Kael sat on the edge of his bed, fingers hovering inches above the faintly glowing glyph etched on his palm. The seal that had appeared during meditation now shimmered with a dull silver hue, fading in and out like a pulse. He hadn't told anyone. Not Lyria. Not even the professors.
He wasn't sure he could explain it.
Every time he focused on the symbol, images flickered in his mind—cities burning, towers crumbling under black skies, a voice shouting his name across a battlefield. A name that wasn't "Kael."
And that terrifying moment when he looked into the eyes of a dying mage and saw his own reflection.
Aric.
The name still rang in his ears.
He clenched his hand into a fist, and the light died.
Not yet, he thought. I'm not ready.
The morning passed in a blur of lectures. Magical Ethics with Professor Ilwen had been particularly grating—mostly because Kael couldn't stop thinking about the seal. When Ilwen launched into a twenty-minute rant about the misuse of ancient magic, Kael flinched every time she mentioned "forbidden glyphs."
After lunch, he found himself back in the courtyard training fields, where the wind always smelled faintly of ozone and scorched grass. First-years were spread across the practice range, working on elemental control spells.
Kael stood at his assigned circle, arms folded. Professor Elrik paced among the students like a wolf among sheep, his cloak snapping with each step.
"Control is not about strength," Elrik barked. "It's about understanding. You do not force magic—you direct it, like a river through stone."
Kael exhaled slowly and extended his palm.
Wind magic, he thought, recalling the breeze from his first night. He hadn't truly tested it since then—not properly.
A spiral of air stirred above his hand, playful at first, then sharper. More precise.
He shaped it, guided it—not as a spell he'd memorized, but something more instinctive. The breeze bent into a ring, tightening until it resembled a miniature cyclone.
Elrik passed behind him, pausing mid-step. Kael felt his gaze but didn't turn.
The wind vanished with a snap of his fingers.
No words passed between them. But Elrik's footsteps lingered a moment longer than usual before he moved on.
Later that afternoon, Kael made his way toward the Grand Athenaeum, hoping for a moment of quiet. The seal still tingled under his skin, a constant reminder that his world was shifting.
As he pushed open the heavy oak doors, the scent of parchment and old magic wrapped around him like a cloak.
"Kael!"
He turned and spotted Annie, waving from a table buried in books. Her blonde curls were messier than usual, and she had ink smudged across her cheek.
Seated beside her was Marcus, yawning dramatically over a textbook on combat tactics.
"You look like you're walking around with ghosts in your head," Annie said as Kael approached.
Kael managed a tired smile. "Something like that."
"Come on, sit," she urged. "We were just arguing about whether 'mana inversion' is real or just some old noble hoax."
Marcus grinned. "I say it's fake. If reversing mana flow was possible, wouldn't more mages just blast spells backward into people's guts?"
Kael chuckled and took the empty seat. "Actually, inversion is real. But it's unstable. The Academy bans teaching it outside advanced dueling classes because most students… well, explode."
Marcus blinked. "Explode?"
"Figuratively," Kael added, though he wasn't entirely sure that was true.
Annie stared at him, intrigued. "How do you know that?"
He shrugged. "Read it somewhere."
She narrowed her eyes. "You keep saying that, but you've read more than most professors."
Marcus nodded. "Seriously. You're either a genius or a very well-dressed ghost from a century ago."
Kael forced a laugh but changed the subject quickly. "So, what's this about a dueling club?"
Annie perked up. "Oh! There's a tryout next week. Apparently, Professor Elrik's picking observers to recommend first-years for official matches."
"Let me guess," Kael said. "You want in?"
"Obviously," she said. "Not all of us have spooky wind powers. Some of us need to prove ourselves the old-fashioned way."
Kael smiled, but the mention of wind magic made his thoughts circle back to the seal.
Was it magic? A curse? A mark of who he used to be?
He excused himself after a while, saying he needed to find a book on rune sequences for Arcane Theory.
Back in the quiet corners of the Athenaeum, Kael found himself wandering.
His feet carried him—not his mind—through the maze of towering shelves and whispering lanterns. Eventually, he arrived at a staircase he didn't recognize.
Worn stone steps led downward, marked only by a small sigil: three concentric circles etched in gold.
He hesitated. Then stepped down.
The air grew colder as he descended, and the light dimmed. At the bottom was a heavy wooden door slightly ajar.
He nudged it open.
Inside was a narrow chamber lined with shelves. Unlike the rest of the Athenaeum, these books were sealed in glass cases, each labeled in a script Kael almost—but not quite—understood.
Only one book sat on the table in the center, untouched, unsealed.
Its cover bore the same symbol as his palm.
Kael stepped forward, heart pounding.
He reached for it—just as a shadow moved behind him.
"Curiosity," said a calm voice. "The most dangerous spell of all."
Kael spun, eyes widening.
Professor Varra stood in the doorway, arms folded, her violet-trimmed robe trailing behind her like smoke.
"I wasn't—"
"You were exactly where you meant to be," she said quietly, stepping closer. "No student finds this room by accident."
Kael swallowed. "What is this place?"
"History," she replied. "And a warning."
She looked down at the book, then at him. "Do you know why that glyph is dangerous?"
He shook his head.
"Because it doesn't just store power," she said. "It remembers it. Glyphs like this are echoes of ancient mages—fragments of their knowledge, their pain, their ambition. And sometimes… their madness."
Kael felt the seal on his palm burn faintly.
Varra studied him for a moment longer. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away.
The door creaked shut behind her.
Kael stood alone, hand trembling above the book.
He didn't open it. Not yet.
But he didn't walk away, either.
Chapter End