The courtyard of Dawnspire Academy was a scene of celebration.
Banners fluttered, enchanted fireworks bloomed overhead, and students from noble houses lined the silver-tiled plaza in their ceremonial uniforms. Every corner of the Empire had sent someone to witness the Awakening Ceremony—the day when new blood revealed their power cores and joined the academy ranks.
At the heart of the plaza stood Aeron Valen.
He was seventeen. Tall. Dark-haired. Calm-eyed. The perfect heir to House Valen, one of the empire's most prestigious bloodlines.
People whispered about him constantly.
"He's the one born with dual affinity, right?"
"They say his father trained him personally."
"He might even be A-rank already."
Aeron tried to ignore them. He stood with his back straight, chin high, hands calm at his sides.
Inside, his heart pounded.
Not from nerves. From pressure.
He could feel the eyes of Lord Cyric Valen—his father—burning into him from the high platform where the nobles sat.
Beside Cyric stood Thorne, Aeron's older half-brother. Dressed in silver and crimson, smug as ever, hands clasped behind his back. He didn't speak, but the sneer on his face said enough.
Something was off.
Aeron had expected a private ceremony. This was a public trial.
Still, he stepped forward when his name was called. He was ready.
He kneeled at the edge of the ceremonial platform, hands glowing faintly as he began the ancient Core Calling chant. The academy priest began weaving the summoning circle. Aeron's blood responded, his aura rising.
Then the head priest paused.
He looked… confused.
Then afraid.
The circle shattered.
"Aeron Valen."
"You are no longer recognized by your House."
The words came from Cyric. His voice rang like steel.
"You are accused of tampering with forbidden relics and forging your power results."
"For this betrayal…"
"Your core will be sealed, and you will be cast from House Valen."
A wave of silence crashed over the courtyard.
Aeron rose, stunned. "What?! That's a lie—I never—!"
Guards surrounded him instantly, spears drawn, forming a circle around him.
"Father—what the hell is this!?"
Cyric didn't flinch. Didn't blink.
"You are no longer my son."
His hand moved.
Six robed elders appeared around the platform, chanting in unison. Glyphs lit up in the air, surrounding Aeron like a net.
He could feel the pressure building.
"Wait—no! Stop—!"
But it was too late.
The circle ignited.
Power poured into him like a curse—not empowering him, but tearing through his veins, burning away the pathways he had trained his whole life to strengthen.
He collapsed. Screamed.
His magic snapped first—then his martial aura. Then his core.
It shattered. Not completely, but enough to feel like a limb had been ripped from his soul.
And in the silence that followed, the crowd began to whisper again.
But now, it wasn't admiration. It was disgust.
"They sealed his powers…"
"What a fraud."
"Pathetic."
"He cried like a girl."
"He couldn't even defend himself."
Aeron's hands trembled against the stone. His fingernails scratched the floor as he tried to rise, to say something, anything. His body wouldn't obey.
His best friend, Kael, stood among the trainees. His face pale. His fists clenched. He looked like he wanted to move—say something—but didn't.
Next to him, Mira—soft-spoken, kind-eyed Mira—was crying.
"Do something," she whispered.
"Why won't anyone do something?"
No one moved.
Not a single hand reached for Aeron as the guards dragged him to his feet like trash.
Later that evening, in the shadow of the academy's eastern wall, a transport wagon rattled its way toward a decrepit old building: Wing D.
The Reject Wing.
Its gates were rusted, its training fields overgrown. It was the place where failed bloodlines, cursed students, and disciplinary cases were dumped when the Academy couldn't expel them outright.
The guards shoved Aeron off the wagon like luggage. He hit the dirt face-first.
No one greeted him.
No one explained anything.
The gates shut behind him with a heavy clang.
He spent his first night lying on a broken cot in a cracked stone room. No sheets. No light. Just the sound of rats in the walls and the echo of the crowd's laughter still ringing in his head.
He stared at the ceiling, blood dried on his lip, jaw tight.
"They sealed me."
He said it out loud, to no one. His voice was hoarse.
"They betrayed me. Lied. Framed me."
Another laugh escaped his mouth. This one was darker.
"And no one stopped them."
Not Kael. Not Mira. Not even the academy instructors he'd trained under for years.
They all let it happen.
He looked at his hand, still faintly shaking.
He could feel the absence in his core—where his power had once flowed freely, now only an icy void remained.
But in that void… something stirred.
A flicker. A pulse.
Like a whisper in the back of his skull.
"You are not empty."
"You were broken open."
"Now fill yourself with something new."
Aeron blinked.
He wasn't hallucinating. He was awake. Alert.
And suddenly—aware of something in the walls.
A presence.
Old. Wild. Buried deep beneath the foundation of the Reject Wing.
He sat up.
His body ached. His bones screamed. But he moved anyway.
Out of his room. Down the ruined hall. Past collapsed doors and cracked lanterns.
The wing was supposed to be abandoned.
But the air grew heavier with every step. Charged. Like it was waiting for someone.
His vision blurred—just for a second—and then snapped back into clarity.
At the end of the corridor was a door made of black stone, barely visible behind a torn curtain of vines.
It wasn't on any map.
No guards. No locks.
Just waiting.
He stepped forward and placed his hand on it.
The stone responded.
Not with magic. Not with aura.
But with something else.
It wasn't power that surged through him—but potential.
A code being rewritten. A soul being reforged.
Then, for the first time since the ceremony, Aeron smiled.
Not the bitter, broken smile from before.
This one… was dangerous.
"They sealed my power," he whispered.
"So I'll make new ones."
[End of Chapter 1]