The lesson ended unexpectedly. Archmage Lohrai, as usual, thundered through the classroom with his spells, but at some point he stopped, looked around the class, and his gaze rested on Kalen.
"Lionheart. The Academy Director wants to talk to you. Now. Immediately."
Some of the students tensed. Others exchanged glances. Even Rayna raised an eyebrow slightly. But Kallen silently packed his things and stood up. His back was straight, and his eyes were cold.
The Director's Tower looked different from the rest of the academy. It was darker. The stones it was made of seemed older, as if they had been carved from a tomb.
There were no servants to see him off; the door opened of its own accord when he approached.
He went in.
The hall was almost dark, but the crystal lamps glowed dimly. There were books, parchments, bones, and frozen magical constructs along the walls. And a table where Director Helgreth Ravarn was sitting.
He was tall, thin, with ash-colored hair tied in a knot, and eyes the color of faded metal. He wore rings of black obsidian on his fingers and embroidered runes on his cuffs.
"Sit down," he said calmly, without raising his head.
Kalen sat down. Everything was calm inside. Only a slight tremor in his shoulder blades—the tattoo reacting to the presence of death. This man was a necromancer. A powerful one.
Helgraith looked up.
"You've changed a lot in the last month. Don't pretend you don't know about it."
"I've been training more," Kalen snapped. "No magic outside of my schedule."
"You've started raising shields that even an instructor can't copy. You're passing the Ephéta as a graduate. And according to the stats, you're currently at the level of a B-rank adventurer." He leaned forward. "Now, tell me: what has awakened within you?"
Kallen held his gaze. Inside, behind his forehead, Ward's voice sounded muffled:
"Don't speak. Silence is your defense. No one here is your ally."
"I don't know," Kalen replied. "After one training session, I felt a surge of power. Maybe it was a breakthrough. Maybe I've finally become a mage."
Helgreth looked at him for a long time. Then he stood up and came closer. A cold wind blew out of the folds of his robe. Death. He put his hand on Kalen's shoulder, but immediately pulled it away.
"The darkness... answers you. But not in a simple way. You are not a necromancer. But your magic... it is older."
Kalen was silent.
"You've found something," Helgreth said. "Or someone has found you."
"I don't have to tell you," Kalen replied calmly. "I haven't broken any academic rules."
"For now."
They looked at each other. One was alive, the other was almost dead. Magi from different worlds.
Finally, Helgreth exhaled and turned to the window.
"You have potential. Maybe you're a system error. Maybe you're a consequence of something bigger. I'll be watching."
He glanced over his shoulder:
"And if you lie to me again... I'll know."
Kalen stood up, bowed slightly, coldly, and left.
He was walking back to the dormitory tower. His legs were sore from the morning workout. The sun was already setting. Ward spoke as soon as they were alone:
"This old man... could only feel a fragment. But he's dangerous. He's playing his own game. He sees you as a piece. Don't let yourself become a pawn."
Kallen stopped at the door, looked at his hands. He clenched them into fists.
"No one will move me," he whispered.
He opened the door quietly, without turning on the light. The room was silent, with a steady, dense atmosphere. The only sound was Reina's gentle breathing on the other side.
She was sleeping, sitting against the wall, her arms crossed, her head down. Her crimson eyes were closed, her black hair clinging to her cheek.
Kalen walked past and noticed the flicker of her eyelashes.
"You're late again," she said quietly, without opening her eyes.
"I was at the director's.
"Did you do something wrong?"
"Nothing.
She opened her eyes and looked at him in the dim light. There was irony in her gaze, but also a sense of caution. She had long realized that Kalen had changed.
"Did he understand something?" Reina asked after a pause.
Kallen sat down on the bed, took off his shoes, and stretched his shoulders.
"I felt it. But I didn't prove anything. I just said I was getting stronger."
"You really have." Reina looked at his back. "I can see how you move. You're not just a student anymore. You're more. Much more."
He didn't respond. He just pulled the sheet over himself and lay there, staring at the ceiling. He kept his eyes open until Reina spoke.
"I'd like to be someone big, too."
He turned his head toward her.
"You're not human anymore."
She smiled bleakly.
"Aren't you afraid? I'm a... Light-eater. Hybrid. A void where everything dies—sound, light, reason." She ran a finger over the skin near her eye, where a tattoo shimmered with rings. "Isolation. Torture. Murder. It's my trade, Kalen."
"And mine is survival," he replied quietly. "And I'm still here."
They fell silent. A strange calmness hung between them. Not friendship, not trust. But recognition: both had gone beyond the ordinary.
***
The next morning.
The weather was unexpectedly clear, with a warm sun and a bright sky. Students were flocking to the southern slope of the Academy, where practical classes were taking place.
Kallen, with a bandage on his wrist, walked beside Reyna. She wore a black cloak over a tunic of silver fabric, her face expressionless.
"Today," announced Instructor Gays, "is fictza. The transformation of energy into fixed images."
"Can anyone create a weapon? A shield? Or even an elemental?"
The students began to approach the circle one by one. Some were puffing as they created a spear. Others summoned a light shield.
When it came to Kalen, he stepped forward and summoned his magic without saying a word.
A half-shadow sword formed in his hand, jagged and vibrating, with a crimson glow along its edges. Everyone recoiled.
"What is it?" one of the girls whispered.
Kallen gripped the hilt, and the blade dissolved into smoke, leaving only a chill in the air.
"It's a... fiction," he chuckled. "Just mine."
The instructor didn't say anything. He just wrote something in a scroll.
After the lesson, there was an ephota and a theory of first-level magic, where the Archmage Lohrai asked questions that made the best students fall. But Kalen answered clearly. Concisely. He understood how magic worked. How to break it.
"Well done, Lionheart," Lohrai said for the first time since the beginning of the semester. "But don't think you've accomplished anything. Your magic is wild. Without form. Without principles."
"Maybe just a different school," Kalen replied, and someone in the audience gasped.
The Archmage only chuckled.
"We'll see.
When he returned to his room late that evening, Reina was gone.
The tattoo on his back was pulsating. Deeply. As if a force was stirring within his body.
Wardes spoke up:
"You're not ready yet. But you're getting closer. Level B... a pathetic start. Soon, you'll have to choose who to spare and who to break. Get ready."
Kallen looked into the dark corner of the room and remained silent. Plans in his head. Pain in his body. Cold in his heart.
And this is just the beginning.