Dex was completely ordinary.
He wasn't sure when he realized it. Maybe when the other students in his tutoring session bragged about how their father had been chosen for this mission or their mother elected to this council. Maybe when the nobles in their capes checked that no one was watching as they entered his dad's shop, as if buying from him was something to be ashamed of. Maybe even before that, when the triplets were born and everyone was so preoccupied with his mom and her babies that no one bothered to trouble themselves with him anymore.
But after that moment—whenever it was—Dex knew with absolute certainty that he was ordinary. And in a world where the unusual was usual and the exceptional was expected, being ordinary wasn't enough.
There was one moment in his life that Dex remembered very clearly. He was four—no, five? His mind was a funny place. It remembered everything that happened that day in perfect detail, but it couldn't recall what year it had been.
The snow was colder than usual that day, so it must have been summer. His mom's snow was always colder in summer, to keep it from melting under the searing heat of the sun. But Dex didn't know that back then. He didn't even know what summer was. He had never been past the gates of Rimeshire—his parents didn't want him to get hurt sooner than he had to. So all Dex knew was that when the air got warmer the snow became colder, and then the air became snow and it didn't have to be cold anymore.
That day, the doorbell chimed and Dex was prepared to tiptoe up the stairs and hide. It was a game he and his dad played every time a visitor came to call—who could get to their room the fastest, without making a sound? He didn't know back then that it wasn't a game, that he was a ghost child, that the unordinary folk of the Lost Cities had no idea he existed.
But his dad caught him at the bottom of the stairs. He picked Dex up and spun him around, then set him down again.
"Stay here," he said. Then he disappeared into the foyer.
Dex did as he was told. He closed his eyes shut tight and focused on being as still as possible, not even daring to breathe. He counted thirty seconds before he couldn't bear it anymore.
He crept out into the foyer and hid behind a corner.
His parents were talking in soft voices with a man and a woman Dex had never seen before. Dex couldn't see the man's face from where he was hiding. But he saw the woman had wavy auburn hair and turquoise eyes that looked like they had been crying for years.
"Eda, I know nothing will make you forget her," his mom was saying. "But he can't be ours forever. And we can't put it off any longer—the Council will make him start group tutoring in a year. He'll be with other children. Noble children."
"And how will living with us change that?" the man asked.
"It would be easier," said his mom. "If you two were his parents instead of us. Instead of a bad match."
"We're not ready," said the woman who Dex's mom called Eda. "If it was at some other time—in a year, perhaps—"
"You haven't been ready for seven years," said his dad. Dex could tell from his voice that he was angry, but was trying not to show it. "Another year won't make a difference."
"I'm sorry, Juline," said the man. "We just can't. We can't adopt Dex."
His mom sighed. "It's your decision, then."
The man and woman left, and his mom closed the front door shut behind them.
Dex crept out of his hiding place. His mom saw him immediately.
"Oh, Dex." She shook her head sadly. "You're too old to go spying on other people's conversations."
"What's adopting?" he asked.
Dex's mom looked hopelessly at his dad, lost for words.
His dad bent down on one knee and looked Dex straight in the eye. "Adopting is when a kid lives with a family that they weren't born in."
"Why would anyone do that?"
"There are plenty of reasons why someone might put their kid up for adoption."
His mom shot him a warning look, but he ignored it.
"Take me, for example. I was adopted by my dad's friends when I was three because—well, I was the youngest kid out of six. You see, some elves believe that the firstborn has the purest genetics, and genes get more and more diluted with second kids, and third, and fourth and so on."
"Idiots," interjected his mom. "The people who believe that are absolute idiots."
"But when I became legally the kid of my dad's friends," Kesler continued, "I became the big brother to two girls. I became the oldest. No one could know I wasn't actually a firstborn as long as they didn't look through my records. So I was saved a lot of bullying during my years at Foxfire." He chuckled. "Or it might have just been all saved up for when they discovered I was Talentless."
Dex was quiet for some time. That was the first time his dad had told him things like that about the outside world, and he wasn't sure what to make of it.
"Will I be adopted?"
"No, no, no." His mom bent down and stroked his soft hair. "You're our child, Dex. And you will never have to leave us, not until you go off to the elite levels."
That time, his dad shot her a warning look. And she noticed.
"Stop that, Kesler."
"I—" He stopped. "You're right. Remind me to talk to you when you're older. Don't forget," he said to Dex. Then one of the triplets started crying.
"I'll take you to the store tomorrow," he promised as he ran out of the foyer.
Dex stood up a little straighter. Sure, he was happy about finally being able to see Kesler Dizznee's legendary alchemy store. But his dad had talked to him like he was a grownup, and that had made all the difference.
Maybe that was why he remembered that day, Dex thought as he pulled on a pair of brand-new boots. Because his dad had told him not to forget.
