The obsidian gates of the academy groaned open as the twins stepped through, accompanied by dozens of other initiates. Their black robes, marked with the serpent sigil of their clan, blended into the sea of unfamiliar faces. The stone walls of Obsidian Fang Academy rose high above them, carved into the side of a dark mountain, cloaked in mist and lit by hanging spirit-lamps that burned blue.
Kalen and Raelith glanced around in silence, their serpents coiled loosely around their arms, still and watchful. The air inside the academy pulsed faintly with ambient arcane energy—like the quiet hum of something vast and ancient just beneath the surface.
They had left the awakening chamber behind, along with the shouts of astonishment that followed that nameless girl's S-rank revelation. No one knew who she was. No faction. No banner. Just raw talent. The twins, meanwhile, had been assigned B+ rank. Not low, not exceptional—but dangerous in the hands of the trained. Veilara had made that clear with her cold eyes and brief nod.
Their escort, a tall instructor named Master Veln, led the group down a vast corridor lined with blackened iron sconces and carved reliefs of past archmages and serpent warlords. "You will find your room assignments posted on the tablet by the western tower. Follow the glyph markers. There will be no hand-holding here. You are not children. You are initiates of the path of true power."
As they walked, the whispers started.
"Those are the twins from the Coiled Night..."
"B+? I expected more."
"They say one of them slew a High Knight before the age of fourteen."
"Doesn't matter. The mage path isn't like wielding steel."
Kalen ignored them. Raelith's serpent hissed lowly but calmed under his touch.
The dorms were built in circular formations, each tier representing a different stage of the Mortal realm. Since all initiates began at Low Mortal, the twins were directed to the outermost ring—the Novice Dorms. A glyph burned above the entrance: a flickering ember in the shape of an open eye.
Inside, the rooms were sparse—stone walls, a wooden bunk, a writing desk, and a sealed cabinet for books. No luxuries. No servants. Just silence.
Their days fell into a rhythm quickly. The academy wasted no time.
Mornings began with body cultivation, the most brutal aspect for those who had trained as assassins rather than mages. The twins were used to pain, but even they grimaced during the brutal spine alignment exercises, where energy pathways were opened through force and precise pressure. Other students coughed blood. Many fainted. Kalen and Raelith endured.
Afternoons brought lecture halls, where instructors in flowing black robes discussed the fundamentals of arcane manipulation, glyph scripting, soul resonance, and the philosophies of the arcane path.
"Power without structure is chaos," intoned Mistress Alzura, a wrinkled woman whose left eye had been replaced by a sapphire. "Magic is not rage. Magic is not will. It is control. It is silence in the storm."
Every lesson demanded more. The instructors offered no shortcuts.
Books were essential—but expensive. Mage books, especially those detailing personal cultivation techniques or the inner workings of glyph arrays, cost gold.
Real gold.
The twins were forced to use some of the reward they'd earned from the prince's death—just a sliver of it—to purchase three basic scrolls:
Ember Lines and Foundation Veins by Master Tyvol
The Breath Between Breaths by the old mystic Shaik
Seven Mistakes Young Mages Make and How to Die From Them
Raelith joked the third was the most useful.
Evenings were reserved for guided meditation, during which they attempted to feel the slow spark of arcane energy within their cores. They were told that every living being possessed a latent ember—a mote of potential that could grow into a flame with time.
Six months passed like a long, hard winter.
Their bodies became leaner, more adaptable to internal circulation. Muscles once used for silent killing were restructured for energy flow. Their serpents adapted too—sensing the change in their masters. Kalen's bone-white serpent developed faint glyph-like markings on its scales. Raelith's black serpent grew more sensitive to fluctuations in mana.
Kalen found himself excelling in glyph crafting, his mind sharp and geometric. Raelith, on the other hand, showed talent in mana absorption and redirection, allowing her to take in energy from surrounding objects.
Still, they were not alone.
There were others.
Names that began to matter:
Verrick, a lean boy with red tattoos, from the Fanged Sun Syndicate. His talent was A-rank, and he made sure everyone knew it. Arrogant, but dangerous.
Shira of Dawnlight, a girl with golden pupils, whose B-rank matched the twins, though her focus lay in light manipulation.
Jossan Mire, from the Mireblood Cult. His voice slithered like oil, and his magic dealt with decay. Only C+, but cunning.
And of course, the unknown girl from the awakening hall, now called Lune by most, since she refused to give her real name. S-rank. Silent. Her aura filled every room she entered.
Rivalries began to form.
Verrick especially took issue with the twins. "B+? From some mountain cult? Hope you enjoy the bottom," he scoffed one day during class. Raelith stared him down until he looked away. No fights were allowed within the academy walls—not yet. But tension simmered.
One night, Kalen found a slip of paper under his door:
> "Power is earned, not inherited. You will break here."
He burned it without a word.
By the end of the sixth month, a notice was posted on the central board. All initiates would be tested for Mortal Mid advancement.
The test would involve more than meditation or glyphs.
It would be a battle of control, knowledge, and energy flow. And only those who had mastered the base foundations of the Mortal path would be allowed to participate.
Kalen and Raelith knew they were ready.
But so did Verrick.
And so did Lune.
And in the shadows, beneath the foundation stones of the academy, something stirred—a presence older than the stones, watching, waiting.
The mage path was not like the assassin path.
It was slower. Colder. Deeper.
And far more dangerous.
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