Chapter 14 – Breaths Beneath the Surface
"I lost track of him because of that stupid mission, but it seems he made his way back to the mainland…"
Mavren Duskfall's voice echoed in the now-empty chamber. There was no one left to hear the weight in it—except the wind, whispering faintly through the cracks of the observatory dome. It curled around him like a familiar ghost, rustling the hem of his cloak.
Below, the academy stirred.
The sun had just crested over the crystalline barrier, casting prismatic lines across the campus. Students were already gathering for morning drills. Elemental chants rang out on the western sparring fields. Mana pulses sparked like ripples in the air.
And among them…
Kael Caelum.
Still unaware that old ghosts were rising all around him.
In the training courtyard behind Dorm Wing B, Kael exhaled slowly.
Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
His legs were folded in the foundational breathing stance. Palms flat on his knees. Eyes closed.
He wasn't meditating—not really. Not in the peaceful, wandering sense that instructors preached. Kael was listening.
The wind.
It didn't scream or howl anymore. It murmured. Coiled. Waited.
He'd been up since before dawn, long before the other students stirred. Ever since the duel against Riven Malcor, his instincts had been on edge. The water in his veins had stirred unnaturally fast, and the wind—well, it had responded to emotion again. Not control.
His defeat had been deliberate. Strategic.
But it still stung.
"You're up early," came a voice—familiar, lopsided, genuine.
Kael's eyes opened.
Joran.
His friend stood at the edge of the courtyard, tousle-haired and half-dressed in the academy's dueling uniform, an energy barrier still flickering faintly around his left arm—like he hadn't fully deactivated his System from training.
Kael smirked. "I thought you were finally going to sleep past sunrise for once."
Joran shrugged, walking over. "Couldn't. My System keeps pulling at my core—like it's itching for something. Ever since I started using barriers offensively…"
Kael stood, brushing off his robes. "Your next duel?"
"Tomorrow. Against Cera Henn."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "Earth affinity. She'll try to root you."
"Yeah," Joran said, cracking his knuckles. "Which means I'll have to move. Fast."
Kael nodded once. "We'll train tonight."
"You'll help?"
"I always do."
Meanwhile, elsewhere in the academy, Instructor Harn sat alone at a wooden bench beneath the shade of an old whisper-tree—one of the few living relics planted by the founders of Aether.
His mind wasn't on the upcoming duels.
It was on Kael.
What he'd told Principal Duskfall lingered. Harn had trained hundreds of students in his time. Some talented. Some not. But none had ever moved like Kael did. He didn't respond to his elements. He bent them inward. Turned them silent.
Not to mention the strange pressure he'd felt during Kael's clash with Riven.
As if a storm had almost broken loose—then stopped just short.
"If he's the one…" the envoy had said.
Harn tapped the table rhythmically with one finger, lost in thought.
A part of him hoped it wasn't true. That Kael was just a water-user with some trauma and a natural edge.
But another part of him—deeper, older, sharpened by battlefields and false peace—knew better.
Elsewhere in the Academy—on the upper levels where few students ventured—Zero Black moved through shadow.
He made no noise.
A black coat folded tight against him, embroidered with faint sigils that absorbed light rather than reflected it. His hood was down, for once, revealing stark pale hair and eyes the color of ash.
He watched Kael from the upper railing of a glass-lined corridor, unnoticed. Eyes narrowing.
"So," he murmured, just loud enough for himself. "You're the one they're watching."
He wasn't jealous.
He was curious.
A flicker of darkness curled behind him—his own shadow splitting briefly, reshaping, then vanishing.
Back in the courtyard, Kael and Joran continued light sparring. Their movements were precise—controlled breathing, minimal flair.
Then something in the air shifted.
Not mana. Not a threat. Just a pull.
Kael froze.
He turned slightly, eyes narrowing at the empty stairwell nearby. Nothing there.
But for the briefest moment, it had felt like he was being observed. Not like Karn's smug stares. Not like harn's veiled assessments.
This was different.
Colder.
Younger.
Kael stepped back, breathing once more to settle his core.
The wind answered him with a faint curl around his wrist—barely visible, like a whisper.
He didn't speak of it.
But the name burned in the back of his mind, buried in dreams he fully remember.
Whirl, his family.
Back in the sealed observatory, Mavren Duskfall lowered a hand onto the war-table again. A new message was glowing—faint and pulsing.
It bore a single sigil:
Tower Directive: Observation Tier – Upgrade Pending. Subject 0. Designation: Candidate Whirl.
Mavren scowled.
"Too soon."
He looked down through the glass dome, past clouds and light, toward the boy training below.
Then he turned away.
He had sworn to protect Kael… but the Tower would come. And if they did—
Then the boy would need more than protection.
He would need to choose.
Whether to rise.
Or to run.