The Camera-Man Never Dies

The clinking of glasses and polite laughter echoed through the manor's grand hall as Vale observed his fifteenth birthday banquet from a quiet corner. Noble families had gathered as tradition dictated, though everyone present knew this celebration was mere formality. The age of awakening had long since passed.

"Young Master Vale, what a fine young man you've become!" Another nobleman approached, daughter in tow. "Perhaps you'd be interested in touring our estate sometime? Lady Elizabeth has quite the talent for—"

Vale maintained his practiced smile, the same one he'd worn through countless similar conversations. The nobility's attempts at courtship hadn't waned despite his unawakened status - being the son of a successful merchant baron still carried its weight in gold, if not divine artifacts.

His father handled these social obligations with practiced grace, accepting gifts and well-wishes on his behalf. Some guests spoke of Vale's sharp mind for trade, others praised his refined manners - carefully worded compliments that danced around the obvious void in his achievements.

Watching the scene unfold, Vale couldn't help but frame the moment in his mind: the warm candlelight catching crystal goblets, the subtle hierarchy in how guests positioned themselves, the practiced smiles and measured gestures. Some habits from his past life refused to fade, even here.

As the evening wore on, Vale quietly slipped away from the banquet hall. The stone corridors of the manor's upper floor offered welcome silence after hours of shallow pleasantries. He made his way to his personal study, a room that had become his sanctuary over the years.

Moonlight spilled through the tall windows, casting long shadows across shelves lined with journals - each filled with detailed sketches and observations. Vale's fingers brushed against the leather-bound covers as he passed. In his previous life, he had captured moments through a lens. Here, he was reduced to pen and paper, trying to preserve what he saw in crude drawings that never quite matched his mind's eye.

He settled into the window seat, watching the guests' carriages departing below. Another birthday, another reminder of what he wasn't. Yet something felt different tonight. Perhaps it was the way the moonlight caught the mist rising from the gardens, or how the torchlight painted the cobblestones in shifting patterns, but for the first time in years, Vale felt an old familiar itch in his fingers.

The urge to capture this moment was overwhelming.

It wasn't the first time he'd felt this way - this desperate need to capture what he saw. But tonight, the feeling was almost tangible, like electricity running through his fingertips. Vale pulled out his journal, though he knew no sketch could do justice to the scene before him.

The sound of footsteps in the corridor made him pause. His father, no doubt, coming to check on his abrupt departure from the banquet. Vale closed the journal and waited for the inevitable knock.

But it never came.

Instead, a soft blue glow caught his attention - not from the corridor, but from his own desk. There, buried beneath stacks of trade ledgers and correspondence, something pulsed with an otherworldly light.

Vale's heart stopped. He knew what this meant - everyone in this world knew what this meant. But it was impossible. He was fifteen, far past the age of awakening. Yet there it was, the unmistakable sign of a divine artifact manifesting.

As he reached toward the light, a thought crossed his mind that would have made him laugh in any other situation: Perhaps I should have someone else capture this moment.