It only took three weeks for the world to end.

  Zahir was surprised he had lasted. Old as he was, it must’ve been a blessing from Amar himself. Or maybe a curse. A curse that he had lived only to see his beloved city fall, and so many with it. He coughed, collapsing against a broken wall as the others huddled beside him with short breaths. He felt the blood spreading and watched from a hole in the wall to distract himself from the pain, only to feel more of a different kind grow.

  The sky was black as oil, and the only light left was from the machines. They looked human, only with skin made of metal, eyes made of glass, and flesh made of clockwork. Some rose five stories tall, walking slowly between the streets with their heads down, their eyes glowing bright, scouring the rubble for survivors like walking spotlights. The occasional burst of steam shot from their spines to break the silence. Their cogs turned, metal on metal grinding, an eternal hum that made sleep impossible. Zahir could see a dozen from here, stumbling across the horizon from his hole to the city gates. But it was the small ones he feared most, twice his height in size and twice as fast.

  The city was a ruin. He could recognise places he had been just days before, the market square, the palace, the house where he had been staying. It was all rubble now. Even the once floating Mirion academy now lay in ruins.

  How many people had he seen die? Hundreds? Thousands? How many were still alive? A dozen?

  Did he deserve to be one of them?

  “Easy there.” One of the survivors said, a young woman. She pushed against his wound as she laid him back gently. He hadn’t had the chance to remember all of their names with how quickly things had gone downhill. The others in their ragtag group of survivors hushed her quiet as they shared in Zahir’s view of the city ruins, gathering on the fourth floor of a ruined building.

  “How is he?” Another survivor, a man, whispered, eyeing the gaping hole in Zahir’s abdomen. The woman gave him a knowing look and he turned away solemnly. “We have to keep moving.” The man said under his breath, lowering his voice not out of fear but shame. “Then we keep going.” The woman replied, hoisting Zahir up and slinging his arm over her shoulder.

  The building shook and a hiss of steam tore the quiet, not on the horizon but right outside. The group covered their mouths so as not to scream, none daring to move as the metal head of a machine eclipsed the hole in the wall. As quick as it appeared it passed, its spotlight eyes too focused on the street below to notice the silent mice right beside it.

  They breathed in relief as the giant passed by, only to see something else approach.

  Another machine. A small one.

  It was almost twice a man's height, thin and long-limbed. It hunched as it tried to squeeze itself through the doorframe, giving them a moment’s headstart to run.

  But Zahir couldn’t run.

  He pushed the woman that carried him, begging her to leave him behind. She shook her head with tears in her eyes until she saw the maw of metal that threatened to swallow them whole. She abandoned him to his fate, and he clutched his abdomen in pain as she dropped him to the ground.

  The machine grabbed another survivor with a metal hand, shoving him against the wall. The man screamed as the three holes that formed the machine’s face began to glow. A blue light arose from beneath the survivor’s skin, seeping from his pores like smoke. His mana. His soul. The machine’s face glowed brighter, sucking in the man's soul, drinking it deeply as if it were water from a river. In a moment the light faded, and the man went limp. The machine dropped his lifeless corpse before moving onto its next prey.

  Him.

  The machine lurched toward Zahir, metal fingers wrapping around his waist as its cold hand lifted him upward. Zahir dangled helplessly off the ground, cursing under his breath. The machine looked at him with its empty eyes, beginning to glow. He could feel something stir beneath his skin. His life essence, threatening to abandon him. He managed to squeeze one hand free of the machine's grasp, pushing his fist as close to its face as he could reach.

  He still had enough mana left for one last spell.

  He closed his eyes and focused on his imagination. He saw in his mind’s eye a tree, as vivid as if it were real, as if it were right in front of him. The bark and wood of its trunk, the twisting angles of its branches, the swaying of its leaves in the wind. Life, nature, growth.

  With the last of his strength, he snapped his fingers.

