Malek woke to Hendrick's boot nudging his shoulder.

  "Up. We leave in ten minutes."

  The workshop was still dark. Malek rolled off the cot and immediately regretted it. His arms felt like someone had beaten them with a stick. The channels Hendrick had forced open two nights ago throbbed with each heartbeat. He flexed his fingers. The joints were stiff.

  Hendrick was already dressed, stuffing items into a worn leather satchel. Malek watched him pack: folded documents tied with string, a small cloth pouch that clinked with coins, three vials of yellowish liquid, and something wrapped in oilcloth that Hendrick shoved to the bottom of the bag before Malek could get a good look.

  "What's that?" Malek asked.

  "Insurance." Hendrick cinched the satchel shut. "Get dressed. Bring nothing but the clothes you're wearing."

  Malek pulled on his cleaner shirt and the trousers Hendrick had left out for him. They were too big in the waist. He had to tie them tight with rope.

  They stepped outside. The sun hadn't risen yet. The air was cold enough that Malek's breath fogged. Hendrick locked the workshop door with two separate keys, tested the handle twice, then started walking.

  The dirt path to Thornvale cut through empty fields. Malek's legs were still sore from the past week of constant work. He kept pace anyway. The satchel Hendrick handed him wasn't heavy, but his shoulders protested after the first half-mile.

  Thornvale was a small town near the border. They stopped a passing cart and climbed aboard, planning to use it for the rest of their journey.

  "Walk straight when we get there," Hendrick said without looking back.

  Malek adjusted his grip on the satchel. "What if the scan shows the blockage?"

  "It'll show partial awakening. That's normal for someone two days in. What matters is the primary node. That's active. The rest is our problem, not theirs."

  They passed through the town outskirts. Two women standing near a well stopped talking when they approached. One of them whispered something. The other shook her head.

  Malek kept his eyes forward.

  After few hours of traveling.

  The road widened as they got closer to Thornvale. Other people appeared on the path—mostly families with children around Malek's age. Some younger. The kids looked nervous. The parents looked tired.

  Thornvale wasn't large, but it was three times the size of the village. The buildings were actual stone instead of wood and mud. The market square had paved sections. Street lamps lined the main road, and they glowed with a faint blue light even though the sun was starting to rise. Magi-tech.

  Malek had only been here twice before. Both times with his mother, years ago, to sell some products. He barely remembered it.

  When he breathed in, there was a faint tingle in his chest. Tiny blue motes drifted between the buildings like dust in sunlight. Mana density. Hendrick had mentioned it once—towns with more practitioners had higher ambient mana. It leaked from active channels, from enchanted objects, from the ground itself if enough people lived there long enough.

  The Registrar's Hall sat at the north end of the square. It was the oldest building in sight—cracked stone walls, faded banners from the kingdom's regional guilds hanging over the entrance. The line of people waiting outside stretched twenty deep.

  Hendrick led Malek to the end of it.

  Most of the queue was children with parents. A few older awakeners stood alone. One boy looked about fifteen, broad-shouldered, staring at the ground like he wanted it to swallow him. A woman near the front was maybe nineteen or twenty. She had the kind of face that didn't give anything away, but her hands kept clenching and unclenching.

  Malek stood behind a merchant family. The father wore a coat with guild pins on the lapel. The son, maybe twelve, kept bouncing on his toes.

  "Think I'll get Fire?" the boy asked.

  "Doesn't matter," the father said. "Mage-class or Combat-class, you're set either way."

  A guard near the entrance called out a name. A different family stepped out of line and walked straight to the door, skipping everyone. The merchant father nodded at them as they passed.

  Malek frowned. "They just—"

  "Priority slots," Hendrick muttered. "Pay enough and you don't have to wait."

  The line moved slowly. Every ten minutes, a clerk would open the door and call three names. The families would file in. The door would close. Twenty minutes later, they'd come back out. Some kids looked happy. Others didn't.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Malek shifted his weight. His feet hurt. The satchel strap dug into his shoulder.

  A clerk appeared at the door, a middle-aged woman with ink stains on her sleeves. She scanned a piece of paper. "Next: combat affinities, primary awakenings only."

  Five families stepped forward from different places in the line. They walked in. The door shut behind them.

  Someone behind Malek muttered, "Of course."

  Malek didn't react.

  Another twenty minutes. The door opened again. This time the clerk just called names from the list. Three families went in, including the merchant ahead of them.

  Malek heard a voice from somewhere in the line: "How many Zero-Class today?"

  "Two so far," someone else answered. "Waste of a stamp, if you ask me."

  "They still pay taxes?"

  "Everyone does. Even useless ones."

  Hendrick's hand settled on Malek's shoulder, just for a second. Malek kept quiet.

  Finally, their turn came. The clerk called, "Hendrick val Arren and ward."

  They walked in.

  The inside of the Registrar's Hall was colder than outside. The floors were polished stone. Rows of wooden benches lined the walls. Doors along the back led to smaller rooms. A few families sat waiting on the benches. One kid was crying.

  The clerk led them to a counter near the left wall. She sat down behind it and gestured for Hendrick to approach.

  "Documents," she said.

  Hendrick placed the folded papers on the counter. The clerk unfolded them, scanned the text, checked a seal at the bottom. She looked up at Hendrick.

