By the time Andrew entered his third year at Halberd University, the arcane had become a familiar language. He no longer flinched at books that bled when opened, nor did he shy from symbols that etched themselves into glass surfaces mid-lecture. He moved with the gravity of one who had shed layers of disbelief and was slowly building armor from old truths.
The halls of Halberd whispered his name with reverence now not openly, but in the way students paused when he passed. Not with fear, but recognition. The kind that said: You are no longer one of us. You are something more.
But with elevation came isolation.
He hadn't spoken to Kate in over a year. Michael had sent a letter once that remained unread, buried beneath a stack of spell-bound manuscripts. Emma's name was now a ghost in his journal, mentioned once, then never again. Even Professor Langston's poetry assignments had become faded memory.
Only Halberd remained. And the magic.
It began with the whispers.
They came at night, soft at first. Like wind through old parchment.
Andrew...
Then clearer.
Retrieve the heirloom... Claim what is yours...
At first, he thought it was a dream. Perhaps an echo of a lesson, or a fragment of an incantation misheard. But then the voices grew bolder, piercing through his slumber like daggers of smoke.
Retrieve the heirloom... Claim what is yours...
He bolted upright one night, gasping for air.
Then came the pain.
It split through his skull like molten iron, fire lashing across every nerve in his head. His scream echoed against the walls of his dormitory, raw and unfiltered. He collapsed to the floor, hands pressed to his temples.
Still the voices came.
Retrieve the heirloom...
His fingers trembled. He dug his nails into the wooden floorboards.
Claim what is yours...
Blood dripped from his ears.
His vision blurred red, crimson lines trailing down from his right eye. His breath came in ragged gasps.
He screamed again.
Students burst into his room, drawn by the sound. Two halted at the door, shocked at the sight Andrew curled on the floor, eyes wild, blood staining his pale skin.
"Get the medics!" one of them yelled.
Within minutes, he was carried to the sick bay, muttering phrases none could decipher. His fever spiked. His body seized once, then again.
Then silence.
Across the campus, in a sealed chamber beneath the Obsidian Hall, a meeting was convened.
The Dean of Halberd University stood at the head of the long crescent table. Ancient tomes floated silently above them, open to pages that shimmered faintly.
The Dean's eyes were hollow with thought.
"He is awakening," the Dean said simply.
A masked man to his left leaned forward. His robes were embroidered with serpentine dragons, and a scaled tattoo wrapped up his neck and along the side of his jaw.
"Indeed," he said.
Across the table, a masked woman with a fox tattoo coiled behind her ear spoke, her tone edged with concern.
"Who will train him?"
The Dean turned, a shadow falling over his face. "Train him? Do you understand the power he wields?"
A pause.
Then, from the far side of the table, a chair shifted.
Professor Albrecht stepped forward, unmasked.
"I will train him," he said.
The others stared.
The Dean's voice was soft. "Albrecht... you of all people know what this Gift did to the last bearer."
"I do," Albrecht said. "And that is why I must be the one. Because I witnessed what happens when one trains without guidance."
The woman with the fox tattoo crossed her arms. "You knew the last vessel?"
"I didn't just know him," Albrecht replied. "I watched him shatter the sky over Saelbridge. I watched him break his own mind."
"Then why?" the masked man asked. "Why risk it again?"
Albrecht turned toward the glowing scrying mirror in the center of the chamber. It showed Andrew lying unconscious in the sick bay, the air around him flickering like heat.
"Because this one," he said, "is stronger."
Andrew awoke two days later.
The infirmary was dim, lanterns burning low. His body ached. His ears rang. And yet, he felt... whole. More than whole. He felt aware.
Professor Albrecht sat beside him.
"You've heard them," Albrecht said. "The voices."
Andrew's throat was dry. "They said to retrieve the heirloom."
Albrecht nodded. "Do you know what that is?"
"No."
"It is not an object. Not a weapon. The heirloom is you. It's your lineage calling you to take your place in the chain. The power sleeps in your blood. And it has decided you are ready to awaken."
Andrew looked at his hands. "What happens now?"
Albrecht leaned forward. "Now, we begin again. With purpose. With control. You will learn to wield what your ancestors tried to bury. And perhaps this time it will not destroy the bearer."
Outside, rain turned to mist.
Inside, the legacy of the Whitmore line stirred.
Andrew was no longer just a student.
He was an heir.
And the world had begun to shift in response.
....