The tavern in Westmark smelled worse in the morning than at night—something Kael hadn't thought possible. He stirred from the crooked bench where he'd fallen asleep, joints aching and head pounding. Outside, rain painted the cobblestones in bleak shades of gray. It was the kind of day even the sun didn't want to show up for.
A cracked mirror behind the bar reflected his sorry state: stubble like sandpaper, coat wrinkled and damp, eyes sunken but alert. Kael rubbed his face, muttered a spell that fizzled mid-cast—his magic still weak, flickering in and out like a bad lantern—and poured what was left of his lukewarm tea.
That was when the door creaked open.
It didn't slam, didn't screech, didn't draw any particular attention. But Kael knew before he looked: someone important had entered. He could feel it in the stillness that followed. The way the barkeep straightened. The way the only other patron slid their mug away and pretended to read a week-old broadsheet.
Kael didn't look up. He never did. Let them come.
The figure stepped closer, boots tapping methodically. A long coat, clean and imperial in cut. Silver pauldrons. A sunburst insignia near the collar. He paused at Kael's table, rain dripping from his gloves.
"You are Kael Ardyn," the man said, voice like a sword drawn too slowly.
Kael didn't bother denying it. No one else in Westmark would be caught dead in this dump with a flame-scarred blade at their hip and a pendant of obsidian glass tucked beneath their shirt.
"Depends on who's asking," Kael replied, eyes still closed.
The man sat. He removed one glove, revealing a ring—an old one. Mage-forged. Not a soldier, then. Or at least, not just one.
"My name is Darnis Thorne."
Kael opened one eye. "Of the High Circle? You're a long way from the capital. Did you take a wrong turn into failure and end up here?"
Darnis didn't smile. "I'm here on behalf of Virelith Arcana Academy."
Kael blinked, then barked a dry laugh. "No, you're not."
"I am."
Kael leaned back, arms folded. "Why would a broken relic like me interest an academy that refused me even an obituary?"
"You misunderstand. The position isn't... prestigious."
"Obviously."
"It's for Class D. The disciplinary section."
Kael squinted. "You mean the kids who blow up benches and turn their classmates into frogs?"
"Worse. They are powerful, untamed, politically inconvenient, or just... wrong in some way. Every instructor assigned to them in the last year either quit, vanished, or had a nervous breakdown."
Kael stared. "And you thought, 'Let's send the fallen archmage who drinks himself to sleep in a rat den.'"
Darnis nodded. "Exactly."
"You have a sick sense of humor."
"And you're still listening."
Kael didn't deny it.
The rain outside fell harder now, thunder growling like an angry beast behind the clouds. He watched it for a moment, the glass fogging with his breath.
"What do you want from me?" he asked quietly.
"Your eyes," Darnis said. "Your instincts. You fought the Rift before anyone believed it existed. You saw what it does to people. Their minds. Their magic."
Kael's jaw tightened.
"There's something happening inside Virelith. Students vanishing. Spell feedback loops that don't obey conventional laws. Traces of Rift residue in sealed chambers."
Kael stood and walked toward the bar. He poured another drink. This one wasn't tea.
"You think it's starting again."
Darnis didn't reply.
Kael's hand trembled slightly as he lifted the cup. He hid it by turning his back.
"I'm not strong enough," he said after a moment. "My power's still locked. The seal—"
"—Was designed by the same Council that feared you. It's weakening. You know it."
Kael gritted his teeth. He hated that he'd already noticed it too. Spells that used to sputter now sparked. His dreams came with fire again.
"It's a suicide mission," he muttered.
Darnis shrugged. "So was standing alone in front of the Rift Gate. You did that anyway."
Kael was silent.
Then: "What's the pay?"
Darnis smirked. "Room, board, and a closet full of sarcastic teenagers who may or may not accidentally summon demons."
"Tempting," Kael muttered.
He turned fully, looking Darnis in the eye. "One condition."
"Name it."
"If I find the source of the Rift traces… I finish it. My way. No politics. No oversight."
Darnis hesitated. "Understood."
Kael sighed. "Gods help them."
Later That Night
Kael packed slowly. A half-dozen things: coat, blade, flask, pendant. Everything else was meaningless.
He took one last look at the tavern room. Damp walls. Cracked lantern. Mice in the corner.
Some part of him would miss it.
He stepped outside into the storm. The wind lashed at his coat like claws. He walked without shielding himself, fire beginning to flicker at his heels.
As the road to Virelith Arcana Academy stretched before him, Kael whispered:
"Time to teach the next generation what a real monster looks like."