Spring returned to the valley, carrying with it the scent of damp soil and blooming iron flowers their petals glinting faintly under the morning sun, as if dusted with powdered steel. The frost that had clung to Hartfield's fields was gone now, replaced by a sheen of dew that turned every blade of grass into a sliver of glass. From the cottage window, Elden could see the green swell of the hills, dotted with grazing spirit sheep and the distant spire of the Outer Academy piercing through the fog.
Three months had passed since the night he found the boy in the crater.
Rin's wounds had long since closed, but the marks they left behind were not ordinary scars. In certain light, they gleamed faintly thin silver threads running beneath his skin, pulsing once in a while as if something unseen still lived there. He moved quietly through the cottage, barefoot, soundless, too careful for a child his age. There was something about him that felt… measured as though even silence had a rhythm only he could hear.
Words came slowly. He spoke softly, haltingly, but he understood far more than he let on. His eyes pale, almost metallic had changed most of all. They no longer seemed empty. They watched the world with patient awareness: the flicker of firelight, the curl of smoke, the slow crack of a drying log. Nothing escaped them.
Sana had made herself his teacher.
Every morning she would pull him outside, a stick in her hand, drawing crude runes into the soil while the sun rose red and low over the hills.
"This one means fire," she said, tracing a spiral line that seemed to curl inward like a claw. "See? It shows how energy moves."
Rin crouched beside her, copying carefully. His symbols were uneven, almost trembling but always close.
"Good!" Sana grinned. "You'll do fine at the Academy."
"...Learn," Rin echoed softly, tasting the word.
Elden watched from the doorway, tea cooling in his hands. He wasn't sure sending Rin to the Academy was wise, but hiding him was worse. Every child in Hartfield was bound by law to attend before their first Ceremony of Recognition. If Rin didn't, the Overseers would come looking.
He stepped forward and adjusted the boy's cloak. "Remember, Rin. Speak little. Listen much. Not everyone will understand you."
Rin nodded, eyes downcast. "Listen… much."
Elden smiled faintly. "Good. That's the first lesson worth keeping."
The Outer Academy of Hartfield stood on a low rise overlooking the valley, its stone walls veined with spirit crystal that glowed faintly even under daylight. The runes that bound it hummed with quiet power the heartbeat of the Spiritual Engine that tethered every village to the Empire.
Children from the fields gathered in clusters, their laughter cutting through the morning haze. Some polished their training staves; others showed off the faint glow of their newly awakened Root Seals. Copper, silver, or gold their badges gleamed against their robes like miniature suns.
Until they saw Rin.
The laughter dimmed, replaced by whispers that slithered through the crowd like smoke.
"Who's that?" one boy muttered. "No glow at all."
Another smirked. "Maybe he's Rootless. My father says the Rootless are cursed souls the Engine forgot."
Rin didn't understand the words, but he understood the tone the edge beneath it. His fingers tightened around the strap of his satchel.
Sana's cheeks flushed. "Leave him alone! He's new. He hasn't had his reading yet."
The boys shared a laugh. "Maybe Heaven lost count."
Elden stood at the edge of the courtyard, his face unreadable. He'd seen this before that casual cruelty born from a world where worth was measured by how brightly you glowed.
The lessons began inside the main hall, where rows of hanging lanterns pulsed like slow, breathing hearts. The air hummed faintly, charged with residual spirit energy.
Master Loir, a man of stiff posture and tired eyes, began his lecture in the same monotone rhythm he'd likely used for decades.
"Remember, children," he said, tapping the slate. "The divine order of cultivation is the foundation of all things. Each soul is born beneath one of the Seven Lights. Advancement is Heaven's reward for obedience. Defiance… breaks the bond. Without the bond, there is only decay."
He gestured toward the glowing Spirit Disk at the front a slab of crystal etched with runes. "Step forward when I call your name."
One by one, the children placed their hands upon the crystal. Light bloomed: red for strength, blue for wisdom, gold for harmony. Murmurs of pride filled the room.
Then came Rin's turn.
