The village of Thistlebrook had never seen a carriage like this before.
It gleamed silver in the sunlight, trimmed in deep navy and marked with the spiral crest of Arcvale Academy. Children ran beside it, shouting with excitement. Elders paused their work to gawk. Even the cows stopped chewing to stare.
Caelum sat inside the carriage, legs pulled up, arms crossed, and a sour look on his face.
"I still think this is a mistake," he muttered.
Across from him, Garron Varrow didn't respond. He was sharpening a battered dagger, the only weapon he'd kept from the old days. The steady scrape of stone on steel filled the space.
"You don't even know if I have real magic," Caelum continued. "I've never trained. What if I fail the trial? What if—"
"You won't," his father said flatly.
Caelum scoffed. "That's not encouragement. That's pressure."
"You've always had something strange in you, Cael." Garron looked up, eyes firm. "When you were five, a wind blast knocked over a tree that nearly crushed your sister. You said it was a 'sneeze.' When you're angry, the leaves spin around you. When you're scared, the air tightens."
Caelum looked away. "That doesn't make me a mage."
"It makes you dangerous. Untamed power gets people killed. At Arcvale, you'll learn to control it."
Silence settled in again. Outside, the fields blurred past golden wheat dancing in the breeze, farmers waving farewell. Caelum saw the familiar outline of the Varrow house growing smaller in the distance. His mother stood in the doorway, apron dusted with flour, eyes shimmering. His little sister Nella waved a handkerchief.
He swallowed hard.
---
They camped by the roadside that night. Garron built the fire while Caelum struggled to set up his part of the tent. The stars above them were sharp and endless far clearer than the skies above Thistlebrook.
"You were born in a storm, you know," Garron said as they ate salted meat and flatbread. "The wind howled for hours. Lightning split the tree behind our house in two."
Caelum blinked. "You never told me that."
"I thought it was a bad omen back then." His father chuckled. "Now, I think it was a warning."
"A warning?"
Garron's smile faded. "The world is changing, Cael. Something old is waking. I feel it in my bones. This academy this trial it's not just a test for you. It's the first gate in a war that hasn't begun yet."
Caelum stared into the fire. He had always thought the world was small fields, cows, chores, and naps under the oak tree. But tonight, the fire didn't feel comforting. It felt like the spark before a forest burned.
---
The next morning, the spires of Arcvale appeared on the horizon.
They pierced the sky like blades, surrounded by a massive wall etched with runes. Dozens of towers shimmered with enchantments. Floating platforms carried students from building to building. Banners flapped in the wind, each bearing the crest of a different house.
Caelum's breath caught in his throat. It was the most terrifying and beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
The carriage stopped at the gates. Students from across the realm were arriving nobles in silk, warriors in armor, and robed mages glowing with enchantment.
And here he was: a farm boy with wind in his blood and fear in his gut.
Garron clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder.
"Listen, Caelum," he said. "This place will try to break you. You'll want to give up. Run home. Sleep through your life. But you can't."
"Why?"
"Because chaos is coming," his father said, voice grave. "And you my son will either stand against it… or be consumed by it."