The next day Aerin Set off before even sunrise.
Aerin's feet were bleeding before he reached the main road.
He didn't stop.
The slums faded behind him as the sky turned from black to grey. His toes left red prints on the cobblestone—small at first, then smearing as the cuts reopened with each step. It was so cold, no matter how much he covered and hugged himself. His lungs burned from the cold. His stomach had stopped hurting two days ago just replaced by a hollow numbness that made his head dizzy from hunger.
Two hours. Just two more hours.. and he'd reach his destination.
The original Aerin's body knew this path. Muscle memory guided him even when exhaustion blurred his vision. Left at the fountain—half its basin cracked, water long gone. Through the market square where vendors would set up in another hour. Down the merchant road where the houses stopped leaning and started standing straight.
The city changed in layers.
Rotting wood became painted shutters. Dirt streets became smooth stone. The stench of waste and death gave way to fresh bread, lavender from window boxes, clean water gurgling through fountains that were carved into beautiful structures.
But the biggest change was the people.
A woman in a clean prettydress when she saw him her face twisted. She yanked her daughter behind her skirts, whispered something sharp. The little girl stared at Aerin with wide eyes until her mother slapped her hand down.
A merchant rolling up his stall shutters stepped directly into Aerin's path. Arms crossed. Eyes hard.
"Keep moving, beggar."
Aerin's jaw tightened. He stepped around the man without a word.
A city guard leaned against a lamppost ahead, hand resting on his sword hilt. His eyes followed Aerin's every step. Tracking.Waiting for an excuse to cut him down.
Aerin kept his head down. Pulled his cloak tighter even though it barely covered anything. The fabric had more holes than thread.
Just a little more.
The sun broke over the eastern hills.
And then he saw it.
Arcanis Sanctum.
Five white towers pierced the sky like spears thrown by giants. Blue banners snapped in the wind from heights that made his neck hurt to see. The walls were ancient—covered in runes that seemed to shift when he wasn't looking directly at them. Symbols that made his eyes water and his head pound if he stared too long.
A moat surrounded everything and the Perfectly still water reflected the dawn sky like glass.
It looked impossible. Beautiful-Structures like this didn't exist back at Earth.
Aerin stopped walking. Just for a moment. Just to stare.
"This is real. I made it this far."
The main gate stood open. A stone bridge stretched across the moat, wide enough for ten people to walk side by side. Students were already crossing—hundreds of them in clean robes, carrying grimoires bound in leather that still smelled new and so very fresh, delicious almost.
Aerin joined the flow.
No one spoke to him.
The girl beside him glanced down, saw his bare feet, saw the blood. Her face went pale. She moved away so fast she almost tripped.
A boy in expensive blue robes wrinkled his nose. "Disgusting." He switched to the far side of the bridge.
A group of friends went silent when Aerin passed. One of them whispered something. The others laughed—not loud, but loud enough for him to hear.
Halfway across the bridge and someone already shoved him-hard.
Aerin's hands slammed against the stone railing. His ribs hit the edge. Fear shot through his chest. For half a second he saw the moat below—still water, deep and dark.
"Watch where you're going, street rat."
Aerin looked up.
A boy. Seventeen, maybe eighteen. Red and gold robes that screamed money. Three friends behind him wearing the same entitled smirk.
Aerin straightened slowly. Said nothing.
"What's wrong? No shoes?" One of the friends laughed. "No bath? Gods, you smell like you crawled out of a grave."
More laughter.
The first boy's eyes dropped to the bundle under Aerin's arm. "That your grimoire? Wrapped in garbage. Did you steal it, or did you find it in a trash heap where you belong?"
Aerin's hand tightened around the bundle.
Under his cloak, Sangreal's heartbeat surged. Hard. Angry.
Thump-THUMP.
Not yet, Aerin thought. Not here.
The pulse stopped.
The boy in red sneered. "Nothing to say? Figures.looks like trash knows its place."
He shoulder-checked Aerin again,harder this time, deliberately aiming for the ribs. Aerin's breath hitched. The boys walked past, still laughing.
Aerin watched them go.
His face stayed blank. His breathing stayed controlled.
But under the cloak, his hands shook so hard he had to clench them into fists to make it stop.
Breathe. You've survived worse than this.
The courtyard could hold a thousand people.
It already had half that many.
Students clustered in groups, showing off. A girl conjured a small flame that danced between her fingers. Her friends clapped.
