coat pocket, edges dissolving in the downpour.

"I just want to watch," I said. My tongue probed a loose tooth. "From outside the gates. I'm not bothering anyone."

"You're bothering me." Damien's flames grew brighter, casting orange shadows across his perfect face. Behind him, other students gathered at the windows. Watching. Always watching when someone like me got reminded of their place. "The ceremony's for people with power. Real power. Not whatever delusion you've been clinging to for the past seven years."

Seven years. I'd enrolled at sixteen, the oldest in my class. Most students manifested their magic by fourteen, some as early as twelve. The academy accepted late bloomers until eighteen. They'd made an exception for me at twenty because my entrance exam scores were exceptional. Book smart, they called it. Compensating for a deeper inadequacy.

At twenty-three, even they'd given up.

I climbed to my feet, swaying. The rain made everything slippery. My reflection stared back from a puddle at my feet, distorted and unfamiliar. Brown hair plastered to my skull. Brown eyes that held nothing special. Average height, average build, average in every way except the one that mattered.

"I scored higher than you on the theoretical applications final," I said. Don't do this, some rational part of my brain whispered. Walk away. "Ninety-eight percent. You got an eighty-one."

Damien's smile vanished. "Theory doesn't mean shit when you can't cast. I could burn this entire street down if I wanted. What can you do? Recite the principles of thermomantic resonance while you're choking on smoke?"

He had a point. He usually did.

"Move along, Thorne. Go find a factory job. Pull some levers. Earn your bread like the rest of the talentless." He turned his back on me, flames extinguishing with a casual thought. "And stop embarrassing yourself."

The other students drifted away from the windows. Show over. Nothing to see but another nobody learning their place.

I should have left then. Should have walked back to my apartment in the Dregs and accepted that some people were born to matter and some weren't. The world had a natural order. Magic in the hands of the worthy. Scraps for everyone else.

Instead, I stayed.

I stood in the rain outside Argentum Academy's iron gates and watched them celebrate everything I'd never have. The Ascension Ceremony happened once a year. Fourth-year students gathered in the Grand Hall to officially register their powers with the Mage Council. They'd receive silver rings that glowed with their magical signature. Proof of worth. Keys to a better life.

Through the tall windows, I could see the chandeliers. Crystal and gold, floating without support, illuminated by captured starlight. The kind of casual magic that wealthy students produced without thinking. The walls inside would be warm, heated by perpetual flame enchantments. The floor would be dry, protected by weather wards that kept out rain and cold and anything else uncomfortable.

I was soaked through to my skin, shivering, and I couldn't look away.

Elena stood near the center of the hall. Elena Hartwell. Telekinetic. Precision class. She could manipulate objects with thought alone, threading needles from across a room or disassembling complex machinery without touching it. Her control was extraordinary. Beautiful to watch.

She'd kissed me once, back in second year. Behind the library, away from prying eyes. Her lips had tasted like honey tea and possibility. She'd pulled back, laughing at something I'd said, and for one perfect moment I'd believed I might manifest something powerful enough to deserve her.

Two weeks later, I still hadn't shown any signs of magic. She'd stopped meeting me behind the library.

Now she stood beside Marcus Venn. Lightning mage. Combat class. Council track. His arm wrapped around her waist, proprietary and comfortable. She leaned into him, saying something that made him laugh. His teeth were very white. Perfect, like everything else about him.

They made sense together. Two people with power, building a future that mattered.

I didn't belong in that picture.

"Kael?"

Mrs. Chen's voice startled me. I turned to find my neighbor from 3B standing under a patched umbrella, concern creasing her weathered face. She carried a basket covered with cloth, probably heading home from the market.

"You look half-drowned." She stepped closer, angling the umbrella to cover us both. "The funeral's tomorrow, isn't it? Your grandmother's?"

I nodded, not trusting my voice.

"Come back with me. I made extra soup. Vegetable and barley, the way you like." Her free hand touched my arm, gentle. "You shouldn't be out here catching your death."

"I'm fine."

"You're standing in a storm, staring at a building that doesn't want you. That's not fine." She squeezed my arm. "Your grandmother, she'd want you to take care of yourself. Strange woman, your grandmother. But she loved you in her way."

Strange was accurate. Elara had raised me until I was seven, then abruptly stopped visiting. She'd send letters occasionally, brief and cryptic. Stay safe. Don't trust smiling faces. Never open doors you can't close. I'd assumed senility was setting in. Now she was dead, and I'd never get to ask what she'd meant.

"I'll come up in a bit," I lied. "I just need some air."

Mrs. Chen studied me with the kind of look that suggested she knew exactly what I was doing and disapproved but wouldn't force the issue. "Don't stay out too long. This rain has teeth tonight."

She walked away, umbrella bobbing in the darkness. Her steps were slightly uneven. Bad hip, probably. She never complained about it, but I'd noticed her wincing when she climbed stairs. Plant affinity magic, even minor level, didn't extend to healing.

I turned back to the academy.

