Chapter 1: Astra
No one tells you how hard it is to become a Guardian. They only tell you the stories—the heroes, the victories, the chosen ones. They don’t tell you about the silence that comes when no one picks you. The space inside you where hope is supposed to live.
I knew that silence better than anyone.
Every evening after work, I stopped at the mailbox. Every evening, it was empty. Still, I checked. Some days I shoved my hand all the way to the back, as if I could drag my destiny out of the shadows. But all I ever came up with was dust.
Spiritum Academy. That was the dream. The place where people like me waited for the Echoes to decide if we were worthy of them. Some received their letters the moment they turned sixteen. Others never did. I was seventeen. My chances were slipping.
I tried to laugh it off when people asked. I tried to pretend I wasn’t waiting for something that might never come. But the truth was, I had been waiting my whole life. Waiting for my parents to notice me. Waiting for the world to.
And the world had made its answer clear.
That night, I closed the mailbox, the metal clanging like a door shutting in my face. No glow. No shimmer. No miracle. Just empty silence.
I walked inside, told myself it didn’t matter, told myself I didn’t care. But deep down, I knew the truth:
I would keep waiting.
Because what else was there to do?
When I walked into my disappointing excuse of a home, my parents were screaming at each other. I massaged the feeling of a headache, and I prepared myself for questions.
“Have you been accepted yet?” No.
“Do you think they will accept you?” Maybe.
“Do you think they haven’t accepted you yet because you are unwanted?” Yes.
I prepared for those questions when I saw my mom stamping out of the room, anger written all over her face, her dark hair pooling around her eyes. When she saw me, her face lit up, anger still etched into her features. I was waiting for the billion-dollar question.
“How was your day?” My mom asked.
What? That is not how the conversation usually worked.
I was too stunned to speak; she was being… Kind?
“Um… It was fine, I guess.” I said uncertainly, not trusting anything she said, because she was known to manipulate people.
“How was uh… your day?” I asked my voice if it was untrustworthy.
She looked at me
“It was… Fine.” My mother said uncertainly.
“That’s nice,” I said, trying to escape this conversation.
I started to walk away, but she grabbed my arm with an intensity that could break stone.
“I would like to say sorry for how I’ve acted, and I will try to be supportive from now on,” my mother said. “I was pushing you to fulfill the dreams I never got the chance to live, and I am sorry.
My sensor flashed in my head:
HIGH LEVELS OF ADRENALINE DETECTED. LIKELY LYING.
“Thanks, Mom,” I mumbled, letting her pull me into a “meaningful” hug that felt more like a trap.
Then she asked the real question. “Did you get your letter yet?” Her tone was light, like she hadn’t just apologized.
“No,” I replied flatly. “They’re probably busy with people who actually matter.”
She made a noise—half agreement, half indifference.
“Maybe tomorrow,” I muttered, heading for the kitchen.
That’s when I saw it. A letter, lying on the counter, shimmered faintly like light through glass. For a second, I thought I was hallucinating. My heart leapt as I reached for it—
And then a hand snatched it away.
My stepdad.
“How did you get that?” he hissed, eyes wild. “I threw that away earlier today!”
What?
“Can I see it?” I asked, my voice cracking between hope and fear.
“Sure,” he said. His lips twisted into a cruel smile. “After I do something with it.”
He pulled out a lighter.
“No—”
The letter caught fire instantly. Flames licked up the edges, the glow twisting into smoke. Then he looked at me—right at me—and tossed it into my hands.
Pain seared my palms. Blisters bubbled as I screamed, clutching the burning paper before it could fall. I dropped it, stomping frantically, fire catching on my shoe, eating another hole into something I couldn’t afford to replace.
When the flames finally died, all that was left was ash. My dream. Gone.
When I got back to my attic room, I slipped into the bathroom and examined my hands. They were swollen, raw skin peeling off in patches. I turned on the faucet, wincing as the cold water bit into my blisters.
By the time I finished wrapping them—my fingers moving with the practiced skill of someone who’d done this too many times—I was exhausted. I shoved my ruined shoes onto the shelf, stripped off my clothes, and stepped into the shower. The water rushed over me, carrying away ash and smoke, though not the anger burning in my chest.
When I came back into my room, I froze.
There, sitting on my bed, was the letter. Whole. Shimmering. Alive.
I rushed forward too quickly, tripped over nothing, and slammed into the floor. Pain shot through my ankle, but I didn’t care. My hands shook as I picked it up, afraid that if I blinked it might vanish again.
The envelope glowed faintly under my touch. Silvery words bloomed across the surface as if the ink itself was alive:
Dear Astra,
You have been accepted into Spiritum Academy. The Echoes have chosen you. Your training begins next Monday. Prepare yourself.
- Spiritum Academy
I stared at the letter until my vision blurred, my chest tightening with something I hadn’t felt in years.
Hope.
