"When your name is called, step onto the platform," he continued. "The instructors will record your archetypal affinity and any facet alignment that manifests."
Caelan's eyes drifted to the measuring crystals surrounding the platform. They pulsed faintly, as if waiting.
Archetypes governed the world. Everyone knew that much. They were the laws the gods had woven into existence when the world was first shaped. Fire, water, wind—those were the obvious ones. Others were less tangible. Order. War. Knowledge. Time.
Each person resonated with one.
"When you step forward," Aurelian said, "close your eyes. Feel the energy around you. If an archetype answers, it will imprint upon you."
The first name was called.
A nervous boy stepped onto the platform.
The runes beneath his feet flared, heat rolling outward in a visible wave. The temperature in the chamber rose—not sharply, but enough for Caelan to feel warmth creep across his skin.
"Fire archetype," an instructor called out.
For a moment, the boy's expression changed. His posture straightened, eyes alight with something fierce and unrestrained. A sharp outline of flame traced itself along his forearm before fading.
"Facet: Destruction," another instructor said calmly. "Weapon-aligned."
A murmur rippled through the crowd. Caelan felt it too—a sudden surge of emotion, raw and contagious. Not his facet, but its echo. Passion, he realised distantly.
The boy exhaled, hands trembling, then laughed under his breath.
"The instructors will record your affinities," Aurelian said, unfazed, "as well as your suitability for Weapon, Beast, Element, or Concept."
Another student followed.
This time, the fire manifested differently. No sharp flames, no edges—just a gentle rise in temperature, soothing rather than aggressive.
"Fire archetype," the instructor repeated. "Facet: Warmth. Element-aligned."
The line advanced.
A third awakening drew a gasp as a burning-eyed silhouette—something lupine, half-formed—briefly formed behind the student before dissolving into smoke.
"Facet: Fury," someone whispered. "Beast-aligned."
Aurelian raised a hand. "There is no danger. You may hear whispers, feel pressure, or experience resonance—mental or physical. This is normal."
The awakenings continued.
A third student stepped onto the platform.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened—then a massive, predatory shadow snapped shut behind him, jaws closing soundlessly before vanishing. The silhouette carried the outline of a black-furred wolf, its eyes burning briefly before it dissolved into smoke.
"Ending archetype," an instructor said. "Facet: Death. Beast-aligned."
The boy staggered as he stepped down, pale and shaking.
Another student followed.
This time, the chamber grew unnaturally quiet. Sound itself seemed to dull, voices muffled as though wrapped in cloth.
"Ending archetype," came the next call. "Facet: Silence. Element-aligned."
The hush lifted the moment the student left the platform, leaving the crowd uneasy.
A girl ascended next.
Green-white light pulsed beneath her feet, slow and rhythmic. The runes cycled steadily, like a measured breath.
"Continuance archetype," an instructor announced. "Facet: Regeneration. Element-aligned."
Relief rippled through the students watching.
Then the platform shuddered.
A boy nearly collapsed as invisible weight pressed down on him, his knees trembling as though gravity itself had doubled. Behind him, the spectral form of a broad-backed stone bear rose, its massive frame bowing inward before fading.
"Earth archetype," someone said quickly. "Facet: Weight. Beast-aligned."
He was helped down, breathing hard but grinning through it.
The awakenings continued.
A weapon of perfect geometric lines formed and dissolved in mid-air—Order, Design, weapon-aligned.
A burst of static fractured the air with a sharp crack—Chaos, Disruption, weapon-aligned.
A girl froze as repeating Lexaen glyphs looped endlessly around her feet, refusing to fade.
"Continuance archetype," an instructor muttered. "Facet: Habit. Concept-aligned."
Murmurs spread.
Same ceremony.
Different laws apply.
Then a familiar voice was heard.
"Nerith Corath."
Nerith stepped forward, shoulders squared. The moment his foot touched the platform, it rippled like water struck by a falling stone. The surface undulated outward in smooth, overlapping waves.
"Water archetype," the instructor said, watching closely. "Facet: Flow. Element-aligned."
