The sky over Sanctum Magna was the color of molten silver by the time Kyle found himself standing outside the Dean's tower once again.
He hadn't eaten. He'd barely spoken. The hearing's outcome had left a bitter taste in his mouth—not just because of the injustice, but because of the fear that had followed him like a second shadow since waking up in the infirmary.
A Voidspawn, huh.
The word had been whispered like a curse in the hallways. Not shouted. Not confirmed. But the silence it left in its wake spoke louder than any slur.
He had just reached the dorm stairwell when a cloaked steward approached, hand pressed to a glowing scroll.
"Mr. Kyle," the steward said stiffly, "the Principal requests your presence. Immediately."
Kyle hesitated. "...Did something happen again?"
"I don't ask questions, and you don't delay," the steward replied. "The letter is sealed."
Kyle nodded and turned back toward the upper towers, gut churning.
The Dean's office was far removed from the chamber used earlier. At the pinnacle of the Sanctum's north wing, the room felt foreign despite the familiarity. Quieter. Darker.
Books and scrolls lined the walls in glass cases. A rune-etched blade hung above a fireplace whose flames burned violet.
Principal Veylan sat alone at his desk.
He didn't look up. Just gestured with two fingers toward the chair across from him.
Kyle sat.
Silence stretched.
Finally, Veylan looked up. "The hearing was a formality."
Kyle narrowed his eyes. "Didn't feel like one."
"It was never about the truth. Only optics. The Mordain family made that clear before we even convened."
Kyle's stomach turned. "So that's it? Money wins?"
"Not money," Veylan said. "Power. Influence. You'd be wise to understand the difference."
Kyle clenched his jaw. "You said I wasn't on trial for my biology. But that's exactly what it felt like."
Veylan studied him in silence, then folded his hands.
"You know very little of the world outside Ardenhall's walls, Kyle. Most students here don't. They're shielded from the full scope of what's unfolding across the continent."
He stood and turned toward the window, moonlight catching on the white in his hair.
"There are those within the Mage Council who believe the old bloodlines should remain unchallenged. That new power—especially unregistered, untested, uncontrolled—should be stamped out before it destabilizes the balance."
"So I'm a threat," Kyle muttered. "I can barely cast tier two spells. How the hell am I a threat?"
"To some? Yes. Not because of your ability—but your potential."
"But you don't think so?"
Veylan didn't answer right away. When he did, his expression was unreadable.
"I think you're dangerous. But not because of your temperament."
He reached into a drawer and retrieved a glass sphere filled with swirling black mist. Light bent unnaturally within it.
"This is refined void essence. Shadow essence, some call it. Harvested from ruptures in the Shattered South."
Kyle leaned forward. The magic tugged at something buried inside him.
"Voidspawn," Veylan continued, "isn't a race. It's a label. For those whose mana bears the same signature found in void essence. No elemental alignment. Only entropy. Absorption. Decay."
Kyle felt cold.
"And you think I…?"
Veylan placed the sphere back in the drawer. "I think something happened to you before you came here. Something unnatural."
Kyle's voice came small. "So what now?"
"You stay the course. Attend classes. Complete evaluations. But understand—you are no longer just a student. You are now a subject of interest. To forces that reach beyond this academy."
He paused.
"And next time someone tries to provoke you—don't respond. Survive."
Kyle stood and paused at the door. "I appreciate your support. And I know it's because of Roland. But at the end of the day—you're all hypocrites."
Stars blinked coldly above Ardenhall as Kyle descended the tower. In the gaps between torchlit halls, students whispered and stared. Conversations died when he passed.
Rumors had grown legs—and sharp teeth.
But for the first time, Kyle wasn't thinking about Alex Mordain.
He was thinking about Voidspawn.And the quiet war it seemed to belong to.
"You look like a mess, junior."
Kyle looked up. Luwen stood before him. And he looked... healthier. Eyes clearer. Presence sharper.
"Let's talk," Luwen said. "Same terrace as last time."
It wasn't a suggestion.
The terrace was empty. Wind tugged at Sanctum banners, and the lights of Ardenhall shimmered below like scattered embers.
Luwen leaned against the railing, arms folded.
"You look healthier," Kyle said warily.
Luwen smirked. "I wasn't the one carried out of the dueling pit. But sure—I bounced back."
His tone shifted. "Still. Thanks for embarrassing that prick. Did the school a favor."
"Alex?" Kyle asked.
"No. The system that lets people like him walk away untouched."
Kyle stayed quiet.
"You know what they're saying about you?" Luwen asked.
"Voidspawn."
"One of many names. Demon-host. Falseblood. Ruinborne. All flavors of the same fear: 'that kid's not like us.'"
Kyle leaned on the railing. "Except I am dangerous."
"Yes," Luwen said. "But not in the way they think."
Silence stretched.
"When you brought that letter," Luwen continued, "I thought you were another charity case. Someone who'd fail quietly. But you're not quiet. And you don't break."
Kyle's eyes narrowed. "Why do you care?"
"I don't," Luwen said with a razor-thin smile. "I'm watching you. There's a difference."
He turned to leave. "But if you ever get tired of being polite... there are people who'd appreciate your potential."
Kyle frowned. "What, some secret student club?"
Luwen laughed. "Please. That's child's play. I'm talking about something bigger than the Sanctum."
He paused, eyes gleaming. "You'll hear from me again, Kyle. For now—keep your head down. And don't trust anyone with clean robes and too many questions."
Back in his dorm, Kyle collapsed onto his bed fully clothed. Muscles sore. Chest heavy.
He thought of Professor Iskra. Of Veylan's warning. Of Mordain's smirk.
And Luwen's unsettling smile.
He closed his eyes.
Something was shifting. The air around Sanctum Magna had begun to turn.