The academy always felt colder after dawn.
Not because of the weather, but because of the stares.
Kael walked through the long corridor of stone and steel, his footsteps echoing far louder than they should have. Students leaned against the walls, their uniforms neat, their eyes sharp. They whispered behind their hands, voices dripping with mockery.
"Isn't that the failure?"
"He barely passed the entry trial."
"I heard he survived against Darius only because the examiners pitied him."
Kael kept his head down. He had learned long ago that silence was safer than lashing out. But even so, his chest tightened, each word like a pebble thrown into an old wound.
It wasn't that he didn't want to fight back—it was that he couldn't. Not yet.
He adjusted the strap of his worn satchel and quickened his pace. A group of seniors brushed past, one shoulder deliberately slamming into his. Kael stumbled but caught himself. He heard their laughter trailing behind him.
"Pathetic."
His jaw clenched, but he said nothing.
The day's lesson was in the Combat Theory Hall. Rows of young elites sat at polished desks while an instructor in a flowing crimson robe lectured about elemental combat strategies.
Kael tried to focus. Words about fire-path resonance and thunder-strikes filled the air. He scribbled notes, but the letters blurred as exhaustion pulled at him—last night's training with Riven had left him raw, both body and spirit.
Then came the test.
The instructor summoned a training dummy, its surface etched with glowing runes. "Demonstrate your affinity. Strike it. Let us see your progress."
One by one, students rose and unleashed their powers. Flames burst, water coiled like whips, lightning cracked through the hall. Applause followed the strongest displays. Pride shone in their eyes.
Then it was Kael's turn.
The room went still. Dozens of eyes locked on him, hungry for another failure to laugh at.
Kael walked to the front, palms slick with sweat. He placed his hand against the dummy. Nothing came. No spark, no glow, not even a flicker of energy. His stomach twisted. He thought of the Shadowfire, deep inside, waiting. But he couldn't show it. Not here. Not yet.
He pulled back his hand. The dummy remained untouched. The silence stretched.
A laugh broke the air. Darius , seated at the back, smirked with cruel delight. "Still empty, I see. Some of us are born to shine. Others—well—maybe you should be a janitor instead."
Laughter rippled through the room.
Kael's ears burned. He wanted to shout, to prove them wrong, to unleash the storm inside him. But the thought of Shadowfire consuming the hall, burning everything without control… it froze him in place.
The instructor sighed, shaking his head. "Ardyn, sit down. You have no place here if you cannot even awaken a Path."
Kael returned to his seat, heart pounding, vision blurring. He heard the whispers again. He felt the weight of every stare. For a moment, it felt as if the walls were closing in and yet, beneath the shame, beneath the suffocating doubt, something else stirred.
A voice—his own—quiet but unyielding:
Not yet. But soon.
He gripped the edge of his desk until his knuckles turned white. The laughter didn't fade, but it no longer pierced as deep. If Shadowfire was truly his curse, then he would turn it into his weapon. One day, the same voices mocking him would choke on their own disbelief.
That night, as the halls emptied and Kael walked alone, he caught sight of a shadow leaning against the wall.
Riven. His eyes glimmered with amusement, though his expression stayed unreadable.
"Painful, wasn't it?"
Kael flinched. "You were watching?"
"Of course. Every master watches their weapon being forged." Riven's voice was calm, almost cruel. "Do you know what I saw today?"
Kael shook his head.
"A boy who is hated, shamed, and yet… refuses to break.
Riven's lips curved in the faintest smile. "Good. Let them laugh. Iron only hardens in fire."
Kael said nothing. But for the first time that day, the weight on his chest eased.