The Spark
The sky didn't roar. The earth didn't shake. But something inside me did.
It wasn't magic, at least not the kind in stories. It was quieter than that — a whisper in my chest, a heat behind my ribs, the feeling that something in the world had shifted.
I stood at the edge of the alley where the letter had first appeared. No name. No seal. Just a folded page with one line written in trembling ink:
"This is the beginning."
I didn't know what it meant. Not yet. But I knew it was mine. That spark? It had waited long enough.