The walk to the church was a long one. By the time Mithra entered the city proper, the sun was already halfway to its zenith with the town already bustling with activity. Parents making sure their kids were ready and lecturing them about proper etiquette; younger siblings, buzzing with excitement, either helping or being a nuisance; merchants selling mark-themed sweets and trinkets glinting with illusion magic; seamstresses offering last minute robe fixes. Everyone was excited, and everyone was busy.

  Careful not to dirty her robes, Mithra navigated the crowded alleys. The church was in the exact center of town, with ample space around it for onlookers to gather. She imagined what it would have been like with the Guardians there to see her off. Not all of them, but those she was the closest to. Duncan, Bianca, Philip and Carla. They’d help with the anxiousness she felt.

  The church itself was an impressive relic of the Old World, standing in the same place since time immemorial. The main chamber was flanked by two massive towers with tall windows made of colorful glass, reflecting rays of multicolor light that danced inside the cathedral on sunny days. The spires were topped with long, thin spikes as if the architects were trying to reach for the skies, trying to touch the Gods.

  Despite the long walk, Mithra was still early. No one else was there to enter the church yet, all the other kids busy receiving words of encouragement from their parents or still taking part in the festivities. She stood alone before the entrance, massive doors twice her height blocking her path. She heaved them open and strode in.

  Burning incense filled the chamber, metal censers hanging from the ceiling and swaying gently in the cold draft. Thick smoke flowed out of the thuribles, slightly sweet and heavy on the senses. The chamber itself was much more spacious than it seemed from the outside, rows and rows of pews filling the space, with an ornamental pulpit standing alone in the far end of the church.

  Mithra quietly walked to the pew furthest back and sat, waiting. Her thoughts wandered, the excitement of the morning slowly replaced by a knot in her stomach. She kept calculating the chances of getting a useless mark, heavy pressure in her chest building at the thought of disappointing her father, and herself.

  The chance was low, but it was there. While she was guaranteed to become at least a Brute like her father, not all Brutes were suited for combat. Many excelled at physical labor but fell behind when it came to fighting—finger strength and dexterity wouldn't help much with direct combat but would be helpful to a seamstress. Similarly, some Shapers used elements too rare or impractical. A Dust Shaper could theoretically be useful in a fight but was much more suited to sweeping the streets.

  But that wasn’t the worst possibility. Mithra had read about most Guardians and the marks they had. She was confident that even if at a first glance the ability wasn’t good, she could make it good. There were all kinds of Guardians with all kinds of marks after all, except one. There never was an Emotion Shaper Guardian. Not surprising, since the most dangerous foes didn’t have minds to be affected by it; that and the fact that emotion magic was just plain weak. Thankfully, a mark like that was one of the rarest there was. That, and there had never been a priest in her family.

  A group of teenagers entered the church and shook Mithra out of her thoughts. She straightened her robes and sat with perfect posture. There would be no disappointments.

  A few of the newcomers came up to greet her, but none sat next to her. Everyone wanted to be in the front to get their mark as soon as possible. It was understandable—they entered the church as regular people, but would leave as mages. Fledgling, weak, admittedly useless mages, but mages nonetheless. More and more people arrived, the chamber filling with voices whispering in excitement.

  Soon, rhythmic singing drowned out the conversations. Deep, booming voices echoed through the ancient hall, blending into one. Chanting priests entered through side entrances, their black robes contrasting heavily with the congregation’s white. They intoned in a language known only to the Gods, passed down phonetically through generations of holy men. Nervous whispers died down as the chant rose in intensity, ramping louder and louder.

  The priests filed down the path between the pews, solemn expressions on their faces. They formed a corridor through which a lone priest in golden robes marched. He took his place behind the pulpit, and looked upon the teenagers with piercing eyes. He raised one hand.

  The chanting cut off.

  "Welcome, children," his voice traveled effortlessly through the chamber. Even sitting in the back Mithra heard the priest as if he was a few feet away. "Today, you will receive a great gift from the Gods. The blessing of a mark, granting you a path upon which you will travel. May you be blessed greatly today, to one day ascend into the heavens and sit with the very Gods who granted you life. Be open to Their voice guiding your lives and do not squander Their gifts. Listen now, for the Gods saved every single one of you in their benevolence. Listen!"

  The head priest began weaving a story of the Gods, one Mithra had heard retold in every possible way. It boiled down to the Gods coming down from the heavens after an apocalyptic war, not to blame humanity but to save it from itself. To uplift it to a better life. The humans of old scoured the earth with deadly weapons, the fallout rendering the whole world uninhabitable, but in their wisdom the Gods put up the Veil—a barrier separating people from the sins of their past. Literally.

  Mithra had mostly tuned it out. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in Gods. They were an undeniable fact, even judging by the existence of magic alone. She just wasn’t as… devout as some. A byproduct of associating with Duncan so much.

  The priest finished his sermon and pulled out a golden goblet from the folds of his robe. Glyphs on the rim were glowing with otherworldly light. She recognized one as a water generating glyph, but the others were a mystery to her.

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  "Now, each of you will drink from the chalice of Gods to receive their blessing. Let us begin."

  The chanting picked up again, and the priests still standing between the pews ushered a boy forward. He was small, his face covered entirely by acne. He looked around nervously, before slowly making his way towards the head priest. The holy man patiently waited for him to take the goblet. The teenager’s hands were shaking so much he looked like he would drop it any second, but finally, he took a sip.

