Day One at the Academy
Kael's new dorm room was modest—bare stone walls, a narrow window overlooking the northern courtyard, and a desk worn smooth by decades of study. Compared to the cramped attic above Old Man Heron's forge, though, it felt like a palace.
He sat on the edge of the bed, running his fingers over the academy's uniform. The dark navy coat bore the Eldros crest—a crowned griffin clutching a wand and sword—and still smelled faintly of fresh linen.
He hadn't expected to make it this far.
"A blacksmith's apprentice, sleeping beneath mage-towered ceilings…" Kael whispered to himself, then grinned faintly.
The thrill was short-lived. A loud thud came from the hallway.
"Out of the way, peasants!"
Kael peeked through the door just in time to see Darius—the peacock-cloak noble from the entrance trials—striding down the corridor with two lackeys trailing behind him.
"Dorm 3B?" Darius glanced at the room across from Kael's and sneered. "They stuck me across from a nobody? Charming."
Kael quickly shut the door. He had no intention of clashing with Darius again. Not yet.
Class Begins
The next morning began with a summons to the Hall of Arcanum, a towering structure of marble and silver where the first-year students gathered for orientation.
Hundreds of fresh-faced initiates filled the room—commoners in patched boots, nobles in embroidered cloaks, and a few who looked like they belonged in royal courts rather than lecture halls.
An old professor hobbled onto the dais, beard brushing the podium. "You are now students of Eldros Royal Academy. For the next five years, this will be your crucible. Only those who endure its trials will rise above the rest."
Kael's schedule was handed to him after the speech. His classes included:
Foundations of Arcane TheoryMagical Ethics & HistoryMana Control and MeditationElemental Combat (Basic)Combat Strategy and Tactics
He recognized a few names—especially "Professor Varra," listed as the instructor for Arcane Theory. Rumors had already begun swirling that she hadn't taken a personal apprentice in years—and never tolerated failure.
Great, Kael thought. Just the sort of person to avoid drawing attention from.
Books and Bonds
After lunch, Kael wandered toward the Grand Athenaeum, the academy's ancient library. The twin doors creaked open, revealing shelves that stretched higher than he could see, glowing softly under enchanted lanterns.
He wasn't looking for magic spells—not yet. Just understanding.
A girl sat at a nearby reading table, nose buried in a book. Auburn hair cascaded down her back, and her uniform was immaculately neat. Her family crest—an ivy-wrapped blade—was embroidered in silver on her collar.
Kael nodded politely as he passed. She glanced up, eyes a striking shade of emerald.
"You're the commoner who wrote in Old Vaelithian," she said bluntly.
Kael froze. "…I don't know what you're talking about."
She didn't press. "You wrote the 'Vaelith Gambit' perfectly. That language hasn't been taught in over a century."
"Maybe I guessed," he replied with a half-smile.
She raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but offered a hand anyway. "Lyria Voss. House Voss of Ironmere."
He took it. "Kael Arvandor. Of… Old Man Heron's Forge."
A flicker of amusement passed through her eyes. "Well, Kael of the Forge, I hope you're good at pretending. Nobles don't like mysteries unless they control them."
Storms Within
That night, Kael sat by the dorm window, staring at the moonlit courtyard.
Magic thrummed under his skin, restless. He hadn't dared to push too far in class yet. Not after barely passing the mana sensitivity trial.
But even holding back felt… wrong. Like something inside him was chained and waiting to break loose.
He raised his palm and focused. A faint breeze stirred, circling his fingers.
Wind magic, he realized. But deeper—beneath the surface—he felt something older.
Storm magic.
He didn't know how he knew. But the name clung to his soul like a memory long buried.
A Professor's Glance
The next morning, Arcane Theory class began. Students took their seats as Professor Varra entered—tall, angular, with jet-black robes trimmed in violet. Her presence alone silenced the room.
"I expect discipline," she said coldly. "I will not tolerate laziness, arrogance, or incompetence. If you think magic is a shortcut to glory, drop out now."
She waved a hand, and glowing runes spun in the air behind her. "We begin with magical frameworks. Draw the three core glyphs of amplification."
Quills scratched across parchment. Kael hesitated, then drew them instinctively. Not from memory—more like… muscle memory.
Varra passed through the rows, silent. When she paused by Kael's desk, he felt it—her eyes on his glyphs.
Just for a moment.
Then she moved on.
Closing Scene
Later that week, while helping Lyria carry books from the library archives, she nudged him. "You've read ahead in every class. I've seen you correcting the theory books under your breath. Who are you really?"
Kael just smiled, keeping his secrets.
"Someone trying to survive," he said.
But inside, the storm stirred.
And somewhere beneath the academy—far below the stone and silence—Lady Sylas opened a sealed tome and frowned.
"The glyphs are returning. He's waking up."
Chapter End