The movement felt natural—unforced. Calm. When Nerith stepped down, the platform stilled immediately, as if satisfied.
Next—
"Veynar Lyrion."
Veynar hopped onto the platform with a grin.
The air shifted.
A steady current of wind coiled around him, syncing with his breathing. Each inhale drew the current closer; each exhale sent it drifting outward. Behind him, the translucent form of a winged serpent unfurled briefly, scales catching the light before dispersing into mist.
"Air archetype," the instructor announced. "Facet: Breath. Beast-aligned."
Veynar laughed, almost losing his balance as the wind dissipated.
The line shortened.
Names were called.
Archetypes answered.
And with each awakening, the platform's runes pulsed a little more insistently.
By the time Caelan's name neared the top of the list, the air around the platform felt… expectant.
Waiting.
The headmaster's gaze paused as the name appeared. A faint smile touched his expression—then vanished.
"Caelan Drask Korthal. Step onto the platform."
Whispers stirred immediately.
Eldros Hollow Crown. A noble line—tainted, some said, by common blood. Mutters of disappointment and ridicule passed through the crowd, sharp enough to sting. The commoners said nothing. They simply watched.
Caelan didn't hear any of it.
His attention was fixed on the platform.
He stepped forward, stood at its centre, and closed his eyes.
The instructors prepared as they had for every other student.
Nothing happened.
No light. No heat. No pressure.
Then—something touched him.
Not his body.
His soul.
The runes beneath his feet reacted all at once.
Glyphs flared, dimmed, and rearranged. Circles rose from the platform, incomplete, unstable. Some symbols collapsed into themselves; others formed briefly before vanishing, replaced by unfamiliar patterns that refused to settle.
The measuring crystals flickered—then went dark.
A ripple of unease spread through the chamber.
From the podium, Aurelian's eyes narrowed.
For an instant—only an instant—he saw beneath the surface. A resonance without shape. A Concept without structure. Something answering where no complete language yet existed.
Then the platform stilled.
Silence followed.
Caelan opened his eyes.
The instructors exchanged glances. Their expressions were tight, unreadable.
Finally, one of them spoke.
"Archetype: Unknown.
Facet: None detected.
Alignment: Concept."
Confusion spread—then laughter.
A failed awakening.
Dismissed as an anomaly. An incomplete resonance. Nothing worth recording further.
Caelan, however, felt it.
Something had taken root.
The headmaster's voice cut through the noise.
"The ceremony is complete. You will follow the instructors for orientation. Classes will be assigned tomorrow."
His gaze lingered on Caelan.
"You—stay. Come see me after."
Then he turned and walked away.
"What… was all that about—"
Caelan barely finished the thought before footsteps rushed up behind him.
"Oi! What was that?" Veynar shouted. "The glyphs went completely berserk!"
"What exactly happened to you?" he continued without pause. "You had a Concept—but no facet? And what archetype was that supposed to be?"
"Would you let him breathe for a moment?" Nerith snapped. "You're talking like a storm."
"You talk too slow," Veynar shot back. "Someone's gotta keep things moving."
Caelan raised a hand weakly. "You know… when you ask a question, you usually wait for the answer."
They both froze.
He sighed. "First—I don't know what happened. I felt something answer me, but what it was… I honestly don't know."
They quieted.
"Second," Caelan continued, "yes. I'm a noble. My father is from the Korthal line in the Northern Coldlands—Eldros Hollow Crown."
He hesitated, then added, "But it's not like other kingdoms. There's no ruling family. Titles change hands. That's why they call it the Hollow Crown."
Veynar blinked. "Huh."
"And third," Caelan said softly, "you never asked my full name. And I don't really belong with nobles—or commoners."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Nerith smiled and stepped forward. "Nerith Corath. Sea-folk."
"Veynar Lyrion," Veynar added, grinning. "Sky-born."
It was obvious, Caelan thought—the faint gill-lines at Nerith's neck, the webbing he kept hidden beneath gloves. Veynar's height, his pale-gold hair catching the light, the easy air of the skies clinging to him.
