Kael stared at the dim orb in his hand, his pulse hammering beneath his skin. It pulsed faintly—weak and inconsistent. The other students had already moved on. Their orbs blazed bright, a few even shifting colors or forming shapes. Laughter rippled through the courtyard as a golden-haired girl conjured a brilliant phoenix from flame and light.
He could feel them watching him. Judging.
"You're wasting time," snapped a voice.
Kael turned. The boy from earlier—tall, sharp-cheeked, with a sneer that could cut stone—stood with his arms crossed. His robes were embroidered with silver thread. Too fine for a commoner. He was born into magic.
"Maybe Ashmoor rats can't read magic," the boy muttered just loud enough for the others to hear.
Kael didn't rise to it. Not yet. He turned back to the orb, jaw tight, and tried again.
He focused on the heat he felt inside him. It had always been there—burning, restless, coiled behind his ribs like smoke trapped in glass. Back home, it had lit candles when he cried. Set the field ablaze when the raiders came.
You are not weak, he told himself. You survived.
He took a breath. Deeper this time. Closed his eyes.
And called the flame.
The orb flared to life—brighter than any before it—white-hot and flickering like a star. Its light cast hard shadows across the stone and silenced the laughter.
When Kael opened his eyes, the instructors were staring.
The red-haired woman with molten gold eyes—the one who'd spoken earlier—stepped forward. Her name was Master Vaelyn, and her gaze pinned him like a spear.
"That fire wasn't conjured," she murmured. "It was released."
Kael didn't understand what she meant, but he said nothing. His orb was still glowing. His hands had stopped shaking.
"You'll be in House Umbra," she said abruptly. "Dormitory Hall Nine. Report there before sundown."
Then she turned sharply, her cloak flaring behind her like wings of flame.
Kael left the courtyard with a thousand questions burning in his mind. Students split off into groups, some finding friends from noble houses, others walking in confident silence. Kael walked alone.
The academy grounds were vast—gardens, towers, bridges between buildings so high they disappeared into the fog. He passed a library the size of a cathedral and saw a flying construct—like a bird made of glass and bronze—soaring past the spires.
But his awe was tempered. Every footstep reminded him that he didn't belong here. Not truly.
He eventually reached Dormitory Hall Nine.
It was one of the older buildings, made of weathered stone with ivy creeping across its sides. Inside, it was quiet. Dim. Lanterns flickered with blue fire. The hallway smelled of wax, leather, and old smoke.
His assigned room was on the third floor, near the back.
He opened the door to find a small but tidy chamber: one bed, one desk, a trunk for belongings. A single window looked out over the training grounds. No lavish decorations. No comfort. But it was his.
He sank onto the bed and stared at the ceiling.
His thoughts wandered to the past—to the farmhouse outside Ashmoor, now burned and gone. To his mother's laugh, his father's rough hands. To the screams when the raiders came. To the smell of smoke and blood.
He didn't cry. Not anymore.
He only whispered: "I'll make this count."
A knock broke his silence.
He opened the door to find a girl standing there—short, with coal-dark skin and braided hair tied back with copper bands. She had a satchel slung over her shoulder and wore the same dark robe with House Umbra's symbol: a silver moon half-shrouded in cloud.
"You're the boy who lit the courtyard like a bonfire," she said flatly. "I'm Lira. I'm your neighbor. Don't snore."
Then she turned and walked away.
Kael blinked.
"…Nice to meet you," he muttered.
As night fell, a bell tolled across the academy—low and deep, like a voice echoing from under the earth.
Orientation would begin in the Grand Hall.
Kael rose, straightened his cloak, and stepped into the hallway.
He was here now. And the real trials hadn't even begun.