Seret watched him from across the training field, her hand tightening around the hilt of her practice sword. The sunlight hit Kael's blade as he moved through the forms. Every motion was perfect. His strikes were smooth, precise, and merciless. The other students whispered about him now. Some admired him. Others feared him.
He had always been good with a sword, but this was something else. There was no hesitation, no rhythm of breath, no strain in his muscles. It was as if his body had learned a language the rest of them could not hear. When the instructor called for a demonstration, Kael stepped forward without a word.
"Target, second row," the instructor said.
Kael nodded. The dummy twenty meters away was layered in defensive runes that pulsed a soft blue. He raised his hand, his eyes flicking toward it. The air grew heavier, colder. His sword vibrated faintly in his grip. Then he moved.
The blade cut forward once. The sound was soft, like paper tearing. The dummy shuddered, then collapsed, its runes shorting out in a burst of pale light. The protective enchantments had been sliced through as if they were nothing. The other students gasped.
"Efficient," the instructor muttered, stepping closer to examine the damage. "You are overchanneling though. That kind of precision requires more than basic augmentation. What did you use?"
Kael blinked. His expression stayed calm, but his voice was slower than usual. "I just focused."
The instructor frowned, then nodded. "You'll burn yourself out if you keep that up. Dial it back."
Kael didn't answer. His gaze drifted to the scorched earth where the dummy had been, the edges still glowing faintly red. Something in his expression unsettled Seret. It wasn't pride. It wasn't even exhaustion. It was absence.
Later, when class ended, she followed him toward the dorms. He walked like he was listening to something no one else could hear. His eyes flicked toward shadows, toward cracks in the stone walls, like there was something whispering to him from behind them.
When she finally caught up, she called out, "Kael, wait."
He stopped, turned slightly, his face half-lit by the fading sunlight. "Yeah?"
"You've been… different lately," she said. "Ever since that night you didn't sleep."
He smiled faintly. "Everyone's different after a few nights without sleep."
"That's not what I mean." She stepped closer. "You're distant. You don't talk like you used to. And when you use magic, it feels… wrong. Like it hurts the air."
He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Maybe I'm just getting better."
"Kael, I'm serious."
His eyes shifted toward her, and for a heartbeat, she thought she saw something flicker behind them. Not light, but reflection, like the eyes of an animal in the dark. It was gone before she could speak.
He rubbed his neck, avoiding her gaze. "Look, Seret, I'm fine. Really. I just need to clear my head."
"Then talk to me."
He hesitated, then shook his head. "It's nothing you could help with."
She watched him leave, the unease gnawing at her ribs. That night, while the dorms slept, Seret lay awake. She heard faint footsteps outside, soft and slow. When she peeked through the door, Kael was standing in the courtyard, barefoot, looking up at the moon.
The light reflected off the rune marks that crawled faintly up his forearm, glowing under the skin like veins of molten iron. His hand was outstretched, fingers twitching, shaping invisible patterns in the air. She heard him whisper something, but the words twisted as they reached her. It didn't sound like speech. It sounded like humming, like breath passing through old bones.
When she stepped forward, the ground beneath her foot creaked, and his head snapped toward her. His eyes were wide, unfocused. For a moment, he didn't seem to recognize her. Then, slowly, he relaxed.
"Couldn't sleep either?" he asked quietly.
She swallowed. "You were talking to yourself."
"I was practicing."
"Kael, you're shaking."
He looked at his hands. They trembled faintly, light still seeping from under his skin. "Just afterimages," he said. "Magic echoes sometimes."
She didn't believe him. But she didn't argue either. He turned back toward the moon, his expression unreadable.
"I think it's trying to tell me something," he said.
"What is?"
He smiled again, the same tired smile from the morning. "The silence."
The words sent a chill down her spine.
Over the next few days, she kept close. Every class, every meal, every shared moment. The distance between them grew quieter but not smaller. Kael's movements became smoother, his spells sharper, but when he spoke, his voice carried a strange weight, as if it belonged to someone else.
Students started to whisper. They said he had been cursed by something old, that he was learning things not taught in the academy. Seret never entertained the rumors aloud, but part of her started to wonder if they were right.
Then one afternoon, during sparring drills, Kael's partner slipped, and his blade grazed the boy's arm. It should have been a shallow cut. Instead, the wound burned black around the edges. The boy screamed, clutching his arm, the smell of iron thick in the air.
Kael dropped his sword, eyes wide. He stepped back as the instructor rushed over. The runes on his arm pulsed once, dimly. He could feel the hum again, faint but alive.
Seret saw it too. The red beneath his skin. The color of the cult.