  A spark of light ignited from his hand as he forced the spell forward. Imagination was made real as a dozen vines grew forth from his fist. They slid between the gaps in iron plating, coiling beneath the machine’s metal skin. Thin vines grew into thick trunks of wood, bending metal from the inside and mangling the delicate clockwork that lay beneath.

  It wouldn’t be enough to destroy the machine, but it could buy him a few minutes.

  Zahir felt the crushing weight of the machine’s grasp vanish as he fell to the floor. He gasped for air before crawling away into the darkness.

  He prayed again. Amar had blessed him with a few more minutes.

  — 3 years earlier —

  It was early morning when his father took them into the mountains to hunt. Valleys and rivers cut through the mountain range like cracks in a wall, and the cold winds from Vorsk brewed a river of mist that perpetually hung over its forests like a silver veil.

  Hugo watched as the sunstar and earthstar arose together, painting the sky with a golden yellow dawn, before turning his attention back to the hunt.

  He inhaled as the bowstring kissed his cheek. Hands steady, he took aim, pointing his bow at a flock of pheasants that clustered ahead. Before he could shoot, the birds fluttered into the air, spooked off by something.

  His brother cursed behind him, but Hugo wasn’t giving up yet. He traced one bird with the tip of his arrow, aiming just ahead of its path of flight. He exhaled as his fingers relaxed and the bowstring snapped, sending an arrow whizzing through the air.

  It struck the pheasant straight through the neck, and in a cloud of feathers it fell to the ground like a stone thrown into water.

  His father gave an impressed whistle, slapping him on the back. Hugo masked a rising smile, annoyed at how little it took to stroke his pride.

  “Paying attention Arin?” His father teased.

  “With both eyes.” His brother Arin grumbled.

  “Now try with both hands.” His father said. “Hugo, the bow.”

  Hugo passed the bow over to his brother, who reluctantly accepted it.

  “There’s nothing left to shoot…” Arin complained.

  “Then shoot that tree.”

  “But it’s sooo far.”

  “Your younger brother just shot down a bird mid-flight.”

  Arin sighed, gripping the bow in his hands. He pulled back the arrow and…

  Missed.

  “How are you going to let your little brother outdo you like that?”

  “If you just let me use magic–”

  “We’ve talked about magic.” His father sighed. “Magic is for witches and pretty little noble boys who like to wear dresses.”

  Arin gave him a knowing look. Hugo quickly shook his head, but his brother ignored the warning.

  “About that…” His brother surrendered a rare glimpse of hesitation. “Mirion academy’s entrance exams are starting in a few days. I’m going.”

  “Like hell you are.” His father snapped.

  “There’s nothing here for me.” Arin said. “But up there—“

  “Up there is what? You think they’re going to teach some farmers son magic because you pass an exam or two? No. Besides, I need you here on the farm.”

  “If I pass that exam, I won’t be a farmer's son anymore. I’ll be a mage.”

  “A mage?” His father laughed at that. “Mirion academy was built by nobles, for nobles. You will always be a farmer's son to people like them. You can talk like them, dress like them, but you will never be their equal. Magic is for the nobility. So be it. Farming, hunting, that’s real. That’s for us. That’s our lot in life, and the sooner you accept that, the better off you’ll be.”

  “You can’t stop me from going father.” Arin replied. Defiant.

  His father stopped walking.

  “Listen to me boy.” His father said, turning to face Arin. “You go to that exam? You don’t ever come back, you hear me? Doesn’t matter if you pass or fail, don’t ever show your face to me again.” He gripped the bow in Arin’s arms. “A man’s strength comes from his body, and his sharpness of mind.” His father snatched the bow and handed it back to Hugo. “Maybe if you spent less time daydreaming, you’d be able to shoot a bow like your brother. What kind of man can’t hunt?”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Hugo hated this. Hated when his father pitted them against each other. Hated his father’s admonishment. He had been victim to it himself enough times to know how much it hurt. His brother was never quite as gifted with the bow, but what Arin did have something he could only ever dream of.