"We're both commoners," Nerith said. "So you can drop the formalities. With us, at least."
Caelan hesitated. "You've never used them anyway."
"Exactly," Veynar said proudly.
Caelan looked down. "Then… why are you being so friendly? Even with my background."
Veynar scoffed. "Most nobles treat people like stepping stones."
Caelan's chest tightened. He had hoped the academy would be different. Hoped he could finally belong somewhere.
"But," Veynar continued, quieter now, "you didn't."
Caelan looked up.
"You didn't care who we were," Veynar said. "You were polite. Normal. That matters."
Nerith nodded. "And the way everyone acted back there?" His jaw tightened. "I was furious. If Veynar hadn't been holding me back, a few of those nobles would've left with bruises."
Veynar laughed. "Worth it."
Nerith met Caelan's eyes. "So—we'd like to be your friends. If you'll have us."
Caelan felt something warm settle in his chest.
He smiled. "Yeah. I'd like that too."
After a moment of basking in their newfound camaraderie, Nerith spoke up.
"Alright," he said, folding his arms. "Let's take a look around the place."
They spent the next while wandering through Tartarus Academy—peeking into open classrooms, catching glimpses of ongoing lessons, and exchanging brief words with instructors who radiated quiet authority. The corridors buzzed with movement, seniors passing them with focused strides, staff moving with practised efficiency.
Eventually, they were led to their assigned dormitory.
By some stroke of luck—or fate—they had been placed together.
Veynar stared at the room number, then laughed. "Looks like it's meant to be, my friends. Same room."
Before either of them could respond, he shoved the door open and rushed inside.
"I claim first territory!" he shouted, diving onto the bed closest to the door. "Unknown lands conquered!"
Nerith shook his head. "Truly inspiring."
It was just the three of them.
"The teachers did say there would be five per room," Nerith added after a moment. "Looks like the other two aren't here yet."
"Ah—right," Caelan said suddenly, remembering something important. "The headmaster told me to come see him."
Nerith nodded. "Then you'd better hurry. I'll sort my things out."
Veynar rolled onto his back, hugging the mattress. "This bed is incredible. I refuse to move."
Caelan laughed softly. "I'll be back soon."
He stepped out into the corridor, the door closing quietly behind him.
As he walked, unease crept in.
What if this really was a failed awakening?
The thought tightened his chest.
What if he were expelled?
He pictured the mountains again—the cold forests, his father's stern presence. Going back meant leaving this place… leaving the first friends he had ever made.
His steps slowed without him noticing.
It wasn't until a voice spoke that he snapped back to reality.
"Come in," Aurelian said calmly from within.
Caelan realised he was already standing before the headmaster's office.
________
Not long before this, Aurelian Valen Solmire had returned to his chambers alone.
That child…
Something had taken root in him.
But what?
It hadn't resembled any awakening Aurelian had seen—not in the forbidden texts, nor the sealed archives. Neither Lexaen inscriptions nor Aeru records spoke of such a phenomenon.
An archetype that refused classification.
A concept without a facet.
For the first time in a very long while, Aurelian had no answer.
He sat behind his desk now, fingers turning pages with practised ease, though his eyes searched for something he knew he would not find.
A mystery, he thought.
And one that should not exist.
The book closed softly.
He felt young Caelan's presence outside and invited him in.
________
Caelan pushed open the dark brown door slowly, his head lowered, shoulders tense with worry.
Aurelian's office was lined wall to wall with bookshelves, ancient tomes and neatly catalogued volumes packed tightly together. A solid wooden desk stood at the centre of the room, its surface orderly—stacks of documents, ink bottles, quills, and several open books marked with careful notes.
To one side sat a pair of chairs and a smaller table, likely used for private discussions. A red carpet stretched from the doorway to the desk, woven with fine golden threads that caught the light. Near the desk stood a green-backed chair inlaid with geometric patterns, its red lining faintly worn with use.
"You wanted to see me, Headmaster?" Caelan asked quietly, his eyes fixed on the carpet, afraid to meet Aurelian's gaze.
