The courtyard brimmed with chatter and sun-dappled tension. The students had gathered at the Grand Plaza, called forth by the Academy's instructors. All save one had completed at least a single Celestial Mark, their symbols etched in light and forged through Will. Now, with knowledge and skill honed, it was time for the next phase—combat training.
Gary stood near Ingrid beneath the shade of a violet-blooming ironwood tree, its leaves whispering overhead. His brow was furrowed, arms crossed as he listened to murmurs flutter around like restless crows.
"Do you think he'll show?" Ingrid asked, not looking at him. Her gaze was set on the stone dais being prepared.
"He said he would," Gary muttered, gripping the hilt of his training blade. "But... it's been a month."
The gathered students turned their attention to the grand stairs as the instructors arrived. At their center walked the Grand Instructor—back straight, hands clasped behind him, eyes like a quiet storm. Age draped him like a cloak, but his presence was unwavering, an ancient mountain among lesser peaks.
The murmurs fell silent.
"Children of Prime," the Grand Instructor began, voice low but resonant, like a drumbeat on the bones of the world. "You have pursued knowledge. You have chosen your paths. And you have begun to shape yourselves with the first of your Celestial Marks. All—"
A pause.
He blinked once, slowly.
"—save one."
Before the silence could settle, a hand—pale, calloused, steady—rested on the shoulders of both Gary and Ingrid.
They jolted.
"Did I miss much?" came the low voice, like wind over a quiet sea.
Gary spun around. Ingrid's breath caught.
It was him.
Dawn stood with a faint smile, eyes calm, robes loose around a frame that seemed different—less boy, more edge. His presence wasn't loud, but it pressed subtly against the surroundings, as though space itself leaned slightly away from him.
"You..." Gary started, but couldn't finish.
Dawn nodded toward the dais. "Grand Instructor, allow me to correct that. I have completed my Mark."
Whispers erupted.
"He returned..."
"What does he mean? First mark, right?"
"Did he always have that vibe?"
The Grand Instructor's gaze lingered on Dawn longer than it should have. In that ancient stare, there was no surprise—only the weight of knowledge.
"Indeed," he said slowly. "I am aware."
Another beat passed.
"Then, Dawn... you will serve as Assistant Instructor for combat training. Your record is... persuasive enough."
Dawn's smile wavered. "Again?"
The students burst into a mixed chorus of laughter and confusion. Some remembered the ruthless assistant instructor who had led drills like a silent specter. Others, emboldened by their newly forged Marks, glanced his way with fire in their eyes.
He felt it all.
The awe. The doubt. The distant resentment. The familiar trust.
But he welcomed it.
A reunion followed, not with loud cheers, but with the grounding silence between those who had shared storms. Ingrid nudged him in the ribs—an unsaid "you idiot." Gary merely clapped him on the shoulder.
The past month remained unspoken.
But the shadow it left was now walking beside them.
---
As the murmurs settled and Dawn stepped back, the Grand Instructor resumed his place, his gaze sweeping over the assembled students.
The faint wind stilled. His next words came like the striking of a bell:
"Your first year was meant to awaken your curiosity. The second, to shape it. But now, the third truth must be etched into your bones—combat is not an art. It is survival. It is the price for standing tall in this realm of invasions and wonders alike."
He raised a hand. Dozens of scrolls unrolled in the air, each bearing glowing script unique to its viewer. Gasps rang out as students realized the words were shaped to them—detailing tailored combat regimens based on their Celestial Marks.
"This training will be relentless. It will adapt to your essence and challenge your Will. Not all of you will succeed. That is the truth."
Then, turning slightly, he added with the weight of finality:
"Except for one. Dawn will not partake in this training. He will oversee it."
That was the spark.
A murmur, then a growl of rising indignation.
One student—broad-shouldered, halo faintly pulsing—stepped forward, voice tight with challenge:
"Why does he get to watch while we bleed?"
The Grand Instructor remained silent.
Dawn looked at the student—and said nothing.
And in that silence, tension curved like a drawn bowstring.
The wind turned cold. A shadow stirred at Dawn's back—not cast by sun or moon, but by something deeper.
And in his eyes, reflections flickered… and one, darker than the rest, smiled.
---