2026-01-03 02:46:22Lumi stared at his arm long after the lantern burned low.
Still nothing.
No mark. No glow. No sigil waking beneath the skin the way it did for everyone else in the Calder estate.
He clenched his fist.
Tomorrow was the Trial.
“You’ll be fine.”
His father’s voice came from the doorway. Calm. Certain. The same voice he used when issuing orders that sent people to die.
Lumi looked up. “You don’t have to say that.”
The Calder patriarch stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The sigil on his wrist pulsed faintly as the room’s wards recognized him. Force and air—Calder blood, undeniable.
“You’ve trained,” his father said. “Harder than most of them. I’m sure your sigil will appear during the trial.”
“What if it doesn’t?”
His father studied him for a moment. Not unkindly. Not gently either.
“It will. All your siblings went through the same procedure and it ended the same way–with their sigils appearing and awakening their power. Yours will be the same,” his father started. “You don’t have to worry.”
“Are you sure?” Lumi asked.
“I’m certain,” his father replied. “Very soon you’ll be joining us in the hunts and patrol of the perimeter. You’ll finally be a true Calder.”
Lumi smiled. He had always wanted to be a part of the patrols and if all went well, after tomorrow, that dream would become a reality. His excitement soon overrode his fear and he suddenly couldn’t wait for the day of the trial to arrive.
— — —
The Calder courtyard was already crowded by sunrise.
Stone platforms rose from the ground in a wide circle, each etched with detection runes that shimmered faintly in the morning light. Families gathered along the perimeter—sigils exposed, power barely restrained.
Lumi stood with his siblings.
He felt naked.
Elvis didn’t look at him.
Marcus shifted restlessly, sparks of unstable force flickering along his knuckles. Mireya’s sigil glowed proudly at her throat, sharp and bright.
Lumi kept his hands at his sides.
“Trial rules are simple,” the Order adjudicator announced. “Step forward when called. Activate your sigil. The platform will judge compatibility.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
The first name was called.
A Calder stepped forward. The platform flared. Wind surged. Applause followed.
Another name. Another success.
Then—
“Lumi Calder.”
The courtyard went quiet.
Lumi stepped forward.
Each footstep felt too loud.
He stood on the platform.
Nothing happened.
The runes waited.
The adjudicator frowned. “Activate your sigil.”
Lumi tried harder. Did everything he could. Flexed his fingers, bent his knees, squatted but nothing happened.
The adjudicator grew impatient. “Are you making fun of us? Activate your sigil this instant.”
“I don’t have one,” Lumi said making everyone’s eyes widen in shock.
“You’re joking right?” The adjudicator asked, unable to believe that the son of the patriarch would actually be sigiless.
“I’m not joking. I don’t have a sigil.”
Whispers broke out instantly.
“Sigil-less?”
“A Calder?”
“That’s impossible.”
The platform flickered—then dimmed.
In the silence, someone laughed.
Slow. Amused.
Lumi turned.
A boy from the Blackwell family stood near the front. Pale hair. Dark eyes. His sigil—necrotic black—curled lazily along his forearm like something alive.
“Guess blood isn’t everything after all,” the boy said lightly.
A few Blackwells chuckled.
Elvis stiffened.
The adjudicator cleared his throat. “The platform has no response.”
“I trained,” Lumi said, before he could stop himself. “I can fight. I can—”
“The Trial measures sigil compatibility,” the adjudicator said flatly. “Not effort. You can return to your seat.”
The platform lowered.
Dismissal.
Lumi stepped off.
The Blackwell boy met his eyes as he passed.
“Careful,” he said softly. “People without marks tend to break easily.”
Lumi didn’t reply.
He couldn’t.
As he moved forward, Lumi searched the crowd for his father’s eyes.
He didn’t find them.
When he finally found them, he saw that his father was speaking to the adjudicator, voice low, controlled—already moving on.
Whatever he had been promised ended there.
