Kael had always liked the quiet. Growing up in the forge, the only sounds were the hammer, the wind, and Old Man Heron humming old tunes while the fire roared.
Eldros Academy was never quiet.
Especially not when fireballs were flying.
"Shield up!" the instructor barked.
Kael snapped his hand forward, focusing his will. A shimmering disc of air formed just in time to deflect a training spell that sizzled toward him.
Across the dueling platform, his sparring partner—a smug noble with too much hair oil—grinned. "Nice reflexes, peasant."
Kael didn't answer. He adjusted his stance instead, grounding his feet like Heron had taught him during forgework. Magic flowed through him, eager, waiting to be shaped.
The noble shot another flame dart. This time, Kael sidestepped. No shield. Just instinct.
He didn't return fire. Not yet.
"Enough," Professor Edric called from the edge of the arena. "Switch pairs."
Kael stepped off the dueling circle, wiping sweat from his brow. The air crackled faintly around him—a residue of storm magic, faint but present. He was learning to keep it buried, hidden beneath layers of simpler spells. But it was getting harder.
"Nice dodge," Marcus said, appearing beside him. "You know, if you ever do decide to roast someone, I won't blame you."
Kael gave him a tired smile. "Tempting."
Later that afternoon, the trio—Kael, Marcus, and Annie—sat beneath a tree in the southern courtyard. Leaves rustled overhead, and the sun cast long golden beams across the stone tiles.
Annie had half a sandwich in one hand and a stack of notes in the other.
"I still can't believe Professor Varra expects us to memorize thirty glyphs before tomorrow," she muttered.
"She expects perfection," Kael said, flipping through his own notes. "And she'll tear us apart if we fall short."
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "You say that like you didn't already finish the assignment two days ago."
Kael didn't deny it.
He had. But it wasn't about staying ahead. It was about control. Routine. Keeping his mind busy while the dreams kept coming.
The dreams were getting clearer now. Names he didn't recognize. Places that felt familiar. Thunder cracking through ruined halls. And always… that same voice, low and patient.
"You cannot hide from what you are."
He hadn't told anyone. Not yet.
That evening, the library was quiet.
Kael found himself walking the same aisle as before—the older sections, where dust blanketed forgotten volumes and the lanternlight flickered unnaturally.
He didn't know what he was looking for. Maybe he just hoped the right book would fall open, and the answers would be waiting inside.
Instead, he found Lyria.
She was leaning over a desk, scribbling notes with quick, efficient strokes. Her auburn hair was tied back, and a candle flickered beside her, casting sharp shadows across her features.
"You're late," she said without looking up.
"I wasn't aware we had a meeting."
"You're always here when I am. It's become a pattern."
Kael smirked and took the seat across from her. "Or maybe you're the one following me."
She didn't dignify that with a response.
They sat in silence for a while, books between them like a fragile truce. Lyria's expression was focused, but there was a tightness around her eyes Kael hadn't noticed before.
"You okay?" he asked softly.
She hesitated, then exhaled. "My brother writes me letters. Too often. He thinks I'm weak for studying instead of dueling. House Voss has a reputation to maintain."
Kael nodded slowly. "And you think he's right?"
"No," she said, but it sounded like she was still trying to convince herself.
Kael understood that too well.
The next morning, the Academy buzzed with excitement.
The first public demonstration of elemental control was scheduled on the east lawn—open to all first-year students and faculty. A chance to prove skill, to shine, or to embarrass yourself spectacularly in front of everyone.
Kael stood in line with the others, hands behind his back, waiting his turn.
Darius stood several places ahead, wearing a cloak that practically screamed look at me. His lackeys were close by, whispering.
When Darius stepped into the center of the arena, he raised both arms and summoned a swirling plume of fire that twisted into the shape of a phoenix.
The crowd cheered.
"Show-off," Marcus muttered.
"Effective show-off," Annie added, though her voice was dry.
Kael's name was called.
He stepped forward.
No cloak. No fancy gestures. Just focus.
He lifted his hand, and the air thickened.
A breeze rose, swirling around him in gentle arcs. Then, in a blink, it sharpened—controlled gusts weaving around his arms, lifting dust and leaves into a spiral. Lightning crackled softly within the current, not enough to shock, just enough to hint.
The storm, barely restrained.
When he lowered his hand, the wind stilled.
No cheers. Just silence.
Then a few murmurs.
Someone clapped—Professor Varra, slow and measured.
Kael met her gaze for a second.
Her expression gave nothing away.
Back in the dorm that night, Kael stared at the ceiling, hands behind his head.
He'd drawn too much attention today. Again. And he could feel the pressure building. The storm within him wasn't sleeping anymore. It was pacing.
He remembered something from the dream—his name. Not Kael.
Aric.
It had echoed through a throne room of shattered glass.
And behind it, a shadow of something terrible. A war. A betrayal. A power greater than anything this academy had ever seen.
He wasn't ready.
But he didn't have a choice.
Chapter End