  Magic.

  Three years ago, when his brother was just thirteen years old, he sparked while trying to light the fireplace. From seemingly thin air, he created a ball of fire in his hands.

  In time, an unspoken agreement was made. What's done was done, so while his father could tolerate fire magic, learning magic of any other kind was strictly off the table. The few times Arin had been caught trying, he had been beaten.

  Hugo did not have to worry about such things. He was now fourteen, yet no matter how hard he tried, he had never been able to cast a spell. He had never sparked. And if he didn’t spark before finishing puberty then he never would. It wasn’t uncommon for people to go their entire lives without it ever happening.

  Hugo pulled on his bow at the sudden sound of wings, only to see an echobeak land ahead. Its wings glistened a beautiful emerald green in the light, but the little bird was too small to be worth shooting.

  “Do you think it’s an echo for us?” Arin asked.

  “Ignore it. It’s wild.” His father replied.

  As they continued though the forest, more and more echobeaks gathered upon the surrounding tree branches. Strange. Hugo had only ever seen them deliver messages, but these ones just watched them in silence.

  On a cold morning like this, the mist was so thick it was as if they were above a layer of clouds. Above the sky. Alone at the top of the world. It was only a few hours later that his father spotted their first deer.

  They hid together behind some shrubs, watching as it drank by a stream. Hugo winced when he realised it wasn’t a deer, but a fawn. It couldn’t have been more than six months old, stumbling alone. Where was its mother?

  He shook the doubt from his mind.

  He took a breath, leaning back as he aimed his bow. His arms began to shake with the strain of its drawn string and sweat beat his brow as he struggled under the weight of his own arms. What was he waiting for? Should he go for the neck? No.

  He moved his aim just above its ear and released The arrow missed the fawn by an inch, just enough to make it look like an accident. The sound sent it off running. Good.

  “What was that?” His father snapped. There was no longer a need to whisper, and he took full advantage of that fact.

  “I missed.” Hugo tried.

  “You did that on purpose.” His father said icily. “Why?”

  “I didn't want to.” Hugo replied, glaring at him. Normally he wouldn’t dare, but it seemed Arin’s earlier display of defiance had inspired him.

  “Damnit boy, how long is it going to take me to iron that softness out of you? Arin might've missed but at least he’d have had the balls to shoot to kill.”

  Hugo almost laughed at that. With his “softness” and Arin's love for magic, it seemed neither of them were good enough for their father. Maybe it was for the best. Under different circumstances, he and Arin may have been bitter rivals, competing for their fathers acceptance. Instead, his constant criticism only pushed them closer together. A common enemy of sorts.

  “If you just–”

  “Sh.” His father hushed, putting a finger to his lips. Hugo looked for what might've spooked him only to see nothing. And yet… something was wrong. He could feel it. The distant chirping of birds and insects had stopped, the wind had grown still, and all around them perched echobeaks. Hundreds of them. Watching them silently.

  Snapping twigs broke the silence as a shape emerged from behind the trees.

  At first, Hugo couldn’t make it out. It was hidden by the shadows of the forest, dodging the rays of daylight that pierced the canopy, but what was obvious was its size. It was two, maybe even three stories tall, walking on four legs. Its head was level with the highest branches, and from its mouth hung the limp corpse of the young fawn he had just let live.

  As it stepped into the light, Hugo saw that it was an enormous wolf.

  The giant creature stopped a stone's throw away from them. Searching their faces, looking at them. No.

  It was looking at him.

  “Why didn’t you kill this fawn, human?” The wolf asked.

  It talked?

  Its voice was impossible, coming from all around them, as if it were speaking through the wind itself. Hugo looked up to see that it wasn’t the wind, but rather the swarm of echobeaks, a hundred voices speaking at once.

  His father moved a protective arm in front of him, his face pale with terror. He had never seen the man so openly afraid.

  “I asked you a question.” The wolf said.

  Arin elbowed him.