  His eyes lit up for a second and he swayed unsteadily. Barely managing to keep upright, he turned towards the crowd. His badge was rapidly filling with color. Scarlet red of a Fire Shaper.

  The head priest took a subtle step back, as did the ones standing closest to the boy. It wasn't common, but Fire Mages were known to spontaneously combust shortly after their marking. No such thing happened this time, and the boy rolled up his sleeve with held breath. The mark was there, a circular outline with flowing lines that formed the divine patterns. It was pitch black.

  Mithra wished she had sat closer to the front. She had told Duncan she wasn’t excited about it, but with the moment so close she couldn’t help but fidget restlessly in her seat. The sight of a boy becoming a Fire Mage made the situation real for her. In abstract, she didn’t care. In the church, right now, she couldn’t wait.

  The priests gestured for the next person to come forward and take the place of the fresh Fire Mage, who stepped away and left the church. Mithra urged him to go faster. The chalice refilled itself with a whoosh of air. A girl with two pigtails took the boy’s place mercifully quickly and drank hastily, Her badge turning a blue-ish gray—an Air Shaper. Instead of letting her leave normally the priests swiftly led her to a side entrance. A man, previously unnoticed by Mithra, stood there in the ash-gray robes of a low ranking recruiter.

  They are recruiting straight after marking? In a church of all places? As far as she knew, that never happened. The Guardians had a certain reluctance towards working with the clergy. Duncan was right, something was coming.

  Next in line was Ives, his white robes marred by mud at the bottom. He took a long swig from the chalice and his badge turned purple in seconds, signifying some sort of a Brute. While Shapers were simple to recognize based on color, bar the more exotic ones, Brutes didn't have it as easy. They all got purple badges and needed extensive experimentation to figure out how and to what extent their body got improved by magic. He excitedly ran out of the church, probably straight to the training hall. Mithra was eager to spar with him again.

  The church was slowly emptying as more and more people got their marks. Overall, it was a fairly standard marking. Most of the marks distributed were simple Brutes and around twenty percent were elemental Shapers, with a rare Emotion Mage in between. A few people fainted, mostly the new Emotion Shapers. It was a known affliction of the mark, and one of many reasons Emotion Mages were considered as weaker. Whenever that happened, the dropped chalice floated back into the priest's hands.

  Nobody got blessed with two marks, which was expected if a little disappointing. With only a few people left, the knot in Mithra's stomach was only getting tighter.

  Finally, it was her turn and the priests led her to the goblet. Up close she noticed the silver filigree decorating the golden chalice. This much precious metal must have weighed a lot, but the head priest was holding it without much effort. Was he a Brute, in addition to the usual Emotion Shaper traditional to the priesthood? Or were the floating enchantments active all the time? They must’ve been, none of the others seemed to have trouble lifting the goblet.

  "Drink from the chalice and receive your blessing, child." The head priest said, not a note of emotion in his monotone voice.

  Mithra took a small sip. Her sight darkened. The priest disappeared, together with her surroundings. She was alone in a dark, empty world. Out of nowhere a white light filled her vision, blinding her and she felt an uncomfortable warmth in her head, right behind her eyes.

  The world came back. The warmth spread throughout her body, as if looking for a place to coalesce. It flowed to her chest, splitting there and traveling down her limbs, before returning back towards her head. It stopped at the side of her neck, weird contentment radiating from the energy. She felt a faint burn there and knew that was where her mark would be. She looked down at her badge.

  White. An Emotion Shaper.

  Mithra looked at it again with disbelief. White. An Emotion Shaper. No, impossible. She couldn't be an Emotion Mage, they belonged to the priesthood. Some were merchants or animal handlers, but never fighters.

  Never Guardians.

  The badge must have been malfunctioning. She desperately wished for it to change color again. Oblivious to her wishes it stayed pristinely white, blending in with her robes.

  "An Emotion mark. Congratulations, young lady," the head priest said. "I hope you will join the clergy, maybe even one day stand here with me."

  She didn't want to hear it. She couldn't be a priest. She didn't want anything to do with Emotion magic. Mithra looked down at her badge again, her life falling apart more and more with every glance.

  No, no. No. Anything but this. She was on the verge of panic, barely holding herself back from lashing out at the priest. But it wouldn't do for a future Guardian to lose control in public. She had to—

  Everything went dark again for a split second. There was no blinding light this time; the darkness vanished as soon as it appeared, leaving only a murky afterimage behind. Immediately, the divine energy in her neck revolted. It started boiling and bubbling, burning her from the inside. There was no gentle flow as it rushed through Mithra's body in chaos and she screamed out in pain.

  Seconds passed in what felt like hours, the energy rampaging through her body. She felt in agonizing detail as it pulsed, divine anger lighting her every cell aflame and tearing apart her organs. Voices screamed incoherently into her mind and she clasped her ears, but she could still hear them. They argued and fought, all the while she burned.

  Finally, something inside her broke. The energy halted, confused. Slowly, almost obediently, it moved to the back of her right hand. A tiny amount dribbled back into her neck with an otherworldly whisper she couldn’t understand. Everything stopped.

  But the pain didn't. It concentrated in her hand, all the suffering merging in one place. Another mark was forming there.

  Trying to ignore the pain, she looked at her badge in desperation. This was her second chance. Who cared if it hurt. The Gods blessed her again, but instead of another color forming neatly on one half of the badge there was rust forming on the edges.

  Mithra looked up at the priest in horror, his stoic expression blurred in her vision. The burning was only getting stronger. She fell down to her knees, the image of the rusted badge etched in her mind as her head hit the cold stone floor.