Kael drifted somewhere between burning heat and freezing cold.He wasn't sure where his body ended and the void began anymore.
In that darkness, a faint red light pulsed—like the heartbeat of something vast and distant. Each throb sent a wave of pain through his chest, as though iron chains squeezed tighter with every beat.
What have I done?
The question echoed without answer.
And then, with a sudden snap, the void shattered.
Kael's eyes flew open.
The sharp scent of burnt cloth and old herbs filled his nostrils. His body felt like shattered glass, each breath sending tremors through aching muscles.
Above him, a cracked ceiling of worn stone came into focus.
It wasn't the Academy infirmary. The ceiling here was unfamiliar.
"You're awake."A voice — dry, weary, and edged with relief.
Kael turned his head slowly, every movement a struggle. Rin sat beside him, her usual braid undone, dark eyes shadowed with exhaustion.
"How long?" he rasped.
"Two days." She leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. "We weren't sure you'd wake at all."
Kael swallowed. His throat was raw, as if he'd been screaming.
"The Flare stage…" he managed.
Rin's gaze hardened. "You forced it. In the middle of a live battle. Without preparation."
"I had no choice," Kael said. "They would have killed us."
"You almost killed yourself." Rin's voice rose, then faltered. "Idiot."
Kael offered a weak, crooked grin. "I'm charming that way."
Rin glared. "Don't joke. Not about this."
A long silence settled between them.
Finally, Kael whispered, "I had to win."
Rin looked away. "Next time, think before burning your life away."
She rose, leaving a cup of water on the bedside table.
"Drink. Rest. You'll need both."
And with that, she was gone.
Hours later, Kael forced himself upright.
His body protested, but he ignored it. He had always been stubborn—annoyingly so, as his mother once put it. Right now, that stubbornness was the only thing keeping him moving.
The small chamber was unfamiliar, spartan. A rented room, by the looks of it.
Kael pulled back the rough blanket and looked down at his chest.
The sigil burned faintly beneath the skin, its lines now sharper, more intricate.Not just brighter—different.
He reached out with his mind, feeling the familiar pulse of power… and something else.
A deeper rhythm. A cold, slow beat like the ticking of an ancient clock.
Kael shivered.
What did I awaken?
The next day, against Lys's stern protests, Kael limped to the training courtyard.
The sun was bright, the air crisp. The courtyard hummed with life as students sparred, wove sigils, and tested new techniques.
Kael stood in the corner, eyes half-lidded, watching them all.
So many still thought of Flare as just a bigger, louder Spark. But they were wrong. The stage wasn't just about force—it was about depth.
Control. Complexity. Creativity.
He summoned his sigil. Instantly, heat licked through his veins. His vision sharpened; the edges of the world gleamed unnaturally.
Kael gritted his teeth. Steady…
A low hum rose in his ears. The power wanted to burst outward in a raw flare—but he held it tight, weaving the energy into finer channels.
Then the backlash hit.
A spike of cold pain stabbed through his skull, sending him staggering.
Lys caught him before he fell.
"Fool," she muttered. "You're not ready."
Kael blinked. "Didn't… didn't say I was."
"You can't brute-force through it," Lys said firmly, easing him onto a bench. "Flare isn't just more power. It's… understanding yourself. The more reckless you are, the more it punishes you."
Kael managed a wry smile. "Then I'll be clever about it."
"Try being alive about it first," Lys shot back.
That night, Kael sat alone in his rented room, a pile of old scrolls scattered around him.
Most were useless—vague theories and outdated diagrams. But one fragment caught his eye:
"The Flare is not a stage of might, but of mind. To wield it is to reflect upon the self, to craft not only sigils—but purpose."
Kael frowned.
Purpose.
He had fought to survive. Fought because he'd always fought.
But now? Now there was something else beneath the surface. A need not just to survive—but to understand.
The strange new patterns in his sigil pulsed faintly, responding to his thoughts.
Kael closed his eyes.
"Alright," he whispered. "Show me."
A flicker of… something. Not knowledge, but an impression—of vast darkness, ancient and watching.
Kael's breath caught.
Whatever was bound within his sigil—it was aware.
And now, it had noticed him.
Days passed. Kael forced himself through grueling exercises, pushing the Flare stage with more precision.
Rin watched silently. Coren, to Kael's surprise, offered occasional advice—gruff and begrudging, but useful.
"You're reckless," Coren said one afternoon. "But clever."
Kael smirked. "And you're predictable."
Coren rolled his eyes. "Don't let your wit write checks your body can't cash."
"Too late."
Despite the banter, Kael learned. Each session brought better control—and a deeper sense that Flare was not a plateau, but a door.
A door he was only beginning to unlock.
One evening, Kael sat with Rin and Lys beneath the old academy tree.
The sun set in bands of red and gold.
"You've changed," Lys said softly.
Kael arched a brow. "More scars. Less sleep. Same sarcasm."
Rin didn't smile. "No. You fight smarter now. With purpose."
Kael looked away. "Or maybe I'm just learning how not to die."
A long silence followed.
Finally, Rin said, "The Circle is watching you."
Kael frowned. "Let them."
"This isn't a game," Rin said. "You're walking on a knife's edge."
Kael's grin was humorless. "Then I'll dance carefully."
Inside, unease stirred. The Circle had always loomed in the background—but now, their gaze felt heavier.
And Kael couldn't shake the feeling that his sigil was humming louder each night.
That night, the dream came.
Kael floated in a void of swirling sigils, each larger than mountains, pulsing with impossible complexity.
A voice whispered from the dark:
"One spark… may yet ignite the end."
Kael reached out——and awoke gasping, heart pounding.
In the dim room, his sigil glowed faintly beneath his skin.
And for the first time, Kael wondered:
What if the true enemy wasn't out there… but within?