A boy raised a pillar of earth from the ground—barely a foot tall, but his group cheered like he'd moved a mountain.
One girl created a rose made of ice. Perfect petals.It bloomed in her palm while her friends praised her control.
Aerin stayed near the wall where the shadows were thickest.
His stomach cramped. He pressed a hand against it, trying to silence the pain. Three days without food? Four? He'd lost count.
It doesn't matter. You can handle this.
"ATTENTION."
The voice cut through the courtyard like a blade through silk. Every conversation died. Every spell winked out.
A man stood on a raised platform-Tall,Thin, Dark blue robes with silver trim that caught the light. His hair was grey, but his face looked too young for grey hair. His eyes swept the crowd with the expression of someone counting livestock before a slaughter.
"I am Examiner Veld," he said. His voice carried without shouting—magic amplifying every word. "You are here for the admission trials and most of you will probably fail."
"This is not a threat. It is a fact. Arcanis Sanctum does not accept talented students. We accept exceptional students. There is a difference."
He let the words settle like ice.
"Your trial is simple. Combat assessment. You will face an opponent in the Duel Arena. You will demonstrate your abilities. You will prove you deserve to be here."
A boy raised his hand. Golden hair. Expensive robes. Too much confidence. "Sir, what if we don't win a fight?"
Veld looked at him like he was looking at a bug that was easy to squash, "Then you don't belong here."
The hand dropped.
"The arena is through those doors." Veld pointed to a massive archway carved into the building. "I will call names in groups of ten. When your name is called, you enter immediately. Do you understand!?"
"Yes, Examiner," hundreds of voices answered.
Veld pulled out a scroll. Started reading names.
Aerin's wasn't called.
Not in the first group. Not the second.
The crowd thinned as students disappeared into the archway. Aerin stayed against the wall, listening.
The first fight lasted thirty seconds. The student came out smiling.
The second student limped out, but she was grinning through the pain.
Veld kept calling names. The sun climbed higher. Some students walked out victorious. Others were carried. A few didn't come out at all.
Aerin's legs ached. His vision blurred at the edges from hunger. He ignored it. Focused on breathing. On staying upright.
The courtyard emptied.
Finally, when the sun was almost overhead, Veld's voice rang out: "Aerin Arclight."
The courtyard went dead silent.
Every head turned.
Someone whispered, "Arclight?"
"That family's dead."
"All of them died in the purge-"
"Then who-"
Aerin stepped forward.
The crowd parted but it definately wasn't out of respect rather disgust you could call it.
He walked through the space they made. Bare feet leaving barely visible bloody prints. Every eye on him like weight pressing against his skin.
Examiner Veld watched him approach. Something flickered in those too-young eyes. Recognition?
"Aerin Valefor Arclight," Veld said slowly, tasting each name. "You're the last trial today."
Aerin met his gaze.
"Your opponent waits inside. Go."
Aerin walked past him into the archway.
The tunnel was cool and dark. Blue crystals embedded in the walls cast weak light that barely touched the center of the passage. His footsteps echoed-under his cloak, Sangreal's heartbeat quickened.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump-thump.
Excited?
The sword pulsed twice. A Yes?
The tunnel opened.
Light flooded in.
Aerin stepped into the arena.
It was massive. Two hundred feet across. Stone walls rose on all sides. Carved seating climbed the upper levels-mostly empty except for a few robed figures in the highest seats. Examiners watching.
The floor had dark patches. Old blood that had soaked in and never washed out.
In the center stood a boy-
Red and gold robes- The same boy from the bridge.
He was grinning. "So the rat actually showed up. Thought you'd crawl back to whatever hole you came from."
From the highest seat, a voice spoke. An older woman with iron-grey hair. "This is a combat assessment.Begin when ready."
Henrik didn't wait.
His grimoire flared crimson. Fire erupted from the pages—raw and shapeless, coiling around his arm like a living serpent. The air around him shimmered. Heat rolled across the arena floor in waves.
"House Valdris," Henrik said. "Remember that name when you're bleeding out."
He thrust his hand forward.
The fire launched from his arm and took shape mid-flight—a wolf made entirely of flame. Six feet long. Burning so hot the ground beneath it turned black and cracked. It hit the earth running, claws of pure heat digging into the dirt.
Straight at Aerin.
Aerin stood perfectly still.
The wolf closed the distance fast. Close enough that Aerin could feel his skin tightening from the heat.
He stepped left.
One clean step and Perfectly timed.