  "You're the guardian?"

  "Temporary. Guardian."

  She made a note on a separate sheet. "Name of the boy?"

  "Malek."

  "Family name?"

  "None registered."

  She wrote that down too. "Date of awakening?"

  "Two days ago. Ninth of third-Frost ."

  "Method?"

  "Family ritual."

  The clerk's pen paused. She glanced at Malek, then back at Hendrick. "Family ritual. Meaning?"

  "Alchemical induction. Controlled awakening through prepared draught."

  She stared at him for a long moment. Then she wrote it down. "That's not standard."

  "Well It's legal."

  "Didn't say it wasn't." She set the pen down. "He goes to Room Three for the scan. You wait here."

  Hendrick nodded. He looked at Malek. "Do what they tell you. Answer when asked. Don't elaborate."

  Malek swallowed and followed the clerk through one of the back doors.

  Room Three was small. A circle of runes was carved directly into the floor in the center. A man in a dark blue robe sat at a desk in the corner, reading something. He didn't look up when Malek entered.

  The clerk pointed at the circle. "Stand there."

  Malek stepped into it. The runes didn't glow. They didn't hum. They just sat there, inert.

  The man finally closed his book and stood. He looked about forty, thin, with ink stains on his fingers that matched the clerk's. He walked over to Malek and circled him once, eyes scanning.

  "First time?" the man asked.

  "Yes, sir."

  "It won't hurt. You'll feel cold for a few seconds. Don't move." He placed one hand on Malek's shoulder. "Breathe normal."

  Malek tried. His heart was pounding too hard.

  The man closed his eyes. Mana flowed from his hand—Malek felt it immediately. It was nothing like Hendrick's brutal forced opening. This was thin, careful, like a thread sliding through water. It traced down Malek's shoulder, into his chest, following the pathways Hendrick had carved open.

  Cold. The man wasn't lying about that. Malek's breath fogged despite the closed room.

  The thread split. One line went to his head. Another to his gut. A third tried to go lower and hit resistance. It recoiled.

  The man opened his eyes. He stepped back.

  "Primary brain node active," he said aloud, his voice flat. "Secondary channels partial. Tertiary… minimal organ linkage. No lower dantian connection." He glanced at the clerk, who was writing everything down. "Classification: Zero-Class Alchemist. Unranked."

  The clerk finished writing. "Noted."

  The man turned back to Malek. His expression didn't change, but his voice dropped lower. "Your channels are dense for two days in. Whoever opened you, did it hard."

  Malek didn't respond.

  "You'll need steady training or you'll burn out before you hit twenty. Don't rush it." He waved toward the door. "You're cleared. Go back to the main hall."

  Malek left the room. His shoulder still felt cold where the man had touched him.

  Hendrick was waiting at the counter. The clerk gestured for Malek to stand next to him.

  "Classification confirmed," she said. "Zero-Class Alchemist, unranked. He's eligible for citizen registration. Do you want to proceed?"

  "Yes," Hendrick said.

  She pulled a wooden box from under the counter and opened it. Inside were rows of small bronze discs, each one blank. She selected one and placed it on the counter. Then she picked up a metal stamp, heated the end over a candle flame, and pressed it into the disc.

  The bronze hissed. When she lifted the stamp, the kingdom's seal was burned into one side—a crowned tower over crossed grain stalks.

  She flipped the disc over and used a different stamp. This one was smaller. She pressed it into the center. When she pulled it away, a simple symbol remained: a mortar and pestle.

  "Personal rune," she said. "Standard for alchemists. You can request a custom design later, will only if you can afford the costs."

  She set the disc down in front of Malek. It was still warm.

  "Repeat after me," she said. "I swear loyalty to the crown and kingdom."

  Malek's mouth was dry. "I swear loyalty to the crown and kingdom."

  "I will use mana responsibly and without harm to the innocent."

  "I will use mana responsibly and without harm to the innocent."

  "I accept the rights and duties of a registered citizen."

  "I accept the rights and duties of a registered citizen."

  His voice cracked on the last word. The clerk didn't care.

  She pushed the disc toward him. "That's your citizen stamp. Don't lose it. You'll need it for any legal sale, guild application, or travel outside regional borders."

  Malek picked it up. It was heavier than it looked.

  "Rights," the clerk continued, pulling out a printed sheet. "You can sell potions up to Grade One. You can apply for provisional guild membership. You can own a registered recipe book. You can defend yourself with magic if attacked, non-lethal force only."

  She flipped the sheet over. "Duties. Annual mana tax, 12% of annual income for Zero-Class. Mandatory reporting of any new node awakenings within ten days. The regional guild can request contribution potions in case of emergency—refusal is a fine of 10000 Ran or one month labor."

  She looked at Hendrick. "He's on your record until he turns eighteen or applies for independent status. Any violations fall on you."

  Hendrick nodded. "Understood."

  The clerk waved them off. "Next."

  They walked out of the hall.

  The sun was high up in the sky now.

  The market square was crowded. Malek stood on the steps, staring at the bronze disc in his hand. The metal caught the light. The rune stamped into it was crooked—slightly off-center.

  Hendrick coughed into his fist, a long, rattling sound. Malek looked at him.

  "I'm fine," Hendrick said before Malek could ask. "Let's move."