The city of Ryuki buzzed with a life all its own. Hovering trains slid across high rails above glassy skyscrapers. Neon lights lit up the sky even after sunset, bathing the streets in hues of electric blue and crimson. Street performers summoned sparks to dance in the air, and vendors sold talismans infused with minor enchantments to help boost luck, stamina, or sleep. This was a world where magic lived in every breath, woven seamlessly into the rhythm of modern life.
Nestled in the heart of the city stood the Ryuki Dojo, a towering obsidian structure built long before magic met technology. Its gates stood tall like the jaws of a beast, carved with sigils of the five elemental houses: Fire, Water, Wind, Earth, and Ether. This dojo wasn't just a training ground—it was a fortress, a school, and a monument of legacy. At its head was the revered Master Hoshin Maru, the man who had tamed storms and walked through flame. But beside him stood another name feared and respected in equal measure: Ryden Ryuki, the Guardian of the city.
Ryden had fought in the Great War of Clans two decades ago and survived a firestorm that turned half a district to ash. Now, he protected the dojo and its secrets—and raised three sons. Two of them were already prodigies.
The eldest, Veon Ryuki, was born with fire running through his blood. His control of flame and portal summoning had already earned him the nickname "Blazing Hawk". He could call down a phoenix from thin air, and he'd only just turned sixteen.
The youngest, Kaen, was wild, fast, and sharp with wind magic. At ten, he had already split trees with pressure bursts and performed aerial maneuvers that left instructors speechless.
Then there was the middle child: Auren Ryuki.
No fire. No wind. No magic. Just silence.
At twelve, thirteen, and even at fifteen, the mage affinity test had declared the same outcome: "No elemental signature detected."
He remembered the last test vividly. The hall had been cold. The crystal globe on the pedestal glowed for everyone—except him. His father stood quietly behind the mage official. When the test ended, he didn't speak. He didn't even frown. He simply turned away and walked out.
That silence burned more than any flame could.
"Auren! Don't forget the rice and enchanted milk!" his mother called from the kitchen window.
"Got it!" he shouted back, slinging his faded messenger bag over his shoulder.
He moved quickly through the market district, dodging delivery drones and spell-casting kids practicing their levitation tricks. Vendors waved at him.
"Back again, Auren?" asked old Riku, the vegetable seller.
"Always," Auren said with a smile, handing over credits. "Mom's stew isn't complete without your carrots."
He picked up rice, a pack of long-burning candles, and finally stopped by the enchanted milk vendor—milk infused with a minor cooling charm so it never spoiled.
As he turned to leave, an old man sitting by the fountain watched him carefully. He was cloaked in gray, his face shadowed by a tattered hat.
"You look like a boy carrying more than groceries," the old man said.
Auren hesitated. "Just... doing my part."
"There's more in your eyes than that. Sadness. Yearning. Maybe even a little fire, buried deep."
Auren blinked. "I'm not a mage."
The old man smiled faintly. "Not yet."
Before Auren could ask what he meant, the crowd passed between them. When Auren looked again, the man was gone.
Back home, he stepped into the warmth of family life. His mother met him at the door with a soft smile and took the bags. "You always remember everything," she said, patting his cheek.
In the large dojo courtyard behind their home, Veon and Kaen were already sparring—flames clashing with sharp gusts, laughter ringing in the air.
Their father stood nearby, arms folded, a rare smile on his face. "Excellent, Veon. Your phoenix's reaction time is improving."
Kaen landed beside him. "Did you see how I dodged that last blast?"
Ryden chuckled and clapped Kaen's back. "Well done."
From the doorway, Auren watched silently, the shadow of a smile on his lips. But his heart ached.
He longed for his father's praise.
For even a look.
That evening, Auren set the table and served the stew. He poured water, passed bowls, and waited until everyone had eaten before grabbing his own meal.
They didn't thank him.
No one meant to be cruel. But silence hurts more when it's familiar.
After dinner, while his brothers relaxed, Auren washed dishes alone. The scalding water stung his fingers, but he didn't complain.
He never did.
Later, he climbed to the rooftop, his usual place. He watched the stars blink through the pollution haze. Hover-trains glided by, their lights streaking across the skyline.
He held a hand out toward the stars and imagined it glowing.
Just once, he wanted to feel warmth not from cooking fires, but from power inside him.
Just once, he wanted his father to look at him with pride.
"I want to be strong too," he whispered.
The wind blew softly.
But no flame came.
Only silence.