He fumbled with his gray cape but managed to put it on right. At least, he hoped he had put it on right. He had never worn a cape before, and it felt funny on his shoulders.
"Dex?" his mom called from outside his bedroom door. "Are you ready in there?"
"Almost!"
He had just finished clipping the Dizznee family crest—a tree made out of alchemy tools—onto his cape when his parents barged into the room.
"Oh my goodness." His mom put a hand to her mouth. "You look so grown up. I think I'm getting teary," she choked.
"It's just Foxfire, guys," Dex mumbled. He could feel his face turning red.
"Foxfire is a big deal," said his dad. "There's nothing 'just' about it."
"I—I have to go get the triplets ready for their tutoring session," said his mom. She rushed out of the bedroom, wiping her eyes. Dex and his dad were alone.
"Dad," said Dex, "you told me to remind you to talk to me when I was older."
He scratched his head. "I did?"
"It was six or seven years ago. I think I'm older now."
"I'd be happy to talk to you if I remembered what I wanted to talk to you about."
"You were telling me about bullying and being Talentless."
"Oh." He looked down. "Yeah, I've been . . . avoiding that subject. It's a good thing you brought it up, kid. Let's talk."
He sat down on Dex's bed and motioned for Dex to sit next to him. The bed bounced a little when he sat down.
"So. You're starting Foxfire today."
"Mhm." Dex swung his legs back and forth.
"Are you excited?"
"I guess." He paused. "No, not really. It'll just be learning a lot of useless stuff that I'll never use in my life."
"Well, what about alchemy?" his dad asked. "You love alchemy."
"I've already taken alchemy with you. There's nothing my Mentor could teach me."
He chuckled. "I'm glad you hold me in such high regard. But I assure you that Lady Galvin will be able to teach you much more than I know."
Dex shrugged. "I don't know."
"She's Talentless, you know."
"Really?"
"Yes, and look at her. She's a well-respected Mentor at our most prestigious school. She's even a member of the nobility."
"Where are you going with this?"
"I think you know already that your genes are against you," Dex's dad said gently. "There's a good chance you're going to end up Talentless. And at Foxfire, you're going to soon learn that being Talentless in a world that prizes ability is a difficult thing to be.
"You're going to meet other students and their Mentors and parents who think you're lesser than they are because of me. When parents see you coming down the street, they'll turn their kids' faces away. They'll turn up their noses and snub you. They'll call you names."
"What names?"
"I don't want to say them." Suddenly, his dad balled up his fist and slammed it into his other hand. "They don't matter! Their opinions are bullshit!"
"You're talking about this like there's no hope," said Dex. "I might manifest a special ability. You don't know what's going to happen."
"I know, kid." His dad put his hands back in his lap and stared at them. "I'm just preparing you for a worst-case scenario. I don't want you to get hurt."
Dex tried to understand as best as he could. His dad had been the only member of his family not to manifest. To him, it was safer to think you were Talentless from the very beginning than to have your dreams crushed.
"I don't want you to get hurt," his dad repeated. "You need protection."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out something that glittered. "Give me your belt."
Dex unbuckled it and handed it to his dad. He held up the glittery thing—it was a tiny blade.
"This is a belt knife. I carry another with me all the time, but I bought this one last week for you. You hide it under your buckle like this—" he slid it in handle first between the leather and silver— "and to take it out, you rotate the buckle and kind of push it out. Like this." He twisted it with his left hand and pushed out the knife with his right.
"You try now." He slid the knife back in and handed the belt back to Dex.
Dex imitated his dad, twisting the buckle with his left hand and pushing out the knife with his right. The tip of the blade poked out, and Dex was able to pull it out the rest of the way.
"Good job," his dad said. "Be sure to keep it sharp. It's dwarven-made, the best steel I could find. It can cut through anything, but it'll be of no use if you let it go dull. And don't let anyone know you have it," he added. "Both of us could be banished for owning it."
"I won't," Dex promised. "How do I use it?"
His dad's face darkened. "If anyone gives you any trouble, hopefully they'll run when they see you holding that blade. But if not, stick it in them and don't be afraid to draw blood. Just don't aim for their neck or their chest, because they might die and your mind would break."
Dex shuddered.
"Is this what I was supposed to talk to you about?"
"I guess so. Didn't really expect the deadly weapon, though."
His dad laughed. "You're a good kid, Dex. People don't know whack if they think you're not."
He started to get up from the bed.
"Wait."
He stopped.
"Will you be telling the triplets all this when they start at Foxfire?"
"I was never good with the triplets," his dad responded. "Why don't I leave that job up to you? Don't forget."
Then he left.
Dex stayed in his room for a while, flipping the knife in and out, until his mom shouted from the Leapmaster that if he didn't come down right at that second they were going to be late.