Brent Alder kept his head down as he walked through the gates of Eldergrove Academy, the school where every child was expected to catch fire—or freeze the air, summon storms, bend light, or at least talk to animals—by their twelfth birthday. Brent was fifteen. And still utterly, miserably normal. This is something that only happens to 1% of the world. But, it has happened to everyone in Brent's family.
"Look who's still powerless," a voice sneered from behind. Brent didn't turn. He knew that voice too well—Joran Crest and his lackeys, the forth year students that were well-known as offspring of the wealthiest families in the area and also a pile of trouble for everyone. Everyone—including the teachers— knew that he would bully the younger students but no one was able to do anything. He was all grin and flame, already summoning flickers of fire from his fingers like it was second nature. Which, for Joran, it was. He had won every tournament since his first semester of school.
Brent clenched his fists. He wasn't weak. He could outrun half the class in sprints, had the sharpest aim in archery, and once, in a science project, built a working glider out of scrap wood and feathers. But none of that mattered here. At Eldergrove, if you couldn't manifest, you didn't matter.
"Maybe your power is hiding," someone laughed. "Or maybe it's just scared of you!"
The others joined in, and Brent quickened his steps, swallowing the heat behind his eyes. He didn't cry anymore. Not where they could see. Not where they'd twist it into something else.
Brent had delayed entering into the academy in order to help support his struggling family. His younger sister Lysa was born with a birth defect that kept her in the bed for most of the day and needing constant attention. Brent's mother had passed away during birth and his father spent all day working various jobs in order to pay for the medical care to keep her lungs from collapsing. Brent had fantasized for years about becoming of age and developing a power that could either heal Lysa's lungs or earn enough profit that he could pay for the expensive treatment.
He reached his assigned locker and yanked it open to look for the school supplies that came with his curriculum. No magic wards, no glowing runes, no floating books—just a few notebooks, his writing utensils, and a half-crumpled flyer for the school's Winter Trials. He stared at the words someone had written on the flyer before stuffing it into the cracks of his locker. Open to all. Even the poor and powerless, like you.
Brent smiled, just a little. Maybe they were right. Maybe his power would never manifest and he would be poor for the rest of his like, and, maybe he would would never be anything more than a mere commoner. Or, maybe it was hiding dormant and waiting for the right time to do something amazing. Brent had to keep positive in the hopes that he would be able to save his sister and alleviate the burdens of his father.