Weeks passed.
Autumn crept slowly into the land, its golden hue brushing against the leaves and painting the air with a chill that whispered change. The Demon Hunter Training Center adjusted with the season—longer uniforms, morning drills in colder air, and earlier sunsets that left the grounds shadowed and uneasy.
Keith felt the time slipping past like sand between his fingers.
He was now twelve.
Still unawakened.
Still the only one in his group without even a flicker of power.
Others around him had already begun to rise into the Novice rank. Some had even achieved Adept, proudly displaying their control over elemental enhancements, bodily reinforcement, or basic perception skills.
Keith, meanwhile, could barely get through Combat Conditioning without nearly collapsing.
But he kept pushing.
Not because he believed he was special—no, he wasn't sure of that anymore.
But because the memory of that voice in the fog still haunted him.
It hadn't spoken again, but its presence... lingered.
During one of the afternoon drills, Keith sparred with a boy named Juno—a cocky new recruit who had recently awakened and couldn't shut up about it.
Juno had chosen a training sword imbued with minor energy reinforcement—a Tempered-rank weapon, standard issue for low-level trainees who had awakened.
Keith had only a wooden stick.
The fight didn't last long.
Juno's strikes were fast, precise, and enhanced with power. Keith could barely keep up.
He fell to the ground after the third hit, his breath knocked from his lungs. Laughter rippled from nearby trainees.
Instructor Halden raised an eyebrow. "Get up."
Keith wiped blood from his lip and stood. Again.
Juno looked bored. "You sure about this, powerless?"
Keith didn't respond.
He lunged again—predictable, desperate. But he tried something new. He let Juno swing high and dropped low, using his smaller frame to throw the other boy off balance.
The crowd quieted as Keith landed a clean blow to Juno's ribs—more from luck than skill—but it was something.
He still lost the fight.
But he walked off the field with his head high.
Later that night, Keith sat under the large tree near the southern fence of the center, where the moonlight touched the leaves in silver.
Ethan joined him, tossing him a flask of water. "You fought well today."
"I still lost."
"Winning isn't everything," Ethan said. "You made him bleed. That matters."
Keith stared up at the stars. "Do you ever wonder if some people just… weren't meant to awaken?"
Ethan didn't answer for a while. "I used to think that. But then I read about a guy in the eastern branch who awakened at fifteen. Everyone thought he was a dud. Now he's Warden rank."
Keith glanced at him. "Seriously?"
Ethan nodded. "Seriously. Took him years, but it happened. Sometimes, late bloomers bloom hard."
Keith smiled faintly. "Maybe I'm just saving all my energy for a dramatic entrance."
"You'd better," Ethan laughed. "You're already the most mysterious kid here. Might as well live up to it."
They sat in silence, breathing in the cold air.
Elsewhere, Mistress Vale watched from the top of the observation tower, arms folded behind her back.
One of her aides stood nearby. "You're still watching him?"
She didn't look away. "Yes."
"He's shown no signs of awakening. He's not progressing fast enough."
"He's progressing in other ways," she said.
The aide hesitated. "Permission to speak freely?"
"Granted."
"Why him?"
Mistress Vale finally turned, her gray eyes sharper than the blade at her hip. "Because the wind bends around him. Because silence follows his steps. Because I have seen what he becomes, even if he has not."
Meanwhile, in the northern lands, where snow never melts and shadows are long, a sealed gate cracked.
A whisper escaped into the world.
A name.
"Keith…"