The first light of dawn spilled softly over the vast expanse of Arcanthus Academy. Mist clung to the lawns and hedges like whispered secrets, curling between ancient stone benches and winding paths. The air was crisp, tinged with the scent of damp earth and wildflowers that bloomed stubbornly even as the chill of autumn crept in.
Sam Laveniya rose before the sun, as was his habit. His room, a modest chamber in the western wing reserved for the youngest sons of noble houses, was sparse. A simple bed, a sturdy desk cluttered with textbooks and scrolls, and a window overlooking the sprawling training grounds. The gray light of morning touched the silver flame crest embroidered on his sleeve, a constant reminder of his lineage and the weight it carried.
He dressed methodically, every movement precise and deliberate. Today was his first practical lesson in combat magic—a test of discipline and raw power that many students had anticipated for weeks. For Sam, however, it was merely another step toward mastering the tools he would one day wield against the Viel Walkers.
Outside, the academy buzzed with renewed energy. Students gathered in the courtyards, their voices mingling in excited chatter and nervous anticipation. Sam's footsteps echoed as he made his way to the eastern training grounds, a vast open space bordered by towering stone walls and ancient oak trees.
As he approached, Akhtar was already there, stretching his lean frame with practiced ease. His dark eyes flicked up and caught Sam's.
"You're punctual," Akhtar remarked with a small smile.
Sam nodded, feeling the stiffness in his muscles from his early rise but pushing it aside. "I don't like being caught unprepared."
The two fell into step together, a quiet rhythm forming between them. Their companionship was new—still fragile and tentative—but it was the first flicker of warmth in Sam's otherwise cold world.
The training grounds soon filled with instructors and students. Among them was Master Elric, a grizzled veteran with a stern gaze and a voice that carried the authority of decades spent honing the art of combat magic.
"Today," Elric announced, "we test not just your strength, but your control and precision. Magic is not a wild beast to be tamed by force. It is a blade to be wielded with intention."
Sam felt his pulse quicken. Control had always been his strength—his gift and his curse.
The lesson began with elemental exercises—fire, water, earth, and air. Sam's flames flickered to life, dancing at his fingertips, shaped into blades and shields as the instructor paced among the students.
Akhtar's magic, in contrast, was subtle but no less potent. He wove threads of shadow and light with fluid grace, bending the air around him as if it were silk.
During a paired exercise, Sam and Akhtar faced each other, their energies sparking like twin storms.
"Focus," Sam muttered, channeling his will into a narrow stream of fire aimed at Akhtar's shield of shadow. The impact sent a ripple through the air, but Akhtar held firm, his eyes gleaming with challenge.
They circled each other, silent but speaking through their movements—an unspoken dialogue of trust and rivalry.
When the exercise ended, neither was declared victor, but both earned the respect of their peers.
Later, as the sun dipped low and cast long shadows, Sam found himself wandering near the library's ivy-covered walls. The scent of aged paper and ink beckoned him inside, and he let the quiet envelop him.
It was here that he first noticed Lira Duskbane in earnest. She sat at a carved oak table, her dark hair cascading over a book of healing arts. Her fingers traced delicate glyphs glowing faintly blue, weaving magic that seemed to hum softly in the still air.
Their eyes met briefly. For a moment, the cold mask Sam wore cracked, revealing a flicker of curiosity.
"Sam Laveniya," a voice whispered from the shadows of the aisle.
Startled, he turned to find Akhtar leaning casually against a bookshelf, a sly grin on his face.
"You're spending a lot of time alone," Akhtar teased gently. "Not many people see you smile."
Sam's jaw tightened, but he felt the truth in the words.
"Maybe I'm just focused," Sam replied, voice low.
"Or maybe you don't know how to trust yet," Akhtar said, stepping closer.
For the first time since his arrival, Sam felt the walls around him shift. Trust was a dangerous thing, a weakness his house had taught him to avoid, but Akhtar's presence was different—steady, unjudging.
The days at Arcanthus passed, each one a thread weaving Sam deeper into the fabric of the academy. Yet beneath the surface, the shadow of the Viel Walkers stretched long and cold, their whispers carried on the wind like a warning.
Sam's resolve hardened. For Lucien. For his family. For the fire burning quietly but fiercely inside him.
He would not rest until the Viel Walkers were no more.