The carriage wheels hummed against the cobblestone, carrying Kael through the gates of the Imperial Academy.
He'd expected grandeur, but what awaited him was stranger — a cathedral fused with a fortress. Spires of glass and iron pierced the gray sky, their surfaces etched with runes that shimmered faintly in the light. The air smelled of oil and sanctity. Even the guards moved like clockwork, polished and precise.
He sat rigid, his coat pulled tight across his chest. Beneath the layers, the mark over his heart tingled faintly, as if aware of where he was.
The Academy was more than a school. It was a crucible — a place where orphans, scholars, and zealots were molded into servants of the Empire. Half the Inquisition's preachers had begun here. The other half had died trying.
"Name," a clerk demanded as he stepped out of the carriage.
"Kael Verrin," he said softly.
The woman's eyes flicked up. "Verrin?"
He nodded once.
She didn't press. Only marked something in her ledger and gestured toward the inner courtyard.
Students crossed the marble paths in neat rows, all wearing the same pale uniforms trimmed in gold. They spoke in hushed tones, quoting scripture Kael did not know. At the center of the courtyard burned a single flame — suspended above a brass pedestal. It was small, steady, eternal.
The Eternal Fire.
Kael's stomach turned. He could feel its hum — like a heartbeat that wasn't his.
"Impressive, isn't it?" came a voice behind him.
A boy about his age, golden-haired, sharp-eyed.
"That flame's been burning since the founding of the Empire. Blessed by Aurelion himself, or so they say."
Kael forced a thin smile. "So they say."
The boy extended a hand. "Liran Corvane. Scholar's track. You?"
Kael hesitated before shaking it. "…Faith and Sciences."
"Ah, the heretic's discipline." Liran grinned. "You'll fit right in."
Before Kael could answer, a bell rang — deep and cold. Students turned toward the chapel's great doors as a procession emerged: priests in white, bearing the sigil of the Temple. At their center walked a tall figure cloaked in crimson, his mask wrought from gold.
An Inquisitor.
The air itself seemed to still as he spoke:
"Let all who seek wisdom remember — knowledge without faith is corruption."
Kael lowered his head, hiding the faint pulse of light beneath his shirt.
He didn't come here for faith.
He came because the chapel where they found him whispered his name in the wind.
And because, deep down, he wanted to know why the fire refused to let him go.