The frost of early morning still clung to the academy walls when Kael stepped into the training courtyard. The stones beneath his boots shimmered faintly with dew, etched with centuries-old runes meant to dampen magical outbursts. Around him, first-year students gathered in small groups, yawning, stretching, some casting minor spells to warm their hands.
Captain Aldric stood at the far end, arms crossed, expression unreadable beneath a thick scar across his jaw. "Line up," he barked. "Today we separate the dreamers from the doers."
Kael took his place near the edge of the formation, beside Annie and Marcus. Annie gave him a quick, encouraging nod. Marcus, still quiet as ever, simply glanced at Kael's fingers—the faint flicker of residual magic still pulsing at their tips.
"Think he'll try to humiliate someone again?" Annie whispered, gesturing subtly toward Darius across the courtyard.
Kael followed her gaze. Darius stood tall, his polished boots spotless, a sneer already etched across his face. He was surrounded by his usual entourage, and his eyes flicked toward Kael with clear disdain.
"Probably," Kael muttered. "Let him."
Aldric clapped his hands once. "We're doing two things today: mana channeling under stress—and partner drills. You'll each be assigned someone at random. Survive it."
Murmurs rippled through the crowd.
An enchanted orb rose above the courtyard, pulsing with blue light. Runes shimmered in the air, rearranging themselves until names paired off.
Kael's name locked beside a new one: Eran Hilt, a lanky boy with a nervous posture and bandaged fingers.
As students moved to find their partners, Eran approached Kael with wide eyes. "You're the one from Professor Varra's session, right?"
Kael tensed. "That obvious?"
"Well… word spreads," Eran said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Just don't, you know, blow me up."
"I'll try," Kael said with a faint smile.
Aldric raised a hand. "Round one. Show me your mana control. One partner channels mana through the other. Your task? Hold the link without losing control. If the link breaks—" He waved a hand. "—you both fall on your backs."
Groans and nervous laughter followed.
Kael inhaled deeply, steadied his thoughts, and raised his palm. "Ready?"
Eran nodded and extended his hand. Their fingers barely touched when the current of mana surged between them—a thin thread of silver and blue, pulsing with life.
Kael guided the stream, gently tuning the flow. It felt… natural, like playing an old song he hadn't touched in years. Eran struggled to keep up, sweat forming on his brow.
"Don't force it," Kael said calmly. "Let it follow. Magic wants to move."
Eran's breathing steadied. The thread solidified.
Across the courtyard, several pairs stumbled, gasping as mana links collapsed, leaving trails of smoke and laughter in their wake.
Only a handful managed to stay standing.
Aldric strolled past Kael's pair, eyes narrowing slightly. He didn't stop—but Kael felt the weight of that glance.
Again.
Why are they always watching? he wondered.
Later that day, Kael returned to the Grand Athenaeum. His feet carried him almost instinctively to the third floor, where ancient tomes on pre-cataclysmic magic rested behind protective runes.
Lyria was already there, seated at her usual table, surrounded by a fortress of books.
"Let me guess," she said without looking up. "You're trying to find out how you knew those glyphs in Varra's test."
Kael pulled out a chair. "And you're going to mock me again?"
"I would," Lyria said, flipping a page, "but I'm starting to think you're more dangerous than you look."
Kael arched an eyebrow. "Thanks, I think."
She closed one of the books and leaned forward. "There's a pattern to your instincts. The glyphs you drew weren't just old—they were forbidden. Pre-Reckoning sigils. That's not something you 'accidentally remember.'"
Kael's stomach turned slightly. "Maybe I read too much."
"Or maybe," she said quietly, "you're part of something older. Something buried."
He didn't reply.
Downstairs, a faint bell chimed—a signal for curfew hour.
Kael stood, pushing his chair back slowly. "If I am… I don't remember it."
"Maybe not," Lyria said, gathering her books. "But someone does."
—
That night, Kael dreamed.
He stood in a ruined hall, columns shattered, stars bleeding overhead. A voice echoed—familiar, yet ageless.
"The storm is not your gift. It is your burden."
Lightning crackled across the sky. In the center of the hall, a shadow waited—shaped like a man, yet wrong. Its voice came from every corner of the void.
"You forgot me. But I did not forget you, Aric."
Kael gasped awake, chest heaving, skin damp with sweat.
The storm inside him pulsed once—and settled.
Chapter End