The fire wolf roared past him and slammed into the wall behind, exploding in a shower of sparks that rained down like dying stars.
Henrik's grin faltered. "Lucky brat."
He sent three more.
Aerin sidestepped the first. Ducked under the second. Let the third pass so close its heat scorched his cloak black.
None touched him.
Henrik's face flushed red. "STOP RUNNING LIKE A COWARD AND FIGHT!"
"I'm not running," Aerin said quietly. "I'm just not getting hit."
"THEN USE YOUR GRIMOIRE!"
Aerin reached under his cloak, pulled out the bundle.The dirty cloth fell away.
Black leather. Flat. No glow. No decoration.
Henrik laughed. "That piece of shit? It looks like something you fished out of a sewer-"
Aerin opened it to the center page.
The symbol glowed. Faint crimson light pulsing in rhythm with a heartbeat.
He pressed his thumb against the page.
His scar split open easily. Blood welled up-dark and bright. The symbol flared.
Sangreal appeared.
It simply existed in his hand, like reality had remembered it was always supposed to be there.
Black blade. Crimson veins running along the fuller, pulsing with light like arteries. Thorned silver crossguard. Worn black leather grip.
THUMP-THUMP.
The heartbeat echoed across the arena. So loud it made the air vibrate. So loud it drowned out everything else.
Henrik's laugh died. His face went white. "What... what the hell is that?"
From the highest seat, the grey-haired examiner shot to her feet. Her hand clutched her chest like she'd been struck.
"Impossible," she whispered.
Aerin raised Sangreal. The stance came naturally-muscle memory from the original Aerin mixed with instincts he didn't fully understand yet.
Henrik stumbled back half a step. Then his face twisted with rage. "I don't care what fancy toy you pulled out! You're still just TRASH!"
Fire exploded from his grimoire. Not wolves this time. A wall of flame fifteen feet high, stretching across half the arena, rushing forward like a tidal wave.
Aerin swung Sangreal.
He cut through the flames.
Cut through. Like the fire was made of silk.
The wall split down the middle. Flames peeled away to both sides, leaving a clear path straight to Henrik.
Henrik's eyes went wide. "That's not possible-How did you-"
Aerin walked forward. Sangreal held loosely in one hand. The crimson veins pulsed with each step.
THUMP-thump. THUMP-thump.
Henrik threw everything. Fire spears. Burning orbs. A whip of flame that cracked through the air fast enough to leave afterimages.
Aerin cut through or dodged all of them with his weak body.
He wasn't trying to hurt Henrik. Just dismantling him-Piece by piece- Showing him that the gap between them wasn't a gap,it was an abyss.
Finally Henrik stumbled. Fell backward. His grimoire tumbled from his hands, pages scattering across the dirt.
Aerin stood over him. The tip of Sangreal pointed at his throat.
An inch away.
Henrik shook. Tears streamed down his face. "Please-I didn't mean-please don't-"
"ENOUGH." The grey-haired examiner's voice cracked across the arena. "The match is over. Aerin Arclight wins."
Aerin lowered Sangreal slowly. Stepped back.
He looked up at the examiners. All three were standing now. The grey-haired woman stared at him with an expression he couldn't read. Fear mixed with something darker, horror maybe.
"Aerin Valefor Arclight," she said, her voice strained. "You pass. Report to the Headmaster's office immediately."
She sat down hard, like her legs had given out.
Aerin nodded once. Turned and walked back toward the tunnel.
Behind him, staff rushed out to help Henrik to his feet.
the whispers started.
"That sword-"
"Did you hear the heartbeat?"
"Arclight-wasn't that the Crimson Emperor's bloodline?"
"That weapon was supposed to be destroyed-"
"Lost seventy years ago during the War-"
"If that really is what I think it is-"
Aerin stepped into the tunnel. The voices cut off. Replaced by his footsteps echoing in the dark.
He leaned against the cold stone wall. His hands were shaking so badly he had to clench them into fists. Adrenaline draining away, leaving him hollow.
Sangreal pulsed once. Gentle. Almost reassuring.
We made it, Aerin thought. We're in.
THUMP-thump.
The heartbeat synced with his own.
From ahead, he could hear the courtyard ,life continuing.,Students celebrating or crying or planning their futures.
But everything had changed.
They'd seen Sangreal.
And the boy in rags, the beggar with a suspicious name, was now officially a student at the most prestigious academy in the world.
Aerin walked toward the light.
Whatever came next, he'd face it.
He had no other choice.