  “I…” He stammered. If even his father had seen through his lie, then there was no point repeating it now. Instead, he opted for the truth. “I… It was just a baby. I didn’t want to kill a baby.”

  There was silence. Then the wolf did something he never would’ve guessed.

  It laughed.

  A loud, boisterous laugh that shook the trees, and a hundred echobeaks laughed alongside it. “What if the fox didn’t kill the rabbit because it ‘didn’t want to?’ or a wolf skipped out on a lamb because it ‘was just a baby?’ Humans are strange. Spoilt maybe.” The wolf went quiet for a moment, searching his face for something, grinning when it found it. “In another time I might’ve taught you a lesson, but you’ve been punished enough. Pitiful human.”

  “What do you mean?” Hugo stammered.

  “You are cursed. I can smell my sister's magic all over you.”

  Cursed?

  “Give her my regards.” The wolf said. It laughed again before bounding off back into the forest.

  The echobeaks flew off, leaving them alone again. The sounds of birdsong and insects returned, yet it took longer than he cared to admit before the three of them had calmed down enough to move.

  The long walk back home to the village was largely silent. His father seemed content to pretend the giant wolf thing simply hadn’t happened, but Hugo couldn’t stop thinking about what it had said. You are cursed. Its voice repeated over and over again in his mind.

  “You three look like you’ve seen a ghost.” A voice said.

  He looked up to see Eli waiting for them at the forest's border, standing with his hands on his hips.

  Eli was their age, with blonde hair and fair skin, and was one of those people that had everything in life. He was of noble birth, born into great wealth and privilege. He was handsome, and looked natively Belmish. But most of all, Eli had never needed to spark. He had simply always been able to use magic.

  Envy was inevitable, Hugo understood that. What took effort, was not allowing that envy to turn into resentment. He would never allow himself to hate Eli. Not after everything he had done for them. If Hugo sparked, if he could just use magic of his own, then maybe these feelings would go away on their own.

  “Master Eli.” His father said with a bow. It was rather amusing seeing someone who took himself so seriously, bowing to a little boy. Though it was the least he could do. These forests were the king's land, and it was technically illegal for commonfolk like them to hunt here without permission. As a noble, Eli had every right to cut off their hands as punishment, yet he never did.

  “I’ll leave you boys to it then.” His father said, slinging the string of pheasants over his back. Eli had been the one responsible for teaching Arin magic in the first place. So for as much as their father disdained it, there was little he could do now to stop it.

  Before leaving, Hugo noticed a look of hesitation on his father’s face. Was he worried about the kidnappers? A dozen children had gone missing this past week, one just last night. A boy. The same age as him.

  “The kidnappers only come at night, right?” He said.

  “So far.” His father replied, turning quickly to leave, maybe embarrassed he had been caught worrying. Once his father was out of earshot, Hugo recounted the events with the wolf and echobeaks.

  "Sounds like Paimon." Eli said after a moment's thought. "But she's a pagan deity, so if I were you, I wouldn’t go around telling people she's here, especially with all these missing children."

  “Could Paimon be the one kidnapping them?” Hugo asked.

  “Paimon doesn’t care about humans.” Eli replied.

  “It told Hugo he was cursed.” Arin added.

  So it wasn’t just his imagination then? The wolf really had been talking to him.

  “Cursed?” Eli looked him up and down with a frown.

  “What if… What if there’s a reason I can’t use magic?” He asked.

  “You’re not cursed.” Eli huffed. “You’ll spark soon enough, and when you do, you’ll join us up at Mirion academy.”

  Eli pointed to the sky, and Hugo watched as the academy floated past the clouds.

  It was so high up he could cover it with his thumb if he stuck it out at the right angle. If he looked closely, he could make out the pointed spires that formed its castle-like structure, and he wondered what kind of magic allowed such a large place to fly.

