Cal stood in the middle of the biggest party of his life, and yet it might as well have been a quiet evening at home for how little he enjoyed it. Oh, it had food for days, though everyone had eaten like it was their last meal, and a bonfire dug into a pit in the middle of Resben so tall that it licked the night air higher than the roofs of even two story buildings. A never ending stream of alcohol seemed to pour out of both nearby inns, stoking the crowds spirits and lubricating their feet, so that they swirled around the large square dancing in spinning waves of color, showing off not only their brightest outfits but their faces painted in splashes of orange, red, or yellow.

Cal couldn’t imagine that the capital of Ceres, even with all its pomp and splendor, or anywhere else in the country for that matter, could match the jubilation that surrounded him, and for that, he supposed, he should be grateful.

He burped, a sickly sweet bit of acid hitting the back of his tongue, and grimaced. While the food he had been served had been more than tasty, unlike everyone else’s, his and Raff’s had been stuffed full of poison. Whether it was roast pork stew, mounds of creamed corn, steamed greens, or the flaky bread he had sopped it all up with, every morsel could knock out a grown man and then some according to Raff’s mother.

During the meal Raff had birthed a new mark, of course, in the hollow of his neck no less--as if anyone needed a reminder of what he was. Everyone had cheered at its coming though, and, figuring that if he was going to have to go to Kellingherth anyway he might as start with a leg up, Cal had tucked into most everything that had remained in front of him: squash, lemon custard, and half a pumpkin pie. However, as far as he could tell, all he had earned from his efforts was a strained stomach and more than a fair share of gas. Just what every girl wanted to smell.

Not that he planned to do any dancing tonight. His overfed belly would slosh uncomfortably if he tried, and even if that wasn’t the case, he simply had no desire for it, or for anything else, not really. Every log that was tossed into the fire brought him another moment closer to leaving Resben, and for all the heat the jumping flame gave off, those thoughts left him cold to the core.

The familiar sound of his parents kept him from true despair though, talking nearby with Raff’s uncle who had arrived this very morning for the Festival. The noise of Raff did too, arguing like a fool with his mother and sister about taking more of the sleeping drought directly instead of in food to get a third gate.

Before everything had started, Raff had tried to cheer him up by talking about what sort of soulstones they’d be wedded to once they finished their first year at Kellingherth. It was an old wishing game, one they hadn’t played in years, and even when Cal was younger he had never found it as exciting as Raff. Maybe if he had been born with a throat chakra like Raff now possessed and thus had the prospect of summoning a magical beast to do his bidding or a beautiful female warrior, he’d have been more excited. But with the mark in the middle of his chest? It was a servant’s gate, and he knew it, the first iteration of the Awakened’s attempts to make humankind more productive. With it he could, what, become faster, stronger, tireless? He had once heard Raff’s mother mention some interesting tricks one could pull off with an elemental core gate, but only the very best Chosen were given such valuable stones, and Cal knew that he would never fit into that category.

Tonight, when Cal hadn’t participated in the game to Raff’s liking, Raff had bluntly stated that Cal should get some sort of feline stone, or better yet lightning, so he could, one, keep up with Raff when he did his morning sprints, and two, actually get away when they met the Chosen equivalent of Trell on the battlefield.

Ass, Cal thought as he watched his friend ask for more food if they wouldn’t give him straight poison. Raff’s mother looked as formidable as always, the yellow on her face matching the color of her black and yellow garb. She was firmly shaking her head no, but Raff stood his ground, just as Cal was sure he would with every challenge Kellingherth threw at him. Raff’s younger sister Valerie had apparently grown bored of the conversation--the smartest of the three in Cal’s estimation--and was wondering around close by, her cheeks as yellow as her mom’s and eyes wide, taking everything in. It was only her second Festival of Birth, and now age nine, the first she was really old enough to appreciate.

This was Cal’s third and what he wouldn’t give to have it be his second again. He let out a long sigh, looking up at the twinkling stars and then back at the people around him. At the least, he wished he could bottle them all up to go to Kellingherth with him. The same for his friends Ned and Flance who he saw dancing on the periphery with Mary and Nina. Having Sabine along too would be fun, just to make Raff squirm, and though he hadn’t seen them all night, even the likes of Trell or Fen would make the place feel more like home.

A lot more due to their size, Cal thought with an audible chuckle that brightened his mood for less time than the sound lingered in the air.

“We should be going,” Cal heard his father say and was surprised to find that both his parents had come up just behind him. From their sober expressions, it was clear that neither had drunk a drop--not that they ever did--and their skin was unpainted, though still a brighter red than anyone had managed with decoration.

