The next morning broke with a warm, false sunrise, cast by enchanted crystals embedded high in Blackspire's spire-dotted ceiling. It was hard to tell what time it actually was — the academy didn't care much for the outside world's clocks. Here, time bent around the curriculum.
Kael sat on the edge of his bed, fully dressed before the dorm's first chime rang. His robe was crisp, his boots polished, and his face wore that same unreadable calm. Across from him, Zeke flailed under a pile of blankets like he was wrestling a ghost.
"Mmnffgh… who invented mornings?" he groaned, one arm flopping out to slap his alarm crystal.
Ren, already buttoned up and lacing his boots, gave Zeke a sidelong glance. "If you snore again tonight, I'm warding your lungs shut."
"Harsh," Zeke muttered, dragging himself up. "Didn't take you for the violent type."
"I'm not," Ren said coolly. "But I'm also not tolerant."
Kael said nothing. But his lips twitched slightly — a smirk, maybe. Or just a breath of amusement.
---
Breakfast was held in the *Great Hall of Twelve*, a vast chamber where the ceiling reflected the skies of distant continents — an ever-shifting illusion meant to remind students how small they were in the grand scope of magic.
*Combat Theory I* was held in the Dueling Spire, a tower split into rings of magical arenas. Today's class was more lecture than battle — Professor Ysoria, a silver-haired elf with eyes like daggers, paced before a floating chalkboard.
"Magic is not light and beauty. It is chaos. Energy given form. And every form has a weakness."
She eyed her students sharply.
"Some of you believe your power will protect you. It won't. You must protect your power."
Kael listened silently, absorbing every word. But inside, something stirred — an echo, like her words had once been spoken to him before, by someone he couldn't name.
---
After class, he walked alone. The halls twisted and shifted with the time — Blackspire was alive in its own way, its architecture folding around unseen purposes. But Kael always knew where he was. It was instinct.
Then he felt it — a chill in the air. A flicker in the edge of his vision.
He stopped.
In the reflection of a stained-glass window, he saw a shadow.
Not his.
Behind him.
But when he turned — nothing.
Just cold stone and flickering torchlight.
---
Later that night, as the dorm settled into silence, Kael sat on the windowsill, staring at the moon — or rather, the illusion of it above the dome.
Behind him, Zeke snored like a dying dragon. Ren muttered numbers in his sleep.
Kael's eyes narrowed.
That shadow… that pressure… it wasn't part of the academy's magic.
It was something older.
Watching.
Waiting.
He didn't know if it was from his past… or something tied to his presence here.
But one thing was certain:
*Blackspire was not safe.*
Not for the students.
And not for *whatever* was watching him from the dark.
---
Students crowded long tables arranged by discipline: elementalists, conjurers, shadowbinders, spirit-walkers. The hall buzzed with chatter, clinking silverware, and floating trays of food refilling themselves.
Kael sat at a neutral table — unaligned, still unaffiliated. A few students glanced at him. Most looked away quickly. His reputation, after yesterday's trial, had already started to grow like smoke in a dry forest.
"Word is you paralyzed a mimic with just your aura," Zeke whispered, shoving eggs into his mouth.
"No," Kael replied simply.
"What was it then?"
"I glared at it."
Zeke nearly choked.
---
After breakfast, schedules were distributed via summoned familiars — small, glowing birds that chirped annoyingly until you accepted the scroll from their beaks. Kael's schedule unrolled itself in his hand, glowing faintly.
*Blackspire Academy – Year One Schedule*
— Combat Theory I
— Magical Ethics
— Runecraft and Wardings
— History of the Old War
— Free slot (Assigned Duty pending)
"What's this free slot for?" Kael asked.
Zeke shrugged. "Extra training. Or punishment. Or secret club meetings where they summon dead gods. Depends on your vibe."
Kael raised an eyebrow.
---