By now, the Trial was less than a week away.
And the Academy had become a pressure cooker.
Every hall echoed with the sharp snap of dueling sigils. Study rooms overflowed with students muttering incantations under their breath. The scent of burned paper and scorched stone seemed permanent.
Kael stalked through the chaos with a predator's focus.
He'd stopped caring about the stares. Or the whispered rumors trailing behind him like a shadow.
"That's him. The one who forced Flare.""They say his sigil burns differently.""The Circle's watching him."
Let them watch.
Kael had bigger problems.
"I can't keep doing this alone," he admitted to Rin and Lys over a hastily gathered meal in a quiet alcove.
Rin arched a brow. "You have us."
Kael shook his head. "I mean learning. The older scrolls—half of them are broken nonsense. And the Academy instructors are either blind to the deeper patterns or too afraid to speak."
Lys leaned forward. "There are others. Hidden archives. Places students aren't meant to reach."
Kael's grin was faint, tired. "I was hoping you'd say that."
Rin sighed. "Of course you'd want to break into a forbidden library the week before your Trial."
Kael raised a brow. "You say it like it's a bad idea."
"It is a bad idea," Rin snapped. Then, after a beat: "When?"
They chose midnight.
The oldest wing of the Academy, known as The Vault, was said to house scrolls dating back to the founding—and older still.
Most students avoided it.
Not Kael.
Cloaked in shadow, the three slipped through twisting passages, guided by faded maps and Rin's uncanny memory.
A heavy iron door blocked their path, etched with wards that shimmered faintly in the dark.
Kael studied them. "Any chance we can talk our way in?"
Rin rolled her eyes. "Less talking. More unlocking."
She produced a slender rod of silver and began weaving precise sigils in the air. Lys stood watch, eyes scanning the dark.
Minutes passed. Then—click.
The door creaked open.
Kael offered a grin. "Remind me never to play cards against you."
Rin snorted. "Remind me to bring a stun sigil next time you get cocky."
Inside, the Vault was a maze of towering shelves and hanging lamps that cast flickering light over ancient tomes.
Dust hung thick in the air. Every step echoed in the stillness.
Kael felt the hum of old power here—deep power, woven into the stones themselves.
"I'll search the east wing," Lys whispered. "You two take the main stacks."
They split, each moving with deliberate care.
Kael ran his fingers along spines older than nations.
"Containment… origins… sigil structure…"Most were useless.
Until one slender volume caught his eye.
"Chronicles of the First Bond."
He opened it with reverence.
The writing was dense, angular, the language archaic.
"In the age before Kings, when the sky still wept fire, the Origin civilization rose from ash. They were not as we are—but beings of will and craft. The sigils were their answer to the darkness that came from beyond."
Kael's heart pounded.
"For the darkness was not mere void—but a hunger that devoured thought, memory, soul. The sigils were forged not as weapons—but as seals. And yet… in sealing the dark, the Origin bound part of themselves as well."
Kael stared at the page, breath shallow.
"To bear the sigil is to bear that binding. To grow its power is to walk the edge of the ancient hunger."
A cold sweat broke across his skin.
"One spark may yet ignite the end."
The same words from his dreams.
This… this is what they don't teach us.
A sharp hiss broke the silence.
Kael snapped the book shut and darted back through the stacks.
He found Rin near the western alcove, her blade half-drawn, eyes narrowed.
"Lys?" Kael whispered.
Rin pointed.
Two masked figures moved through the Vault—robes marked with the sigil of the Circle.
"Patrol," Rin mouthed. "We need to go."
Kael nodded grimly.
They slipped into the shadows, moving with practiced silence.
The masked figures passed within feet of them. Kael's pulse thundered in his ears—but the Circle members seemed more focused on their own search.
As the danger passed, Rin grabbed his arm.
"What did you find?"
Kael hesitated.
Then: "We're all wrong about the sigils."
And that was all he said—for now.
They returned to the surface hours before dawn, exhausted but wired with adrenaline.
Kael paced his room long after the others had collapsed into uneasy sleep.
"To grow its power is to walk the edge of hunger."
He summoned his sigil, watching it burn beneath his skin.
Was that hunger stirring now? Was it why the patterns had changed?
A knock interrupted his thoughts.
He opened the door to find Coren standing there, arms crossed.
"You've been busy," Coren said flatly.
Kael raised a brow. "Always nice to be popular."
"The Circle knows you were in the Vault."
Kael's smile was sharp. "Then they should've locked the door better."
Coren stepped closer. "This isn't a game. They'll come for you."
Kael held his gaze. "Let them. I have questions that need answers."
Coren's eyes flickered with something—respect, or perhaps regret.
"You're playing a dangerous hand, Arin."
Kael's grin returned. "Good. I like high stakes."
The next day dawned cold and clear.
The Trial's arena loomed at the heart of the Academy—a great stone circle ringed with sigil-bound wards.
Students gathered in droves, their excitement mingling with fear.
Kael stood at the edge, Rin and Lys flanking him.
"Ready?" Rin asked softly.
Kael flexed his fingers. "Not remotely."
Lys smirked. "Perfect."
A bell rang.
The Trial had begun.
Kael watched as duel after duel unfolded.
Flare-users unleashed torrents of raw power, brilliant and loud. But too many fought like hammers—overwhelming, unsubtle.
Kael noted every mistake. Every wasted breath.
And then… his name was called.
"Kael Arin. To the arena."
He stepped forward, heart pounding.
Across the ring, his opponent awaited—a tall, grim boy named Dren, known for brute force and unrelenting offense.
"Begin."
Dren attacked instantly—sigils flaring in massive arcs.
Kael dodged, weaving subtle flows beneath the onslaught.
He baited Dren into overextending, layers of misdirection guiding the boy into traps.
"More! Face me!" Dren roared.
Kael smiled faintly.
Then, with a flick of his fingers, he triggered a layered pulse—shattering Dren's main flow and sending him sprawling.
Gasps echoed through the crowd.
Kael stood calm, sigil burning steady.
"Winner: Kael Arin."
As he left the arena, Kael caught a flicker of movement atop the high balconies.
A robed Circle figure watched him, motionless.
Their gaze burned through him.
The game is changing, Kael thought.
And somewhere deep inside, beneath the structured flow of his sigil, a voice whispered once more:
"One spark may yet ignite the end."
Kael smiled grimly.
"Then let's burn brightly."