The ceremony was reaching its conclusion. Students lined up before Magistrate Helena Frost, the Dean of Student Affairs. She stood on a raised platform, elegant in midnight blue robes, her silver hair pulled back in an intricate braid. An administrative mage. Her power was paperwork, essentially. She could sense lies in written contracts and enforce magical oaths. Boring power, but it made her indispensable to the Council.

She'd signed my expulsion notice. Professional courtesy, nothing personal. Just another name on another form.

One by one, students approached her. She would place her hand on theirs, sensing their magical signature, then produce a ring from thin air. Silver bands that would mark them as registered mages for the rest of their lives. Protection and privilege wrapped in precious metal.

Elena stepped forward.

Even from this distance, I could see her smile. Radiant. The kind of joy that came from knowing your place in the world and being satisfied with it. Magistrate Frost said something I couldn't hear. Elena laughed. The ring materialized on her finger, glowing soft blue. Telekinetic signature. Beautiful and controlled, like everything she did.

Marcus kissed her. Right there, in front of everyone. A declaration of ownership that made my stomach clench.

I should have been angry. Should have felt rage or jealousy or something hot and immediate. Instead, I felt hollow. Empty. Like I'd been scraped out from the inside and there was nothing left but the shape of a person.

This was my life. Watching from outside while everyone else lived theirs.

The ceremony ended. Students poured into the courtyard, showing off their new rings, conjuring small displays of magic. Harmless showing off. Fire mages created dancing flames. Water mages sculpted rain into temporary ice sculptures. A wind mage sent leaves spiraling in complex patterns.

I watched until they started pairing off, heading to celebration parties or romantic walks through the Garden District. Until Elena and Marcus climbed into a carriage pulled by crystalline horses that left no hoofprints, their transparent bodies refracting lamplight into rainbow patterns.

Until I was alone again.

Then I walked home.

The Dregs smelled like rotting vegetables and desperation. Six stories of stained brick buildings leaned against each other like drunks sharing support. Laundry lines crisscrossed between windows, though nobody hung washing in this weather. Water pooled in potholes deep enough to lose a boot.

My building crouched at the end of Mercy Street, which was ironic since mercy was in short supply around here. The landlord had evicted three families last month for late rent. Their belongings had sat on the curb for two days before someone hauled them away. Nobody asked where the families went. You learned not to ask those questions in the Dregs.

I climbed four flights of stairs, my shoes squelching with every step. The stairwell lights were out again. They'd been out for weeks. The landlord claimed it required an enchanter to fix them, and enchanters didn't make house calls to neighborhoods like this.

Fourth floor. Apartment 4F. The lock had broken months ago. I'd reported it. Nothing happened. I'd stopped locking the door. There was nothing inside worth stealing anyway.

I pushed the door open.

One room. A mattress on the floor, blanket bunched at one end. A table with two chairs that didn't match. Books lined the walls, stacked in precarious towers. All borrowed from the public library. All about magic theory, manifestation techniques, meditation practices. Thirteen years of research. Thirteen years of hope compressed into musty pages.

Worthless now. All of it.

I peeled off my soaked clothes and stood naked in front of the cracked mirror above the sink. Water dripped from my hair, running down my face like tears I was too empty to cry.

Average. That's what I saw. Nothing remarkable. No distinguishing features that might suggest hidden power. No glow beneath the skin, no spark in the eyes. Just a twenty-three-year-old man who'd wasted his youth chasing something that was never going to happen.

I pressed my palms together and concentrated. Old habit. Older hope. Feel the energy. Draw it from the air, from the earth, from whatever source fueled magic. Shape it. Control it. Make it real.

Nothing.

Not even a tingle. Not even the ghost of possibility.

I was broken. Or maybe I'd never been whole to begin it.

The letter from the academy sat on the table where I'd left it. Official seal, expensive paper. I'd read it so many times I had it memorized, but I picked it up anyway.

Dear Mr. Thorne,

After careful review of your academic performance and seven years of observation, the Argentum Academy Board of Directors has concluded that you possess no latent magical ability. Your continued enrollment serves no purpose for you or the institution.

Effective immediately, your student status is revoked. You have until month's end to vacate student housing. Outstanding tuition debt will be forwarded to collections.

We wish you success in your future endeavors.

Magistrate Helena Frost, Dean of Student Affairs

Future endeavors. What a considerate phrase for a life sentence.

I crumpled the letter and threw it across the room. It joined six others scattered on the floor. Rejection from the Council. Three magical corporations. A bookstore that sold enchanted texts. Even they'd required someone who could sense cursed books, and I didn't qualify.

My stomach growled. I'd eaten yesterday morning. Stale bread and weak tea. The last of my money had gone to rent.

Tomorrow was the funeral. The lawyer's letter had arrived three days ago. My grandmother had left me something. Probably nothing valuable. The care home where she'd lived for the past sixteen years took everything for fees. But I'd attend. She was family. The only family I'd had.

I collapsed onto the mattress and stared at the water-stained ceiling. Shapes formed in the discoloration. Reaching fingers. Grasping hands. Mouths open in silent screams.