It didn’t take long for Raff and his mother to realize what was happening and they stepped closer to say their goodbyes. Even a few members of the town council stumbled from the shifting revelry to do the same. Cal wasn’t sure if the older men and women were happy due to the amount of drink they’d likely consumed or because the only Chosen in town were about to finally be off of their hands. Either way, they were grinning almost ear-to-ear as they wished him and Raff well, their words passing by Cal like the breeze and affecting him less.

When they were gone, Raff put a hand on Cal’s shoulder. “See you tomorrow,” he said, tightening his grip a fair bit past necessary. Cal also didn’t miss Raff’s mom eyeing the exchange, as if she expected him to bolt as soon as he was out of the square.

What more did they want from him? He had given his word, in church no less. Just because he used to say some things he meant less than others didn’t mean they shouldn’t trust him now.

Cal couldn’t drum up the energy to respond with more than a nod and a weak smile. Maybe they’d assume he didn’t feel good from the poisoned fare.

His parents walked quietly at his side as they trudged away, seeming to deflate with each step they took from the center of the square. They still smiled at those who greeted Cal and them, saying thank you for the attention and accepting small gifts from some. Like with the town council, Cal barely noticed what was said but he did watch everyone’s faces. Faces covered in paint and full of excitement, but when they looked at him it was like he could hear them think, clear as day, ‘Better you than me.’

Past the press, the streets were empty, so much so it would have been unsettling if not for the music and laughter coming from behind them. The three of them didn’t speak again until they were snug in their house, the rug covered walls separating them from the Nedenians and their celebration. It was the first time Cal felt like he could breathe normally in hours.

“I’ll make some tea,” his mother said.

“None for me,” Cal said, putting a hand over his bulging belly. He didn’t think he could add so much as a sip of water to it without bursting. In fact, he was sure he’d have to wake up extra early to visit the loo. It wouldn’t do to crap himself on his first day, after all.

Cal’s father was already in the common room, working on lighting the fireplace, and Cal joined him. They had multiple chairs, but Cal eased himself onto the ground so he could stretch out. At Raff’s house they covered the floor with rugs, but Cal liked the feel of the polished wood beneath his hands. What’s more, Cal thought walls without rugs looked rather drab and empty, and he much preferred having them to look at. From this position, he could see the oldest rug his family had right above the mantle. Like all the Caasan-style weavings in their home it was stitched with geometric shapes that were tighter on the edges making a border and looser in the middle. This one was the smallest of those they had but it held a place of prominence because it was woven by his mother. It was a recreation of one that had been in her home when growing up, made by her great-great grandmother. She often lamented that it wasn’t nearly as good as the original, but having never seen that version, Cal enjoyed it well enough. His mother was like that though, always trying to bring Caasan things into their home so Cal could know his birth culture but then saying that those they could get from across Desidra weren’t quite the right style, or if they were ingredients, didn’t taste how they should because they hadn’t been grown in the right soil or air. Even the green tea she was making, she claimed only had half the kick of what everyone in Caas regularly drank. Cal had once joked with her that perhaps things had just changed since last she was there, and the brief look of profound sadness he had glimpsed before she regained control made sure he never made such comments again.

His father finished lighting the fire, the small flame dancing happily, and moved back to the nearest chair. Cal’s parents usually weren’t up this late, but if they were, they normally spent their time reading. Nothing fanciful, all they had were books on history, medicine, geography, and other incredibly boring topics. Tonight though, his father leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and stared at the flame.

Seeing him in profile, Cal was glad he didn’t have the hump in his father’s nose or the slightly bent neck. Still, he was the only other male Caasan in miles for any direction. In Kellingherth there likely wouldn’t be a single person who looked like Cal did. That thought hadn’t bothered him before--he was used to being surrounded by Nedenians. But now, on the eve of being separated, Cal found it to be yet another reason why he desperately didn’t want to go.

His mother came back, carrying two cups of steaming tea. Cal thought it didn’t make much sense for them to have something that would keep them up even longer, but it was all they drank besides water and apparently on a night like tonight they needed something more than that.

Again, they sat in silence except for the crackle of the fire, the clinking of porcelain cups on saucers, and slight sipping noises. That was until he heard some sniffing join the mix, and not just once or twice. Turning back to them, Cal saw that it was both of his parents. Neither had gone so far as to actually start crying--what self respecting Caasan would engage in such a waste of time?--but from the hitch in their shoulders and the way they wouldn’t meet his eyes, it was obvious that they were on the edge of it.

Instead of the sight making him feel sympathy or similar sadness, his jaw tightened in annoyance. It wasn’t fair for them to act like this. He was the one that was being shipped off tomorrow, not them.