Aurelian regarded him carefully. His eyes felt sharp—measuring, dissecting—yet there was no hostility there. No judgment. Only attention.
As if reading his thoughts, Aurelian spoke calmly.
"Lift your head, Caelan. I'm not going to expel you."
Caelan froze.
"I'm… not?" he asked, lifting his head just slightly. "Really?"
Aurelian let out a soft chuckle. "Of course not, child. Remember what I said earlier—failure is part of advancement."
The tension in Caelan's chest eased, if only a little.
"I called you here for two reasons," Aurelian continued. "First, we need to speak about your awakening."
He rose from his seat and gestured toward the chairs by the side table. "Come. Sit."
Aurelian poured two cups of herbal tea, the fragrance faint but calming.
"This is from my family's domain in the Aurelion Concord," he said, handing one to Caelan. "It helps steady the mind. It's my favourite."
Caelan accepted it with both hands, nodding in thanks.
"I'm not here to criticise you," Aurelian said after a sip. "Nor to tell you that you failed. I want to know how it felt."
Caelan hesitated, then spoke honestly.
"I… don't really know, Headmaster."
He met Aurelian's gaze now.
"I closed my eyes. I reached out. I asked." His fingers tightened around the cup. "But it was like calling into a crowd where everyone hears you—and no one answers."
Aurelian listened without interruption.
"Then… something touched me. Not physically. Something that felt like it was mine—but also not." Caelan swallowed. "It was like something was shaping itself inside me. Something that shouldn't exist… but does."
He paused, choosing not to mention the second presence he'd felt. Not yet.
"Continue," Aurelian encouraged quietly.
"That's all I can describe," Caelan said. "I didn't hear a name. No whisper. No sense of an archetype."
Aurelian leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing in thought.
"Usually," he said slowly, "one instinctively recognises their archetype during awakening. A name. A pressure. Some form of confirmation."
He looked directly at Caelan now.
"Did you feel anything like that?"
Caelan thought back carefully. The other awakenings had been obvious—heat, sound, weight, whispers.
For him—nothing.
"No," he said firmly. "Nothing at all."
Aurelian exhaled, relief and concern mixing in his expression.
"Good," he said at last. "That tells me this wasn't a malfunction. Nothing went wrong with you."
Then, smoothly, he shifted topics.
"How is your father?"
Caelan blinked, surprised—then smiled faintly. "He's well. He took me on a training session near the cliffs. Said it would be a 'refresher.'"
Aurelian laughed softly. "That sounds like Leon. He was never good at expressing himself. If anything, it seems he's gotten worse."
"I practically begged him to let me go," Caelan said, laughing now.
Aurelian's expression softened.
"Cael," he said gently, "are you finding the academy… acceptable?"
The name caught Caelan off guard.
Only his mother used it. And his father.
Caelan hesitated, then answered honestly.
"When everyone laughed at my awakening… it hurt," he admitted. "Not because of the awakening itself. But because I thought I wouldn't make any friends."
He looked down.
"But then I met two people. They didn't care who I was. They accepted me."
Aurelian watched him with a parental gaze.
"That's good," he said softly. "I know how difficult it's been for you."
He smiled faintly. "I met your parents here, you know. Your father was loud. Reckless. Always eager to solve things with his fists."
"And your mother," he added fondly, "was the only one of us with enough sense to stay calm."
The room grew quiet for a moment.
Then Aurelian straightened.
"I'm glad you're happy," he said. "And that you've found friends."
"I really like them," Caelan said. "They're good people."
"I'll be keeping an eye on you," Aurelian said with a small smile. "And since you've mentioned them, I'll be keeping an eye on your friends as well."
Caelan laughed.
"You're free to attend classes," Aurelian continued. "Explore. Research. See if anything resonates with what you experienced."
"If something goes wrong," he added, "come to me. But don't expect special privileges. I am still the headmaster."
"I understand," Caelan said.
As he turned to leave, Aurelian called after him.
"Oh—Caelan."
"Yes?"
"Have fun."
Caelan smiled. "I will. See you next time, Headmaster."