For a few seconds, he stayed still, staring at the ceiling above his bed. The remnants of a dream clung to his thoughts—not vivid enough to describe, yet heavy enough to be felt. There had been shadows, moving without form, and a distant sensation of being watched. No voices this time. No pain. Just unease.
He sat up slowly and ran a hand through his hair.
"It was just a dream," he muttered.
Kai had learned not to chase nightmares. Dwelling on them only made them linger longer than they deserved. Whatever his mind had decided to show him during the night, it didn't define the day ahead.
He stood, stretched lightly, and crossed the room to wash his face. The cold water helped clear the last traces of sleep from his eyes. When he looked at his reflection, he saw someone calmer than before—still cautious, but no longer shaken by every shadow of thought.
Today wasn't about the past.
It was about moving forward.
After getting dressed, Kai left his room and stepped outside, merging into the growing flow of students heading toward the academy. The morning air was cool, carrying faint traces of conversation, laughter, and footsteps echoing against stone paths.
The academy grounds felt different in daylight.
Yesterday, everything had seemed massive and overwhelming, like the buildings themselves were watching him. Today, they felt structured—purposeful. Less like looming towers and more like places of learning. Students walked in groups or alone, some confidently chatting, others quietly observing their surroundings.
Kai walked on his own, hands tucked into his pockets.
For once, he didn't feel like he needed to stay alert every second. No one was paying him special attention. No whispers followed him. He was just another student among many, and that normalcy settled comfortably over him.
The main hall was already filling when he arrived. Rows of seats were packed with students from different backgrounds, their expressions ranging from eager to uncertain. Kai found a seat near the middle and sat down, glancing around briefly before focusing forward.
Soon, an instructor stepped onto the raised platform.
The murmurs gradually faded.
The session began without ceremony. No dramatic introductions. No speeches meant to inspire fear or awe.
Instead, the instructors explained the academy's learning structure in a clear, methodical manner.
Students would begin with foundational disciplines before choosing paths of specialization. The academy believed in balance—strength without control was dangerous, and knowledge without application was useless.
Combat training would focus on physical conditioning, reflexes, and weapon familiarity. Energy control classes were designed to teach students how to sense, circulate, and stabilize their internal power. Theory classes covered history, principles of power, and strategic thinking. Tactical studies emphasized coordination, awareness, and decision-making under pressure. Discipline classes tested mental endurance, patience, and self-restraint.
Nothing about it sounded glamorous.
And that was exactly why Kai paid attention.
He took mental notes, weighing each subject carefully. Combat was important, but uncontrolled strength led to recklessness. Energy control interested him more—it felt fundamental, like the backbone of everything else. Theory might seem dull to some, but Kai understood its value. Knowledge often decided the outcome before a fight even began.
Around him, students whispered excitedly.
"I heard combat training starts next week."
"Energy control sounds exhausting."
"I can't wait to choose a specialization."
Kai stayed silent, absorbing rather than reacting. He wasn't here to rush ahead. Power wasn't something you grabbed in a single moment. It was something you built, piece by piece.
The sessions continued throughout the day, each instructor expanding on expectations, schedules, and evaluation methods. There were no threats of expulsion, no ominous warnings—just rules and structure.
By midday, Kai realized something unexpected.
He was enjoying himself.
Not because the lessons were thrilling, but because they were clear. The academy wasn't trying to break students immediately. It was preparing them. Giving them a foundation before testing them.
Between orientations, students were guided through different sections of the academy. Training grounds, lecture halls, controlled practice zones, and meditation chambers. Kai walked through each area with quiet curiosity, noting the layout, memorizing paths without consciously trying.
By the time afternoon rolled in, the initial tension he had carried into the academy had faded almost entirely.
This place wasn't safe.
But it wasn't hostile either.
When the final session ended, the instructors dismissed the students, and the hall slowly emptied. Stretching arms, relaxed conversations, and tired sighs filled the space.
Kai rose from his seat and joined the crowd heading toward the exit.
His thoughts drifted—not to the nightmare, not to his bloodline, but to practical things. Training schedules. Study hours. How to manage his time efficiently. He needed progress, not distractions.
Lost in thought, he turned into the corridor—
—and collided with someone.
"Sorry," Kai said immediately, stepping back.
"Ah—no, it's okay."
The voice was familiar.
Kai looked up.
Clara stood before him, steadying herself as she adjusted the strap of her bag. For a brief moment, recognition flickered between them.
Then she smiled, light and polite.
"Guess we're both tired," she said.
"Seems like it," Kai replied.
An awkward pause followed. Not uncomfortable—just uncertain. They weren't strangers, but they weren't friends either. There was a shared memory between them, unspoken and unresolved.
"So," Clara said, breaking the silence, "what did you think of today?"
"It was… different than I expected," Kai answered honestly. "But not bad."
She nodded. "Same. I thought they'd throw us straight into training."
"Maybe they will later," Kai said. "This feels like preparation."
"Yeah," she agreed. "Still, my routine already feels full."
Kai gave a small, understanding smile. "I can relate."
As they spoke, Clara studied him subtly. He looked calmer than she remembered. Back then, he had seemed tense—ready to bolt at any moment. Now, he carried himself with quiet focus.
He's the one who ran away, she thought. But he doesn't look like someone hiding.
She wondered why he had left so suddenly that day. Fear? Caution? Something else entirely?
I'll ask him someday, she decided. If we ever get close enough.
Kai, on the other hand, recognized her background just as clearly. The Pyrope family carried a reputation—one he couldn't afford to ignore. Still, Clara herself didn't act like someone weighed down by status. She spoke casually, laughed easily.
He kept that observation to himself.
"Well," Clara said after a moment, shifting her bag again, "I should get going."
"Yeah," Kai replied. "See you around."
"See you."
They parted without ceremony, heading in opposite directions.
Kai continued down the corridor, his thoughts steady. The encounter hadn't unsettled him. If anything, it reinforced something he hadn't realized he wanted—normal interactions. Simple conversations. No suspicion. No fear.
Outside, the sky had begun to soften into evening hues. A gentle breeze brushed against his face as he stepped onto the academy grounds.
Kai paused briefly, looking back at the buildings bathed in fading light.
Focus on your studies, he reminded himself. That's why you're here.
With that resolve firm in his chest, he turned and walked on—unaware that today's quiet exchanges were already setting things in motion.