The afternoon air bit colder than usual as Kyle stepped out of the Void Studies wing. The sky had dulled to a pale gray, clouds curling like smoke above Ardenhall's tall rooftops. Wind tugged at his uniform cloak, and he pulled it tighter with one hand—the other still gripping his satchel.
Cynric and Vera waited outside, leaning against the archway. Neither spoke at first.
"You okay?" Vera asked after a beat.
Kyle nodded. "Yeah. Just… processing."
They walked together down the courtyard steps, past the statue of an Archmage, her outstretched hands forever casting a stilled ward against unseen threats. Kyle couldn't help but feel the same—frozen mid-spell, waiting for something he couldn't name.
"We've got Combat Theory next," Cynric said. "You coming?"
Kyle shook his head. "Can't. I'm banned from casting and combat classes until next term. I think I just need some air."
"You sure?" Vera asked. "After everything that's happened, maybe sticking to a routine's not a bad idea. Even if it's just on your own time."
Kyle gave a half-smile. "Would be nice to practice. But I can't use the academy's combat arenas—not even unsupervised. I'll be at the dorms later."
Vera and Cynric exchanged glances.
Vera sighed and pulled out her slate. "Kyle, I'll help you with magic casting."
"And I, with combat arts," Cynric added.
Kyle blinked. "But how? I appreciate it, really, but…"
"Well, being a noble has perks," Cynric said, raising a hand before Kyle could protest. "I know you hate hearing that, but hear me out. Noble families rent out—or outright own—remote training grounds around the academy. I have access to one. Only those I bring are allowed in."
"Wouldn't that break the rules of my probation?" Kyle asked, wary. "Last thing I need is more trouble."
"Not exactly," Cynric replied. "You're banned from academy-run classes. We're not instructors. We're just friends—practicing."
Kyle stared at them. They're really good friends, he thought.
"…Fine. Come get me from the dorm when you're ready. Preferably tomorrow."
He turned and walked away.
As the crowd of students thinned—some heading to lunch, others to class—Kyle veered off toward the old observatory tower. Technically restricted, but rarely monitored.
He skipped lunch again, bailing on Mirai and Orin. His appetite had vanished—both for food and for people.
The tower had been sealed years ago, after a spellburst shattered its primary lens. Kyle had found it during a late-night wander weeks back. Quiet. Abandoned. Unlike the east wing, it wasn't scary—just forgotten.
He climbed the spiral stairs. Each step creaked under his weight. At the top, broken glass and warped brass littered the floor like bones of a long-dead creature. He sat cross-legged in the center, staring through a jagged hole in the ceiling at the overcast sky.
The wind whispered.
Kyle closed his eyes.
For a moment, he tried to meditate—something Professor Idris had recommended. Anchor your mind. Feel the mana. Let it move through you like water.
But the moment he turned inward, something shifted.
A pulse.
Subtle. But real.
His breath hitched. The cold thickened—clung to him.
He opened his eyes.
The shadows in the corners had lengthened—just slightly. The light above dimmed. The world tilted.
Then: a whisper.
Not in words. In feeling.
Like something vast had stirred. Not awake—but aware. A weight brushing faintly against his soul.
Kyle jolted upright.
"What the hell…"
His fingers trembled. He'd felt something similar during the duel—but this was different. Clearer. Not rage. Not instinct.
Awareness.
He looked down at his hands.
The mana didn't burn. It didn't surge.
It pulsed—cold, calm, and steady.
And it was listening.
Before he could focus, footsteps echoed from below. Quick. Intentional.
He scrambled into the shadows behind a pillar just as the stairwell door creaked open.
Two voices.
"…he was seen heading up here," a boy whispered. "Why this place?"
"That's not your concern," came the second voice—sharp, older. Familiar.
Luwen.
Kyle held his breath. Unknowingly, the shadows cloaked him deeper.
"Shouldn't we just take him now?" the boy asked. "You said he's dangerous."
"No. He's not ready. Tepes said watch. Guide. Don't interfere."
Kyle's heart raced.
They were following him. Studying him. He hadn't imagined it.
"But if he starts tapping into it again—"
"He won't. Not on his own. That kind of power needs a trigger. Pain. Desperation. He's still too grounded."
Luwen's voice dipped lower. "Besides… he's not the only one." He looked at his hand. "The old bloodlines are stirring across the continents. If Kyle is what we think…"
A pause.
"…then the real question is whether we're witnessing the rebirth of a weapon—or a mistake. He's not here. Are you sure he came in?"
"N-No sir. Just that he was in the area."
Luwen sighed and turned to leave.
The door creaked. Footsteps retreated.
Kyle waited until the silence returned.
Then he exhaled.
They knew something. They expected something.
And worse—they weren't the only ones.
That night, Kyle sat at the edge of his dorm bed, staring at the glowing rune on the ceiling—part of the dorm-wide enchantment that dimmed and brightened with the hour. It was nearly midnight.
He hadn't told anyone what he heard.
Not Vera. Not Cynric. Not Mirai or Orin.
His thoughts twisted into knots. Part of him wanted to storm into the Headmaster's office and demand answers. But Iskra's words echoed in his head:
Keep your head low. Finish the term. Then dig.
But how could he ignore it now?
Luwen. Tepes. Veylan. A power that demanded pain to awaken.
He flexed his fingers.
What if they were right?
What if something had stirred inside him during the duel—and it hadn't gone back to sleep?
He stood, crossed to his desk, and pulled out a half-filled notebook. Flipping to a fresh page, he began to write—not spells. Not notes.
Questions.
What is a Voidspawn, really?
Who was Veylan before becoming Headmaster? What's his connection to Roland?
What does Tepes want from me?
And why me?
He stared at the page.
Then, after a long moment, he added one more line:
What if they're not trying to control me?
What if they're trying to use me?