The chipped Formica of the diner booth felt cold beneath Fi’s elbows. Steam rose from her coffee, blurring the fluorescent lights above. She watched the rain smear the city outside, mirroring the gray cloud hanging over Leo.
“You look like you swallowed a lemon, kid.”
Leo didn’t meet her gaze. He traced the rim of his water glass, the motion jerky. “Just…stuff.”
“’Stuff’ doesn’t give you that pinched look. Spill.” Fi’s voice wasn’t gentle, exactly, more…direct. She’d known Leo since he was a scrawny kid, always lost in a book, always avoiding eye contact.
“It’s the Academy,” he mumbled, finally lifting his head. His eyes, usually bright with sarcasm, were shadowed. “They’re…assigning legacies.”
Fi snorted. “So? Everyone gets a legacy. It’s part of the deal.”
“It’s *which* legacy.” Leo’s jaw tightened. He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “They’ve picked mine. And it’s… ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous how?”
“The Bloom. Seriously? Floral divination? I’m supposed to get psychic flashes from…flowers?” He pushed the water glass away, sloshing liquid onto the table. “It’s like they actively tried to find the most useless power for me.”
Fi reached across the table, her fingers briefly covering his. “Your family’s been tied to that power for generations, Leo. They say the blossoms only reveal visions after a thunderstorm, and when someone’s truly grappling with…a heavy heart.”
“Exactly! Meaning I have to *feel* things to get anything done? I’m a logic major, Fi! I analyze, I dissect, I don’t… *feel*.” He threw up his hands. “It’s a setup. They know I hate it. My grandfather, the one actually good at it, disowned the whole thing, said it was a curse.”
“Disowned it, or ran from it?”
Leo flinched. “He left. Vanished. Said he couldn’t stand the…weight of it.”
“The Academy doesn’t care about family history, Leo. They care about lineage.” Fi studied his face. “They’ve paired you with the annual trials. You compete against other novices inheriting powers.”
“Great. So I’m supposed to embrace my inner florist while everyone else is manipulating elements or reading minds?”
“You’re supposed to survive.”
He scrubbed a hand across his face. “My mom’s thrilled, of course. ‘Reconnect with your roots,’ she keeps saying. Like it’s some kind of wellness retreat.” He scoffed. “She thinks it will make me happy.”
“She wants you to understand *why* your grandfather left.”
“She wants me to be him. But better.” Leo fell silent, staring out the window as a fresh wave of rain lashed against the glass.
“The trials start tomorrow. They’ll push you. See what you’re made of.”
“And if I fail?”
Fi’s expression hardened. “Then you’ll become another forgotten branch on the family tree.”
The Academy loomed, a fortress of gray stone and shadowed arches. Leo navigated the crowded halls, the scent of old books and simmering ambition thick in the air. He spotted Cassian, a smug, platinum-haired kid who could control shadows, practicing in the courtyard. Cassian caught his eye and offered a condescending smirk.
“Heard they stuck you with the flower power,” Cassian called out, his voice carrying. “Good luck smelling your way to victory.”
Leo ignored him, heading toward the training grounds. He found Master Elara, a stern woman with eyes that seemed to pierce through illusions, already waiting.
“You’ve chosen to reject your legacy, Mr. Thorne?” she asked, her voice cool.
“I haven’t rejected it,” Leo corrected, “I just…don’t understand it.”
“Understanding comes through practice.” Elara gestured toward a greenhouse filled with exotic blossoms. “The trials aren’t about wielding power, Mr. Thorne. They’re about accepting it.”
“Accepting a power I actively dislike?”
“Your grandfather believed it was a burden,” Elara countered, her gaze unwavering. “He saw only the weight of vision. What if he missed the beauty? The potential?”
She handed him a small, thorny stem with a single, tightly closed bud. “This is a ‘Night Whisper.’ Blooms only after a storm, reveals glimpses of another’s deepest regret.”
“Great.” Leo turned the stem over in his hands. “Just what I always wanted.”
“The first trial begins now. Find someone burdened by sorrow. Make the Night Whisper bloom.”
Leo surveyed the other novices, each focused on honing their abilities. He spotted Anya, a quiet girl with the power to manipulate water, sitting alone, sketching in a notebook. Her face was etched with a sadness that didn’t quite fit her age. He walked toward her, the thorny stem clutched tightly in his hand.
“Hey,” he said, trying for a casual tone. “Mind if I sit here?”
Anya glanced up, her eyes red-rimmed. She shrugged, offering a small nod. “Suit yourself.”
“What are you drawing?” Leo asked, glancing at her sketchbook. It was filled with detailed illustrations of coastal landscapes, rendered in shades of blue and gray.
“Just…the sea,” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. “My brother…he drowned last year.”
Leo’s grip tightened on the Night Whisper. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s just…” Anya’s voice cracked. “He loved the sea. Said it was the only place he felt truly free.” She closed the sketchbook, tears welling up in her eyes. “I miss him so much.”
Leo felt a strange warmth spreading through his hand, radiating from the Night Whisper. He closed his eyes, focusing on Anya’s sorrow, on the weight of her loss. He imagined the crashing waves, the cold water, the feeling of being lost at sea.
A faint tremor ran through the stem. He opened his eyes. The bud was slowly unfurling, revealing petals of deep indigo, almost black. A delicate fragrance filled the air, smelling of salt and rain.
And then, he saw it. Not a clear vision, but a fleeting image—Anya’s brother, laughing, standing on the deck of a small boat, the sun shining on his face.
Leo gasped, stumbling back. The image vanished as quickly as it appeared. He looked at Anya, who was staring at the blossoming Night Whisper with a mixture of wonder and disbelief.
“What…what was that?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Leo didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t *made* the flower bloom. He’d simply…listened. And for the first time, he realized that maybe, just maybe, this power wasn’t about seeing the future. It was about understanding the present. And maybe, it wasn’t a curse after all.