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74
Lumi stopped at the final stair.For a moment, he thought he was mistaken.His father stood within the outer ring of the formation, coat immaculate as ever, hands clasped behind his back as if he were observing a board meeting rather than standing at the edge of something deeply forbidden.Opposite him stood the Blackwell patriarch, sleeves rolled to the wrist, fingers marked in ink and blood.The air above the circle rippled.Not opening.Not yet.But thinning.“Dad?”His voice sounded too loud in the underground chamber.Both men turned.The Blackwell patriarch’s expression did not shift. No panic. No guilt.Only calculation.“You were not invited,” he said mildly.Lumi’s gaze snapped to his father. “What is this?”The Calder patriarch regarded him the way one might regard an unexpected complication in an otherwise elegant equation.“We are correcting a flaw,” he said.“In what?”“In the structure of power.”The runes brightened as if punctuating the statement. Lumi stared closely a
73
“What? Your father? As in also a demon?” Lumi blinked. [What? You think I was given birth to by a raccoon? Of course a demon gave birth to me.]“What do you want me to do? Last time I tried meddling with demon magic, I ended up binding one to myself,” Lumi reminded.[You must go beneath the arena.]Before Lumi could respond, Scott’s staff sliced through the air toward Lumi’s shoulder. Lumi twisted aside, boots skidding across stone.“You’ve picked a brilliant time for instructions,” Lumi muttered under his breath as he ducked another strike.[Listen to me.]Scott pressed forward.A thrust.A spin.A sweep aimed at Lumi’s legs.Lumi vaulted over it, flipping cleanly before landing in a crouch.[Whatever they are doing below us must be stopped. They’re toying with what they don’t understand. If my father crosses over the same way I did—]Scott lunged again.“There’s no time for riddles,” Lumi snapped internally, blocking a downward strike that jarred his arms. “Explain so I’ll know wha
72
The engine cut.Silence settled around the car like a held breath.Calder estate rose ahead of them—stone pale against the afternoon sky, banners snapping in disciplined rows, sigils glowing faintly along the outer walls.Aidan was the first to step out.“Bit dramatic, isn’t it?” he muttered, shutting the door with a soft thud. “They couldn’t wait an extra hour?”Nevan rounded the bonnet, adjusting the cuffs of his coat. “It’s the Calders. They don’t wait. Very impatient family.”Cleodora stepped out last.She smoothed her sleeve.Said nothing.The gravel crunched beneath their boots as they approached the gates. Guards gave them curt nods and allowed them through without delay.Inside, the estate felt… alive.Too alive.The air vibrated faintly with gathered power.Nevan frowned. “Why does it feel like we’re late to something?”A horn sounded.Deep.Resonant.The sound rolled across the grounds and into their bones.They exchanged a look.Then quickened their pace.---They entered t
71
The morning air was sharp with frost when the two patriarchs stepped out onto the upper terrace overlooking the Calder arena grounds.Below them, banners snapped in the wind.Servants moved in careful lines, adjusting sigils etched into stone, polishing railings, preparing for the spectacle.The Concord Trials.Tradition dressed as honour.Power disguised as sport.The Calder patriarch adjusted the cuffs of his coat, gaze sweeping the estate with quiet satisfaction. Beside him, the Blackwell patriarch stood with his hands clasped neatly behind his back, expression composed, unreadable.Footsteps approached.Measured.Respectful.A young aide stopped several paces away and bowed deeply.“My lords.”Neither man looked at him immediately.Only when the Calder patriarch gave a small nod did the aide straighten enough to speak.“There has been… an unexpected development.”The Blackwell patriarch’s eyes shifted.“Speak.”“Scott Blackwell has just arrived at the entrance.”Silence followed.
70
Lumi had been walking the corridors for nearly half an hour when he felt it.A shift.Not loud.Not dramatic.Just a ripple in the air near the main entrance, like a new presence stepping across an invisible line.He turned instinctively.Through the tall arched windows lining the corridor, he could see the front courtyard below. Cars parked outside in a neat row. Hunters in formal attire moved in measured clusters, their crests pinned to lapels, their sigils faintly shimmering in anticipation of the trials.And there—At the gates.A familiar silhouette.Dark coat.Still posture.Shadows pooling faintly at his heels.Scott Blackwell.Lumi stilled.For a brief second, he simply watched.The Blackwell patriarch was nowhere in sight.No entourage.No formal procession.Just Scott, standing at the entrance as if he had arrived alone by accident.Was he their only representative or did they send him ahead to check out the competition first?Lumi descended the staircase without quite reali
69
Lumi woke to the sound of movement.Not voices, not shouting—just the low, constant shuffle of a house being rearranged. Fabric dragged across stone. Footsteps pacing and repacing. Metal clinking faintly, then stopping, then starting again.For a moment, he stayed where he was.The ceiling above him was unfamiliar in a way that still unsettled him. Calder ceilings were high, arched, ribbed with dark beams that looked more like cathedral bones than architecture. Even the light that filtered through the curtains felt heavier here, weighted with age and expectation.He swung his legs out of bed and dressed carefully.The clothes laid out for him were formal. Dark. Trimmed with the Calder sigil in thread so fine it was almost easy to miss. He hesitated before fastening the last clasp, fingers lingering there as if the fabric might bite back.When he stepped into the corridor, the estate was already awake.Servants moved briskly, arms full. Banners were being carried down from storage, the
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