The courtyard buzzed with energy. Students lined up under the morning sun, blades clashing and laughter echoing through the open air. Most wore the colors of minor or major noble houses—polished silver, emerald sashes, golden clasps that screamed status.
Kael, in his worn and slightly frayed uniform, blended into the stone walls like a ghost. He kept his head down. His arms still ached from yesterday's duel with Professor Lioren. Every muscle begged for rest, but he was here, as always—silent, unnoticed, present.
"Form your groups," Lioren called out, standing at the center of the field. "Three per team. You'll take turns defending against two opponents. Strategy and endurance, not brute strength. Fail to last ten minutes, and you're dismissed."
Kael didn't move. He already knew no one would ask him to join.
Theron Vael, son of House Vael and the academy's golden star, grinned as he noticed Kael.
"Oh look. The ghost showed up again," he said loudly. "We need someone to mop up after we're done. Kael, fancy a mop?"
Laughter erupted from the noble-born crowd around him. Kael simply bent to tighten the strap of his boot. He didn't respond.
His silence seemed to frustrate them more than any insult could.
As students grouped and began their drills, Professor Lioren's eyes briefly flicked to Kael. It wasn't pity. Nor disgust. Just… consideration. A quiet calculation.
He turned to his assistant trainer and spoke low. Moments later, the assistant walked toward Kael.
"You'll be observing today," the man said.
"I can spar," Kael said softly.
"Instructor's orders. You'll be tested another way."
Kael frowned but nodded. He had learned not to question things too loudly. Not here.
He didn't know what that meant—until dusk fell.
When others left to rest or study, he was summoned. Not to the yard or a classroom. But to a shadowed stairwell in the east wing of the academy. Down into the lower catacombs.
The door creaked as he opened it. Cold air rolled out to meet him. There were no torches lit. Only the faint green glow of runes etched into the walls.
A rusted plaque marked the entrance:
"Trial Path – Sealed. Restricted by Order of the Grand Headmaster."
Kael hesitated. Then stepped inside.
The path narrowed quickly. Stone beneath his boots. Moisture clung to the air. Dust and cobwebs hung untouched for decades.
Five steps in, a wall beside him shifted. A blast of flame roared out of a hidden mouth in the stone. He dropped low, rolling instinctively. The heat brushed his shoulder, but he was unharmed.
Coughing, he continued, eyes alert, heart racing.
Further in, a chamber opened into view. The floor was cracked, the walls blackened. Bones littered the corners. And in the center stood a rusted beast—a lion-like construct with coils of metal and a serpent's head.
Kael's breath caught.
The construct stirred.
Its eyes ignited with pale fire.
He backed away, reaching for anything—a weapon, a stick, a rock. His fingers found a broken spear shaft half-buried under rubble.
The creature lunged.
Kael rolled aside, barely missing its jagged claws. Sparks flew as metal scraped stone. He thrust the spear forward as it turned, jamming it under the beast's jaw where two rusted plates met. It shrieked—a sound like tearing metal and grinding gears—then collapsed in a twitching heap.
Kael staggered backward, panting, blood trickling from a gash on his side.
He could have died.
But he wasn't dead yet.
Beyond the creature, a pedestal stood alone. Upon it sat a black crystal—flawless, silent, still. It gave off no glow, no warmth. But Kael felt… something. A pull. A familiarity.
He reached out.
The moment his fingers brushed the surface, the chamber dimmed.
There was no light.
No power.
Only a feeling. Deep in his chest. Like a second heartbeat.
And then a voice—soft, internal, not spoken but felt:
"Not yet."
Kael withdrew his hand.
The pedestal remained unchanged.
The door behind him opened without a sound. The path back was clear.
He returned to his dorm before midnight. No one had seen him leave. No one saw him return.
That night, he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. He didn't feel stronger. Just… quieter.
Like something inside him had settled.
He drifted into sleep with the echo of that whisper still in his head.