The wind whispered through the mountain pines, carrying the faint scent of morning dew and steel.
A year had passed since that day.
Kael stood in the courtyard, sunlight spilling across his shoulders as he drew his sword in one smooth motion. His stance was firm, no longer the awkward posture of a hesitant boy but the steady grip of someone who'd been tempered by countless battles. The faint crack of his blade meeting the training dummy echoed across the valley.
From the porch, the old man watched in silence, blue eyes glinting beneath the shadow of his straw hat.
"Your form's cleaner," he remarked. "But your breathing's still off."
Kael exhaled, lowering his sword. "You always find something wrong."
"That's how you improve." The old man's tone softened. "But… you've come far, boy. Far enough to stand among those academy brats."
Kael blinked, caught off guard. "You mean—?"
The old man nodded. "It's time."
Later that afternoon, Kael packed his worn satchel—books, herbs, a few coin pouches—and slung his sword over his shoulder. Before leaving, he detoured through the forest path that led to a quiet clearing.
The air there was still.
Before him stood a simple stone, half-covered in moss. He knelt, brushing the leaves away to reveal the faint carving beneath: Elara.
Kael's fingers lingered on the stone. "It's been a year," he murmured. "You'd probably laugh if you saw me now. I don't snap at everyone anymore. I actually… smile sometimes."
He chuckled faintly, though his voice wavered.
"I'm going to the academy. I'll make it—no, I'll make you proud."
A soft wind stirred the petals that had fallen nearby, brushing past him like a fleeting touch. Kael closed his eyes for a moment, then stood and turned toward the road.
Days later, he traveled with the old man along the mountain trail. The road wound endlessly through forests and cliffs, the world beyond his once-small home unfolding with each step.
"Remember," the old man said as they walked, "strength isn't just how hard you swing your sword. It's knowing when to stop fighting."
Kael smirked. "You sound like a sage now."
"Don't push it."
Kael laughed—an easy, genuine sound. The old man glanced at him, and for the first time, he smiled back.
By sunset, the mountains gave way to rolling plains. In the distance, a grand city shimmered under the orange sky—its towers rising like a promise.
The Royal Academy of Aetherion.
Kael's hand tightened around the strap of his sword. His heart beat fast—not with fear, but anticipation.
A new chapter was waiting.
*****
The city of Aetherion stretched far beyond what Kael imagined.
Wide streets shimmered with magic lights, merchants called out their wares, and students in fine uniforms hurried through the crowds with books and wands in hand.
It was nothing like the quiet mountain life he had known.
Kael and the old man walked side by side, drawing curious glances. His master's tattered robe and Kael's travel-worn cloak made them stand out among the polished academy hopefuls.
At the far end of the city stood a vast structure of silver and white stone—The Royal Academy of Aetherion. Towers spiralled upward, etched with runes that shimmered faintly in the morning light.
Kael stopped at the base of the gates, heart pounding. The air here felt heavier, charged with magic and ambition.
"This is it," the old man said quietly. "Don't let the shine blind you. They'll test more than just your strength."
Kael nodded. "I know."
The old man gave him a rare smile. "You've changed, boy. Don't forget that."
"...Old man," Kael said, hesitating. "I never really said it but—thanks. For everything."
"Hmph." The master waved a hand dismissively. "Save your gratitude for when you pass the exam."
Kael grinned faintly, then turned toward the gate.
At the entrance, rows of examinees waited in line. Some whispered spells under their breath, others adjusted their weapons or robes. A few sneered when they saw Kael's plain clothes and sword.
"Another country bumpkin?" someone muttered.
Kael ignored them. His gaze was fixed on the academy crest above the archway — a phoenix rising through flame, wings spread wide.
A woman in a dark blue coat, clearly an examiner, approached. Her presence was sharp and composed. "Name and registration?"
"Kael." He handed her a worn parchment.
She raised a brow. "No surname?"
"Just Kael."
She paused, then nodded. "Very well. Proceed inside. The first test begins shortly."
As he stepped past the gates, a faint pulse of mana rippled through him—an unseen force assessing every fiber of his being. It was as if the academy itself was watching.
For a moment, he felt small again… then he straightened.