“Crying won’t help anything,” he said.

His mother leaned down from her seat and bapped him on the side of his face with her palm--not hard, but enough to get his attention.

“Won’t help?” she said. “If it didn’t, why would we have been made to do it? Silly boy,” she continued with a mutter, turning to Cal’s father. “Alu, he’s not ready for Kellingherth. We should speak with Diana. Maybe she can do something.”

Cal’s father didn’t look any happier than his mother, and the suggestion seemed to pain him further. “You know as well as I what we signed with House Akor as soon as we stepped into Neden. There’s no going back on that, not with a written record.”

“But what if we misremembered? The time we spent going through Desidra might have been less than we thought. It was unfair of them to demand such a thing before even a single night of sleep, as afraid and bedraggled as we were. Why, we were very nearly coerced.”

Cal had heard these stories his whole life, of course, how his parents had fled Caas immediately after his birth, only able to escape because they were not from the dyan families, the Caasan version of nobility, and so no one had expected them to have a Chosen child. Getting as far away had meant coming to Neden, but in classic Nedenian fashion, there had been a price. Cal agreed with his mother--he wished they hadn’t sold him off--but he also didn’t think that line of arguing would get them anywhere. If he had, he wouldn’t have gone through such a mess with Trish and Trell, but it was sweet in a way to see his mother try.

“That is an argument more than a decade and a half past,” his father predictably said.

Cal’s mother sat straighter. “It would be nice to see you take up for your family instead of an unfair law someone made.”

“That type of thinking is how we ended up here.” His father sounded so tired when he said it, Cal could almost believe he had been the one eating a sleeping drought all night.

“But--”

“He’s of age, my heart. Look at him.”

Cal’s mother pulled her eyes from his father and drifted his way. It was hard for her to do, Cal could tell, and sensing that, it was equally uncomfortable for Cal to weather her gaze, brief though it was.

She shook her head. “He’s not ready.”

Cal knew she was just saying it because she didn’t want him to leave, but considering how ill prepared he felt for Kellingherth, the words--from his mother no less--made his already flagging mood fall even further.

“Of course he is,” his father said. “He knows himself, which is surely more than someone who has shared their body with other souls for nearly their whole life can say.”

Cal raised an eyebrow, and even his mother looked a touch surprised. Despite having fled the nation of his birth, Cal’s father almost never said anything bad about Caas, and that certainly toed the line.

“And he’ll have his friend with him,” his father added after taking a sip of his green tea, clearly more comfortable with this line of reasoning. “Who better to attend with than Diana’s son?”

“That’s true…” his mother allowed.

Cal thought it funny that just the other day he had used his own presence to make Raff’s mother feel better and now the reverse was true. Apparently the land grew parents the same no matter which soil they sprouted from.

Cal’s father put his tea down, leaning forward like the kick of the green leaf was already jumping through his veins. “But most importantly, he’s gotten to live. For years and years, he’s been free to do what he pleases. Isn’t that right, Cal? You’ve enjoyed it, haven’t you?”

His father wasn’t wrong, but Cal didn’t like how the question had been asked. It completely ignored how bad things were for him now. In a flare of frustration, Cal wanted to tell them how much worse it was to know what he was losing and how if they had just reported his birth in Caas as they were supposed to, he wouldn’t be feeling this terrible, gut-wrenching pain that had nothing to do with all the poison he had eaten but instead the fact that he was about to lose nearly everyone and everything he had ever cared about. It was on the tip of his tongue, he wanted to tell them so badly, how wrong they had been. Wrong for him, wrong for them, how they had ruined all of their lives with one bad decision, no matter how well intentioned.

But then he saw that his mother had taken the blanket from the back of her chair and was absently playing with the tassels, crocheted by a mother she could never visit again, and who wouldn’t even speak to her. And the way his father looked at him intently, his face framed by dinghy yellow hair that no amount of bathing could make return to the luster it had possessed before he had started helping in the mines so that their family would be accepted by the community in Resben.

With just a few words, Cal could strip the meaning away from all of the sacrifices they had made for him. He could gut them, just as thoroughly as he felt now. He didn’t want that power though, no more than he wanted a silly mark on his skin to determine his future.

At least with this one, he had a choice.

“I have,” he said, looking from his father to his mother. “Thank you both for what you did for me. I won’t forget it.”

Cal watched tension he hadn’t even realized they had been carrying melt from his parents. They looked at each other briefly, as if confirming some long unspoken question, and then they were pulling him close into a warm, three way hug, where this time all of them wept freely.

It was a very un-Caas like way to end the evening, and Cal was glad for it.