Kael stirred before the sun rose, his body waking before his mind. The faint chill in the air carried the scent of morning dew and parchment—reminders of a place that was still half-strange, half-home. Eldros Academy was beginning to settle into his bones, but not without resistance.
He dressed quietly, pulling on his uniform with practiced ease. The coat's cuffs had already begun to fray—he'd need to ask Old Man Heron for tips on reinforcing fabric with magic. A silly thought, maybe. But the kind that grounded him.
Today, however, something felt… heavier.
He'd barely made it out the door before a voice called from behind.
"Early again, Kael? Or just couldn't sleep?"
It was Marcus, slouching against the hallway wall with that lazy smirk of his. His brown curls were messier than usual, and his boots were unlaced.
Kael offered a tired grin. "Bit of both."
They fell into step together as the corridor filled with other first-years preparing for the morning lectures. Arcane Theory loomed, and with it, the unblinking eyes of Professor Varra.
"I heard we're getting a practical exercise today," Marcus said. "Glyph application in unstable environments. Whatever that means."
Kael's stomach twisted. It wasn't fear. Not exactly.
Just… anticipation. And the sense that he was being watched.
Again.
The classroom was quiet when they entered. Professor Varra stood at the front, her back to the students as she inscribed a complex lattice of glowing symbols in the air. Her magic moved with an elegance that felt too sharp to be graceful—like a sword in motion.
Without turning, she spoke.
"Take your seats. Today, you will be tested not on theory, but instinct."
A low murmur ran through the class.
"Instinct?" one boy echoed.
Varra turned. "Magic lives in blood, not ink. In moments of pressure, theory crumbles. Reflex remains. You will each enter the simulation chamber. Alone."
That silenced everyone.
One by one, the students were called to a side door leading into the chamber—an enchanted space designed to mimic real-world danger. Their task was simple: survive.
Kael watched the others return pale-faced and shaken, their bravado stripped away. Lyria went in without hesitation and came out with a faint sheen of sweat on her brow—but otherwise composed.
"Arvandor."
Kael stood.
The door closed behind him with a thud.
The chamber was dark. A circle of glyphs lit beneath his feet, and the world shifted.
He found himself standing in a crumbling ruin. Wind howled through broken archways. The sky above was choked in smoke and cloud, flickering with lightning.
A monster emerged from the mist. Not real—he knew that—but real enough. A hulking, four-legged beast with eyes like molten stone.
Kael's heart pounded. His hand raised on instinct.
The wind answered.
It coiled around him, wrapping his limbs in a swirling current. The beast lunged, but Kael didn't move back. He moved forward.
A pulse surged through his veins. The magic wasn't elemental—it was something older, deeper. Like the storm itself knew his name.
He drew a symbol in the air—not one from his books, but something that came to him in a flash of memory.
The rune flared.
The wind exploded outward, hurling the creature back in a vortex of force.
And then… silence.
The illusion faded. Kael stood alone in the empty chamber, the glyphs at his feet flickering out.
When he stepped back into the classroom, all eyes turned to him.
Even Varra looked—if only for a breath longer than she had anyone else.
"Interesting," she said softly.
That was all.
But Kael felt it. The change in air. The storm was stirring again.
Later that evening, Kael sat in the library, a stack of books beside him untouched. Across the table, Lyria was watching him.
"You drew something in there," she said. "Something none of the rest of us know."
Kael didn't respond right away.
"It wasn't in the textbooks. That glyph… it was older."
He met her gaze. "You saw it?"
She shrugged. "A reflection in the observation glass. Only for a second. But it looked… ancient."
Kael hesitated, then leaned in slightly. "Have you ever felt like you've lived something before? Like you weren't just learning magic—you were remembering it?"
Lyria's eyes narrowed. "That's not a question most first-years ask."
He smiled faintly. "Then maybe I'm not like most first-years."
She studied him, then said, "Whatever it is you're hiding… just be careful. This place doesn't forgive secrets."
Her warning hung in the air as they returned to their reading. But Kael wasn't truly reading. His mind was turning over the glyph he'd drawn. It hadn't just come to him—it had called to him.
And when he drew it, something within him had responded with joy. Recognition.
He wasn't becoming something new.
He was waking up.
That night, the dream returned.
But it wasn't a dream.
He stood in a field of ash, beneath a sky torn by lightning. At the center of the storm, a man stood cloaked in flame and shadow, his hand raised in command.
Kael recognized the man's face. Because it was his.
Not Kael Arvandor.
Not the blacksmith's ward.
But someone else.
"Aric Vaelith," the name whispered through the void.
The forgotten king of storms.
His eyes snapped open. Sweat clung to his skin. His fingers trembled—and he realized he'd drawn the same glyph on the windowsill in his sleep.
Kael looked up at the moonlight pouring through the glass.
Something was coming.
And this time, he wouldn't run from it.
Chapter End