Far beneath the oldest tower of the Academy, where stone turned to blackened root and walls pulsed faintly with sigil-light, a hidden chamber stirred to life.
A circle of robed figures stood in silence.
Their faces were masked. Their voices cold and deliberate.
"The boy has reached Flare," one intoned. "Too soon."
A second replied, voice low as a growl: "The pattern is unstable. And yet... promising."
A third, hooded in deep crimson, leaned forward. "He is a key. Let him grow. When the time comes, we will claim the Bond."
The chamber darkened. One final voice whispered from the shadows:
"And if he proves… unsuitable?"
A thin smile answered."Then we end the experiment."
Kael had no idea any of this was happening, of course.
He had more immediate problems.
Namely: staying upright.
He sat slumped on a bench in the courtyard, watching as Flare-level students dueled in brilliant arcs of light and sound.
Each clash sent ripples of force across the stones, the air sharp with ozone.
Kael's fingers twitched involuntarily.
His own sigil itched, as though eager to join the fray.
But each time he tried to push deeper into its new patterns, the backlash clawed at his mind—sharp as broken glass.
"You look like death warmed over," a familiar voice drawled.
Kael glanced up to see Coren, arms crossed, leaning against a nearby pillar.
"And yet," Kael said dryly, "still better looking than you."
Coren smirked. "Sarcasm won't win your Trial."
Kael exhaled. "Neither will brute force. Which is why I'm here—watching. Learning."
He gestured toward the dueling pairs."You see how they burn their sigils? Like hammers smashing through stone. Effective… until it breaks them."
Coren's gaze sharpened. "So you plan to win by being clever."
Kael grinned thinly. "It worked once. Why not again?"
The Trials loomed large now—an event meant to separate the truly capable from the reckless. Every Flare-user had to participate. Failure meant expulsion from higher studies. For many, it meant losing any hope of advancing further.
For Kael? It was a public crucible—and a very visible one.
"I need better control," he admitted later that evening, gathered with Rin and Lys in one of the quiet study halls.
"You need a plan," Rin corrected. "Your sigil is... unstable. It won't behave if you try to overpower them."
Kael spread his hands. "I'm open to suggestions."
Lys leaned over the table, eyes bright with thought."If you weave layered patterns—decoys—you can bait stronger opponents into wasting energy."
Rin nodded. "And if you use secondary channels beneath those, you can disrupt their flows mid-cast."
Kael's grin returned. "Now that's my language."
Together, the three spent hours sketching diagrams, testing flows, building subtle traps within sigil patterns.
It wasn't brute force—it was chess. And Kael loved every moment of it.
Later, as midnight approached, Kael found himself alone in his room again.
Scrolls lay scattered around him, flickering with faint sigil-light.
One, older than the rest, caught his eye.
"The Origin civilization," it began, "crafted sigils not as tools of power—but as bonds of containment. For what they sought to imprison was no mortal thing."
Kael frowned. Containment? Of what?
He traced the faded lines beneath the words, but much of the scroll was damaged—lost to time.
A shiver ran through him. The deeper he delved into these ancient records, the more he sensed a terrible weight behind the sigils he now bore.
They were meant to hold something back. Not grant us strength.
And now... that something was stirring.
Training resumed with brutal intensity.
Each day, Kael forced himself to refine the Flare, weaving tighter flows, building traps, pushing the boundaries of what his sigil could do without tearing him apart.
"You're reckless," Coren said during one sparring session, as Kael stumbled mid-cast.
Kael wiped blood from his lip. "And you're predictable."
Coren snorted. "I'm not the one about to collapse."
But Kael saw the grudging respect in the other boy's eyes.
Rin remained his fiercest critic.
"You lean on instinct too much," she said one morning. "The Flare isn't just about will—it's about precision."
Kael grinned. "And yet instinct got me this far."
Rin's eyes flashed. "It won't get you through the Trial. If you can't outthink your opponent, you're already lost."
Kael held her gaze, then nodded. "Teach me."
For the first time, Rin smiled faintly. "Gladly."
As the days wore on, whispers began to swirl through the Academy.
"Kael Arin… the one who forced Flare in open battle.""They say his sigil's… different.""The Circle has noticed him."
Kael heard them all—and dismissed most.
But when Rin approached him in the old courtyard, her face pale, he listened.
"They're watching you," she said simply.
Kael's smile was thin. "Let them."
Rin grabbed his arm. "No. You don't understand. The Circle… they remove threats. Quietly."
Kael arched a brow. "And here I thought I was charming."
"This isn't a joke, Kael," Rin snapped. "You're walking on a knife's edge."
Kael's gaze turned distant. "Then I'll learn to dance carefully."
But even as he spoke, a gnawing unease crept through him.
The Circle wasn't just watching.
They were waiting.
That night, the dreams returned.
Kael drifted through endless voids, where massive sigils spun in silence—each one more intricate than the last.
A vast eye opened in the dark.
A voice, deep and ancient, whispered:
"One spark may yet ignite the end."
Kael reached toward the light—
And awoke with a gasp, sweat-soaked and trembling.
His sigil burned beneath his skin, its lines shifting in patterns he no longer fully recognized.
What am I becoming?
No answer came.
But deep beneath the Academy, in the hidden chamber, the Circle moved once more.
The next phase had begun.