Above me, someone was playing music. A joy charm, probably illegal without a license. The kind that made you forget your problems for a few hours. The melody drifted through the thin walls, artificially cheerful.

I closed my eyes and tried to sleep.

Instead, I kept seeing Elena's face. The way she'd looked at Marcus. The way she'd looked at me, once, before she realized I was nothing.

Somewhere around three in the morning, glass shattered in the street below. Shouting followed. Then silence. Just another night in the Dregs.

I didn't sleep. I waited for morning and told myself tomorrow would be different.

It was a lie, but lies were all I had left.

Dawn came grey and cold. The rain had stopped, but everything still dripped. The city looked hungover, exhausted from its own excess.

I put on my only suit. Fifteen years old, too tight across the shoulders, frayed at the cuffs. It was black, at least. Appropriate for funerals.

The Serenity Chapel sat on the border between the Dregs and the Garden District. It served both populations at different times. Poor in the morning, wealthy at night. Separate but equal, if you believed that kind of propaganda.

I was the only one there.

The priest was a tired man with healing marks on his hands. Faded scars from where magic had passed through him repeatedly. Former medic, probably. The war had produced a lot of those. Men who'd burned out their power healing soldiers and now worked whatever jobs would take them.

"Did you know the deceased?" he asked.

"She was my grandmother."

"I'm sorry for your loss." The words were automatic. Sincere but worn smooth by repetition. "Would you like to say a few words?"

"No."

He nodded, relieved. "Then we commit her body to the earth and her spirit to the eternal cycle. May she find peace in the next turning."

Twenty minutes. That's how long my grandmother's life was worth. Twenty minutes of generic platitudes and uncomfortable silence.

Afterward, a young man approached. Well-dressed. Definitely not from the Dregs. His shoes alone probably cost more than my monthly rent.

"Mr. Thorne? I'm Samuel Wicke, from Wicke and Associates. I handled your grandmother's estate."

"There's an estate?"

"Not exactly." He produced a small wooden box. "She left you this. And a letter."

I took the box. Light. Almost empty.

"The care home took everything else for outstanding fees," Samuel continued. He had the decency to look uncomfortable. "I'm sorry. Your grandmother was quite insistent that you receive these items specifically."

"That's it?"

"I'm afraid so."

He left quickly, probably eager to return to clients who actually had money.

I sat on the chapel steps and opened the letter. My grandmother's handwriting was shaky, barely legible. The paper smelled like lavender and something else. Something medicinal and wrong.

Kael,

By the time you read this, I'll be gone. Good. I've lived too long, waiting, watching, hoping I was wrong about you.

I wasn't.

The locket in this box has been in our family for generations. I should have destroyed it. I tried. Spent forty years trying. But it won't let go.

Don't open it. Don't wear it. Don't even look at it for too long. Throw it in the river. Bury it. Burn it if you can.

But you won't. I know you won't. Because you're like me. You're empty, and empty things need filling.

I'm sorry for what I did to you. I'm sorry for what you're going to do. I'm sorry for everything that comes next.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

E.M.

E.M. Elara Mourne. Not the name I'd known her by.

I opened the box.

Inside, nestled in black velvet, was a silver locket. Tarnished. Old. Unremarkable except for its weight. Heavier than silver should be, denser, like it contained something more than empty space.

An engraving decorated the front, worn smooth by decades of handling. Latin, probably. Ad satietatem.

To satisfaction. To fullness.

I should have thrown it away. Should have listened to the warning.

I opened it instead.

A crystal sat embedded in the center. Black as a starless sky. Small, maybe the size of a thumbnail. And as I stared, I realized it wasn't black. It was everything. Every color compressed into darkness, swirling, reaching toward me like it recognized something familiar.

Heat seared my palm.

I tried to drop it. My fingers wouldn't obey. The chain wrapped around my wrist, moving like something alive. Heat became cold became something else entirely. A sensation like falling upward, drowning in air, burning in ice.

Then I heard them.

Voices. Dozens. Hundreds. Screaming and whispering and begging and demanding all at once, layered over each other until they became a singular sound that bypassed my ears and carved directly into my brain.

Finally.

Let us out.

We're so hungry.

Who is this? Who dares touch us?

Feed us. Feed us. FEED US.

I stumbled backward off the chapel steps. Concrete rose up to meet me, driving the air from my lungs. The locket's chain had somehow fastened around my neck. I clawed at it, but my fingers passed through the links like they weren't entirely there.

Mrs. Chen walked past the chapel.

And I felt her.

Not saw. Felt. Like standing next to a fire, except the fire existed inside her chest. A green glow, pulsing and alive. Her magic. Plant affinity. Small but real. Minor tier but functional. Enough to grow her little window box garden, enough to sell produce at the market, enough to matter.

I reached out without thinking.

My hand extended toward her, and I felt something flow from her body to mine. Thin as spider silk, strong as steel cable. A connection I couldn't see but knew was there. I grabbed it and pulled.

Mrs. Chen gasped. Her hand flew to her chest. "What..."

Magic flooded into me.

For the first time in twenty-three years, I felt full.