  It looked like a giant castle, rising off a clump of earth that sailed across the sky like an island over water. Mirion academy was the foremost school for magical study in the world. The structure itself was older than history, and had floated idly by above the rise and fall of a thousand nations, indifferent to the power struggles below. Every great mage in history had graduated from its halls, the same halls every mage-to-be dreamed of one day walking.

  The academy’s entrance exams started in a week. Thousands of aspiring mages from all over the world would be competing, and only the top two hundred would pass and be accepted as students.

  “But if you were going to spark,” Eli continued, “You should probably do it soon.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Eli shot a look at Arin. “You haven't told him yet?”

  Arin tensed. “I was going to, I just…”

  “Tell me what?”

  Eli and Arin turned away, huddling together as they whispered something. “The entrance exam is in a few days” Arin said, turning to face him with a sigh.

  “And? Father already told you not to go.”

  “And… I want you to take it with me.”

  Hugo laughed at the absurdity of that. He would've assumed they were teasing him had they not looked so serious. “But I have no magic. You know that, so–.”

  “You have magic, you just haven't sparked it yet.” Eli replied.

  “What difference does it make?” Hugo asked.

  “You can still spark if–”

  “I’ve been trying to spark my entire life! What will change between now and the exam?”

  “The pressure.” Eli replied. “Extreme stress is one of the most reliable ways to induce a spark. House Sorelle 'baptize’ their babies by drowning them. They either sink, or they spark. It must work, because they’re one of the most powerful houses in Belm.”

  “And what about the babies that drown?”

  “How do you know you’ll drown if you’ve never even stepped foot in the water?”

  Hugo sighed. “What’s your point?”

  “The stress before the exam, the stress during the exam will push you to unlock your magic.” Arin replied.

  “During? No. No. I’m not entering a magic exam without magic. I can’t even if I wanted to. I would never pass the pre-assessment.”

  The pre-assessment was the sole reason the entrance exams had only a thousand entrants per year, rather than tens of thousands. When the assessors would try to measure his mana on a blood compass, they would see immediately that he hadn’t sparked and bar him from attending the exam proper.

  “You’re skipping it.” Eli replied bluntly.

  “To skip it I'd need a letter of recommendation from an established mage.” He said.

  “...or a noble.” Eli finished for him.

  “No.” Hugo said, shaking his head. “No. If I get caught as a fraud it will lead straight back to you. You’ll never be allowed into the academy.”

  “Too late. I already submitted my recommendation months ago. For both of you.”

  Arin already knew.

  “How long have you two been planning this?”

  “I thought you’d be grateful,” Arin replied sheepishly.

  Maybe he was right. Maybe he should be grateful instead of fighting them like this. Anyone else would kill for the chance he had just been given, but that didn’t make it any less wrong. “You’re asking me to enter a magic exam without magic.”

  “You’ll have me.” Arin grinned.

  “You're asking me to cheat.”

  “Cheat?” Eli scoffed. “I won’t be attending the entrance exam with you, you want to know why? Because I’m a noble. I get to skip it entirely. While a thousand aspiring students fight tooth and nail for even a chance, I’ll be sitting in the stands, watching, eating, drinking. Why? Because of some great feat? Some great skill or dedication? No, Hugo, I get to skip because I was born into the right family at the right time and you weren't. You want to talk about cheating? The entire academy, this entire country, is built on cheating. Fuelled by it.” Eli pointed up at the academy, floating in the sky. “So you can spend the rest of your life here as a farm boy, or you can join your brother and I up there.”

  Hugo sighed with resignation. Eli was right in a way. He got to skip the rat race entirely. There had been a place waiting for him at the academy since the day he was born. Tomorrow, the headmaster of the academy, as well as Belm’s princess herself, would come to visit Eli personally. They would formally invite him to attend the academy, as was his noble birthright. A birthright neither Hugo nor his brother shared.

  “You’ll probably spark during the exam anyway.” Arin added. “Think of it like a trial by fire.”

  But that was the thing about trials by fire. If you failed, you got burned. And the wolf’s words rang again through his mind.

  You are cursed.