The academy's halls pulsed with strange energy—quiet, restrained, like breath held in reverence.
Aevion walked slowly, eyes drifting along the towering stone walls lined with faintly glowing scripts. The air smelled of parchment, lightning, and ambition. Each student he passed walked with purpose—some chattered in groups, others moved alone, all of them cloaked in different-colored uniforms denoting origin, lineage, or skill.
His own coat was black. Plain. Unadorned.
He liked it that way.
The day was cold, with a haze of blue mist swirling along the flagstones. Lanterns hovered overhead, bobbing with an unseen rhythm. Every window opened to sprawling mountain ranges, their peaks shrouded in silver mist that never lifted.
"Room 2-A," he muttered.
He found it.
A double door, arching high with etched runes along its border. As he reached for the handle, voices came from within—low, curious, impatient.
He stepped inside.
Dozens of students sat in rows of long desks arranged like a half-circle. At the center stood a raised marble platform, where a man waited, arms folded. He had sharp silver eyes, hair streaked with red, and a long professor's coat embroidered with gold threading that shimmered like starlight.
"Take a seat," the man said, not bothering to look at Aevion. "You're two minutes late. I'll forgive it once. Never again."
Aevion said nothing. He found a spot at the far right corner of the classroom and sat, folding his hands calmly on the desk.
The murmuring died.
The professor stepped forward. "For those of you who don't know me, I am Professor Nyleth of the Third Constellation Circle. I don't teach children. If you're here to play magic games or impress your noble parents, leave now."
No one moved.
Nyleth smiled coldly. "Good. Now let's talk about Nexis."
He waved his hand.
The center of the classroom shimmered. A projection flared to life—an enormous, slowly rotating sphere of white and violet fire. Ribbons of translucent energy extended from it in every direction, like threads pulled across dimensions.
"This," Nyleth said, "is Nexis. The origin of all power, will, identity, and alignment."
He paced the platform. "Some of you have heard it called the soul's weapon. Others the divine chord. That's childish. Nexis is not a weapon. Nexis is not a tool."
He stopped.
"Nexis is your True Crest."
The word hung in the air like a blade.
"Your True Crest," Nyleth repeated, "is not what you do. It's what you are. Your purpose. Your affinity. Your role in the very fabric of reality. Every creature in existence is born with one—even beasts, even gods. But here at the academy, we don't wait to be told what we are. We draw it out. We awaken it."
Students began to whisper.
Nyleth's gaze sharpened. "There are seven known classifications—Fury, Bastion, Vow, Scale, Shroud, Thread, and Crown. Each comes with its own path. You will not choose it. It will choose you. Some of you may awaken today. Some tomorrow. Others never."
He turned to the sphere.
"Now then. Who here has already awakened?"
Several students raised their hands.
Aevion did not.
Not yet.
Nyleth nodded. "For the rest of you, don't force it. You'll know when your Nexis calls. When your will matches your truth. And when it does, remember: you can't run from what it shows you. Even if you want to."
He clapped once.
The sphere vanished.
The lights dimmed.
"That's all for today. Tomorrow we begin Crest training. Dismissed."
Chairs scraped. Students buzzed with nervous energy as they filed out, talking excitedly about which Crest they hoped to receive.
Aevion remained seated.
He stared at the space where the Nexis projection had spun.
True Crest.
Purpose.
He felt nothing stir.
Not yet.
But something within him… watched.
As he finally stood and moved toward the door, a voice behind him whispered, "Nice hair."
He stopped.
Turned.
She was leaning against the doorway—arms crossed, white and pink hair cascading down her shoulders in soft, luxurious curls. Her eyes were bright with layered color, like fractured gemstones, and her uniform clung to a figure both graceful and sharp.
She smiled at him—slow, unreadable.
Something in his chest shifted.
That smile…
But he said nothing.
And she walked past him without another word.
He watched her go.
A strange feeling bloomed in his chest. Recognition? Memory? He didn't know.
It couldn't be.
No.
It had to be a coincidence.
And yet…
He stared at her as she vanished into the crowd.
The morning sun poured golden light across the sprawling grounds of the magic academy, painting the courtyard in hues of warmth and possibility. Aevion tightened the straps of his worn leather gloves and took a deep breath, feeling the crisp air fill his lungs. Today was his first day of formal sword training.
As he made his way toward the training yard, his silver hair shimmered faintly under the sun's rays, a soft contrast against his plain black tunic. He glanced around, nervous but steady — he had spent the last six years walking alone, and this was a new path.
The training yard was alive with movement — students sparred, teachers barked orders, and the sharp clang of steel rang out in a rhythmic dance of discipline and skill.
A tall figure approached from the edge of the yard, a girl with hair streaked white and pale pink that cascaded past her shoulders like a waterfall of silk. Her eyes, a striking shade of aquamarine, caught the light as she studied Aevion with quiet curiosity.
"Are you here for sword training?" she asked, voice light but firm.
Aevion nodded, tightening his grip on the hilt of his wooden practice sword. "Yes."
She smiled slightly, stepping closer. "I'm Liora. And you are?"
"Aevion," he replied. The name felt strange on his tongue, yet somehow right.
"Nice to meet you, Aevion. You don't look like a typical student," she observed, tilting her head.
He shrugged. "I'm... different."
Their brief exchange felt like a tentative bridge forming — cautious, yet promising.
The day's training was grueling. The instructor, a grizzled veteran with scars mapping his face, barked precise commands. "Focus on form! Every movement must be deliberate. The sword is an extension of your will!"
Aevion struggled at first, his body untrained for the swift and powerful strikes the exercises demanded. But his resolve never wavered. With each swing, he felt something stir deep inside — a connection between will and blade.
Liora sparred nearby, her movements graceful and practiced. Occasionally, their eyes met, sharing silent encouragements. The tension between novice and seasoned felt like the crackling spark before a fire.
As the sun sank low, painting the sky in oranges and purples, Aevion sat resting against a gnarled oak, sweat drying on his brow.
"I've been thinking about your sword," Liora said softly, sitting beside him. "You have raw talent... but what's with that stance you keep shifting into? It's unlike any style I've seen."
He smiled faintly, pulling his wooden sword close. "I'm trying something new. I call it... the 'Silent Gale.' It's about moving like the wind — swift, unpredictable, and silent. No one knows when it'll strike."
Liora's eyes sparkled. "I like that. It suits you."
Aevion looked at her, a quiet gratitude blossoming.
Their moment was broken by a sudden chill in the air. The wind dropped, and a shadow detached itself from the nearby trees.
A man cloaked in dark robes, his face obscured by a mask carved like cracked bone, stepped into the clearing.
"You must be Aevion," the stranger said, voice deep and echoing.
Aevion stood slowly, instincts alert.
"I am Kireth," the man continued. "One of the twenty Great Phantoms. I've come to observe your progress."
Liora's expression hardened. "Why here? Why now?"
Kireth's eyes glinted behind the mask. "Because your path is no ordinary one, boy. The power sleeping within you has drawn attention — and not all of it friendly."
Aevion met the Phantom's gaze without flinching.
"I will train. And I will be ready."
Kireth inclined his head once, then vanished into the shadows as silently as he'd arrived.
Liora exhaled slowly. "You're in deeper than you know."
Night fell over the academy, and Aevion lay awake, pondering the day's events. The 'Silent Gale' was just the beginning. His new bond with Liora was tentative but real. And the arrival of Kireth — a living shadow — meant his journey was already entwined with forces far beyond the mundane.
But for the first time in a long time, Aevion felt the stirring of something precious: hope.