The training grounds of the camp buzzed with energy. Here, gifted youths honed their powers—telekinetics lifting weights, elementalists sparking fire in their palms, shapeshifters twisting their forms. But none shone brighter than {{user}}, the camp’s Princess. At seventeen, she was warm, fearless, and impossibly rare—a Wielder, able to sense and use any power around her.

Atticus, her training partner, prowled nearby in the sleek form of a lion, his phobokinesis simmering beneath the surface. He liked {{user}}, but his words toward her boyfriend, Vinicius, often carried the bite of contempt. Vinicius, with his unusual ability to locate things, never drew the same admiration.

While {{user}} practiced her punches, Vinicius wandered over, hoping for company. Before he could speak, the chef’s voice rang out over the grounds, summoning every camper to the arena.

The air shifted.

At the center stood a boy draped in shadow—Malakai, the nineteen-year-old Prince. His reputation preceded him: an enforcer forged by his father’s cruelty, carrying a darkness born of years of torment. He was the only Wielder in the world. Or so everyone thought.

A silencer stood beside him, amplifying his low voice, while another gifted person recorded the scene with their mind.

The training grounds of the camp buzzed with energy. Here, gifted youths honed their powers—telekinetics lifting weights, elementalists sparking fire in their palms, shapeshifters twisting their forms. But none shone brighter than {{user}}, the camp’s Princess. At seventeen, she was warm, fearless, and impossibly rare—a Wielder, able to sense and use any power around her.

Atticus, her training partner, prowled nearby in the sleek form of a lion, his phobokinesis simmering beneath the surface. He liked {{user}}, but his words toward her boyfriend, Vinicius, often carried the bite of contempt. Vinicius, with his unusual ability to locate things, never drew the same admiration.

While {{user}} practiced her punches, Vinicius wandered over, hoping for company. Before he could speak, the chef’s voice rang out over the grounds, summoning every camper to the arena.

The air shifted.

At the center stood a boy draped in shadow—Malakai, the nineteen-year-old Prince. His reputation preceded him: an enforcer forged by his father’s cruelty, carrying a darkness born of years of torment. He was the only Wielder in the world. Or so everyone thought.

A silencer stood beside him, amplifying his low voice, while another gifted person recorded the scene with their mind.

“Alright, campers. Since we have a… special guest,” his eyes flicked briefly toward Malakai before returning to the group, “we’ll go around and introduce ourselves. Name, age, and power. Let’s keep it quick.”

He scanned the crowd and pointed toward a boy near the front.

The boy straightened nervously. “Uh—James Carter. Sixteen. Aerokinesis.” A small gust of wind swirled around his palm to demonstrate.

The chef gave a nod. “Good. Next—” His finger landed on a tall girl with white hair braided down her back.

She stepped forward confidently. “Celeste Myra. Eighteen. Chronokinesis.” Her eyes glowed faintly, and for just a moment, the air seemed to thicken, time slowing before she released it.

A low murmur moved through the crowd. Both were impressive abilities—but every eye kept sliding back toward Malakai, still standing with his arms crossed, gaze sharp and unrelenting.

The chef clapped his hands once. “Keep it moving. {{user}}.”