He'd worked for this. He'd bled for this.
And he wasn't going to fail.
From the courtyard beyond, dozens of students gathered, the air buzzing with energy. Floating crystals illuminated the massive space, and a grand stage stood at the center where the head examiner—a tall man in white robes—addressed them.
"Welcome, aspiring scholars and warriors," the man's voice boomed. "The entrance exams will test not only your strength, but your spirit, resolve, and ability to adapt. Those who falter may leave at any time—but those who endure shall find their place here."
Kael's eyes narrowed. Spirit, resolve, adaptability…
He'd learned all three the hard way.
As the crowd murmured, a faint smile tugged at his lips.
He could almost hear his master's voice in his head: Don't show off, but don't hold back either.
The trials were about to begin.
*****
The first test arena was enormous—an open courtyard surrounded by floating runic panels. Each shimmered faintly, recording every movement and surge of mana.
Kael stood among the other examinees, gripping his sword loosely at his side. A hundred students had gathered, some murmuring incantations, others brandishing gleaming weapons forged from enchanted steel.
A woman in silver armour stepped forward from the stage, her tone crisp.
"I am Instructor Valen. The first phase will assess your magical and physical capabilities. Each of you will demonstrate control, strength, and composure under pressure. The examiners will decide who advances."
Murmurs rippled through the group.
"Begin!"
The first examinee—a boy with a crimson mantle—stepped into the field and raised his hands. Fire burst around him in a dramatic spiral, scorching the ground. The crowd gasped as he formed a blazing serpent of flame.
The examiners scribbled notes but showed little reaction.
"Showy," Kael muttered under his breath.
Then came others—one manipulating wind into blades, another calling forth ice constructs. Sparks and magic filled the air in a dazzling display of power.
Finally, Kael's turn came.
He walked calmly into the circle, his boots crunching on the scorched stone. The examiners waited.
He drew his sword—not a glowing relic, but a simple, tempered blade—and closed his eyes.
For a heartbeat, the air stilled.
Then—whoosh!
He moved. A flash of silver light carved through the air as his blade traced arcs that seemed almost invisible, each stroke precise enough to slice the wind itself. He exhaled slowly, releasing a subtle wave of energy that cracked the stone beneath his feet.
No wasted motion. No excess. Just control.
When he stopped, the air rippled faintly—a soft distortion left by pure mana channeled through his sword.
Silence followed.
The silver-armored instructor's eyes narrowed slightly. "Impressive restraint," she said at last. "Next."
Kael bowed slightly and stepped back, ignoring the confused whispers behind him.
By noon, half the examinees were dismissed. Kael remained among those who passed.
"The second phase will now begin," announced a tall examiner with white hair. "A live combat simulation. You will be paired and evaluated on combat sense, adaptability, and decision-making. Killings are forbidden—unless you wish to be expelled permanently."
A nervous laugh swept the group.
Kael tightened his gloves.
When the matches began, the field transformed—runic lines rose to form floating platforms and walls. Kael's opponent, a confident youth wielding dual daggers, smirked at him.
"Don't hold back, mountain boy."
Kael tilted his head. "I wasn't planning to."
The bell rang.
His opponent vanished in a blur of motion, blades flashing. Kael barely moved his feet—just shifted, deflected, redirected. Every strike that came close was parried with minimal movement.
"Too slow," Kael said quietly.
He stepped in once—just once—and tapped the hilt of his sword against the boy's chest. A shockwave of mana burst out, sending the dagger-wielder flying back and landing flat on his back.
The field fell silent again.
From above, the examiners watched, murmuring among themselves.
"Not brute force… channelling internal mana through movement."
"Unrefined, but efficient."
"He's learned technique over spectacle."
Kael exhaled and sheathed his sword.
Somewhere beyond the crowd, the old man's words echoed in his head: Strength isn't how hard you swing—it's how little you need to.
For the first time, Kael allowed himself a small, genuine smile.
When the final horn blew, only a handful of examinees remained. The top few were called forward to be ranked and assigned mentors.
Kael didn't care about ranks. As he stood beneath the fading light, the only thought in his mind was simple—
This is just the beginning.