He stepped forward under their stares. The disk was cool beneath his hand. For a heartbeat, it flickered then went dark.
A hush swept through the hall.
Master Loir frowned, tapping the crystal. "Again."
The light sputtered weakly, then died completely. "No reading." His voice was low, uncertain.
A wave of whispers rippled through the class.
"Told you," someone hissed. "Rootless."
"A Hollow Soul," another whispered. "He shouldn't even be here."
"Silence!" Loir snapped, his tone cutting like a blade. "Some souls awaken late. Continue your studies."
Rin nodded and returned to his seat. The laughter that followed was quiet, but it clung to him all the same.
He stared down at his palms the faint scars tracing them like forgotten sigils and wondered what it was everyone else could see that he could not.
When the others ran to the fields after class, Rin remained behind beneath the cracked statue of one of the Seven Founders. The face had been eroded by time until it was little more than a blur. Someone had carved their initials at its base, crude and human.
Rin traced the marks idly before drawing new symbols in the dirt fragments of runes from Sana's lessons. Half right. Half wrong. But deliberate.
A shadow stretched over him.
"You handle it well," said a voice, rough and slurred.
He looked up. A man stood there unshaven, robes stained, flask in hand. But his eyes… his eyes were clear. Too clear.
"Don't mind them," the man said, sitting heavily on a nearby step. "They think Heaven loves them because they glowed for five seconds."
He took a swig and smirked. "Name's Karo. Used to teach here before I learned too much."
Rin blinked. "Too… much?"
Karo chuckled dryly. "Aye. Enough to see the leash around our necks." His gaze sharpened. "You, though… you don't have one, do you?"
Rin didn't speak.
Karo leaned closer. "No tether. No bond. The Engine doesn't hum in you." He grinned, but there was no mirth in it. "You're either Heaven's mistake… or its undoing."
Rin said nothing. He didn't know how to answer, or even what the man truly asked.
Karo smirked. "Figures. You look like someone the Engine forgot—or someone it couldn't touch. Either way, it's amusing." He stood, wobbling slightly. " In this world, freedom's the most dangerous illness and those who carry it don't stay alive long."
He walked away, humming an old tavern tune, leaving Rin staring at the ground where his shadow had fallen.
Rin didn't understand the words fully. But something in them felt heavy, true. Like a key turning somewhere deep inside him.
Rin sat long after sunset, the courtyard empty.
Freedom.
The word pulsed in his chest like a heartbeat he couldn't claim.
When the evening bell rang, Sana came running to meet him, her smile bright enough to seem cruel against the gathering dark. Elden followed, slower, more cautious.
"How was your first day?" Sana asked.
Rin hesitated. "Learned… much."
Elden smiled faintly but said nothing. He could see it the shadow in the boy's eyes, the quiet storm behind his calm.
"That's enough for now," he said softly.
They walked home along the dirt path, the world steeped in gold and crimson. The wind sighed through the silver grass, carrying whispers that might have been voices.
Rin turned once more toward the Academy. The statues of the Seven Founders loomed in the dying light, their faces cracked and hollow-eyed. The light made their faces look alive—and for a moment, he thought he saw cracks running through their stone eyes.
He blinked. The cracks were gone.
For an instant, he thought he saw them move.
He blinked. They were still.
But the feeling lingered something vast and ancient turning its gaze toward him.
That night, he dreamed again.
A corridor of white light.
Voices, overlapping, mechanical and urgent.
"Phase four… incomplete…"
"Subject—Rin—stabilization failing…"
"Containment breach—"
A scream his or someone else's echoed through the void .
He reached out, and a woman's voice broke through the chaos.
"…Rin… wake up…"
He jolted upright, drenched in sweat, breath ragged.
The candle by his bedside had burned to nothing.
Outside, the first drops of rain began to fall.
He looked down at his hands.
For a heartbeat, faint silver light pulsed beneath his skin — brighter, faster — before vanishing.
The room fell silent again.
And when morning came, sunlight would once more filter through the cottage window…
but this time, the light would not feel like peace.
It would feel like warning.