The tunnel echoes with silence.
Kael stands before the ancient door beneath the academy—its obsidian surface polished like black glass, covered in glyphs that shift when no one's watching. The torchlight flickers across its edges, revealing hints of something older than the school, older than the kingdom itself.
He runs a finger along the markings. They hum faintly, like something breathing beneath stone.
"Still drawn to it?" a voice says.
Kael stiffens. It's Master Oryn, leaning against the cold stone wall, his robes rustling with shadow. "You weren't supposed to find this place."
"I didn't find it," Kael replies. "It… called to me."
Oryn's face remains unreadable, but something in his eyes shifts—concern? Or calculation?
"You've heard it speak?" Oryn asks.
Kael nods slowly. "It doesn't speak words. More like… feelings. Memories. And sometimes pain."
The master sighs, stepping closer. "This isn't just a door, Kael. It's a seal. And something behind it wants out."
Kael already knows that. He's felt it. In his dreams, in the way his magic flares uncontrollably when he's near it.
"I think it's teaching me," Kael whispers. "Or maybe testing me."
Master Oryn's hand lands on his shoulder. "Whatever it's doing, it's dangerous. This school was built atop ruins for a reason—to keep something in, not to dig it out."
Kael looks up, defiant. "But what if it's not evil? What if it's part of me?"
"Then you'll have to choose," Oryn says quietly. "What to unlock—and what to leave sealed forever."
Elsewhere, deep inside the door, something stirs.
A silhouette in a chain-bound hall lifts its head.
He is awake.The boy who speaks to locks.The child of the forgotten tongue.
Chains rattle as the ancient prisoner smiles.
Back in the academy, Kael lies awake in bed, thoughts racing.
The runes on his hand—gifts from the door—begin to glow faintly, tracing messages into his dreams.
Two lies bind the truth.Three voices speak one name.The door remembers what the world has forgotten.
He gasps awake, drenched in sweat. The ceiling above flickers with illusory light—faint symbols from his dreams slowly fading away.
Then—footsteps.
Kael jumps out of bed and grabs the nearest blade. He presses his back to the wall.
The door creaks open.
"Kael," whispers a voice. "You need to come with me. Now."
It's Naia, the girl from the eastern lands—an enchanter's apprentice. Her eyes are wild, glowing faintly in the dark.
"What's going on?"
"They're coming for you," she says. "They know what you touched. They know what you are."
Kael freezes. "Who?"
Naia looks over her shoulder, breath shaking. "The Inquisition. They've already locked down the north tower. You've got minutes."
His heartbeat thunders in his chest. He's not ready. He's not trained. He still doesn't understand the door.
But he runs.