Two days passed in quiet recovery. By the time he was cleared to leave, the town was already rebuilding. The smell of burnt stone still hung in the air, but people were moving again, patching walls and clearing debris.
Lucien walked through the streets that had once been his world. Faces turned as he passed. Whispers followed, some filled with envy, others with resentment.
"That's him… the half-blood who awakened."
"He's lucky he didn't die."
"Or unlucky, depending how you see it."
But he ignored them all. He'd learned long ago that people only saw what they wanted to see.
He made his way to the outskirts, where the graves had been freshly marked. It was made of simple stones, each carved with a name or symbol.
His steps slowed when he saw hers, a small marker with the name Elara etched unevenly.
He knelt beside it, his hand brushing against the cool earth. The silence around him pressed heavy. "You'd probably laugh if you saw me now," he said softly. "Finally awakened, and still as confused as ever."
He paused, his throat tightening. "I wish you were here, Elara. But… I'll keep going. I'll live enough for the both of us. I'll prove it wasn't for nothing."
He stayed there a while longer, letting the quiet settle. When he finally stood, his eyes were clearer, his heart steadier. Whatever this new path was, it began now.
By the time the sun dipped behind the horizon, he was already back at the outpost, ready for departure. He had nothing left in this town, no family, no attachments. Just a promise, and the faint hum of power in his veins.
Two days went by again really fast, as the transport prepared rumbled toward the town, it's destination headed for the distant floating spires of the Aetherion Academy, Lucien had spent the last of days in the ruins of Veyren.
And he didn't need to look back.
For the first time in both his lives, he was walking toward something, not away.
The morning air was cold, carrying the smell of ash and rain. The new Awakeners from town of Veyren were ready for their departure. Lucien amongst them, stood near the gate of the town, his small pack slung across his shoulder. He wasn't sure what he felt— relief, maybe, or emptiness. It was hard to tell.
A low rumble cut through the silence as shadows passed over the group. The ground trembled slightly. Every head turned upward. Out of the fog, a massive beast descended, its wings wide enough to blot out the rising sun. Its body shimmered with scales of deep bronze and faint veins of Aether light that pulsed like living crystal. It was a transport wyvern, one of Valoria's great sky-beasts.
The handlers secured its landing, and a man in uniform stepped forward, his tone brisk but practiced. "Alright, you sorry lot of fresh Awakeners, this'll be your first step into the new world. Treat the wyvern with respect, or it'll toss you off before we even reach the Cradle."
Some laughed nervously, others whispered in awe as they made their way into the transport prepared for them. Lucien followed quietly settling in a position, just away from the group.
He wasn't the only mixed-blood among them, but he was the only one who sat alone. And soon began gain attention.
A group of human Awakeners nearby shot him quick glances. One of them, tall and broad-shouldered, muttered to his friend, "Didn't think they'd let one of them on the same flight, and to the academy."
Another snorted, "Probably a charity case. I heard half-bloods get special attention if they survive something tragic enough."
Lucien's gaze didn't waver. He'd learned long ago that silence cut deeper than words. Their comments brushed off him like wind against stone.
"Oi, ignore them," a beastkin boy with tawny fur whispered from the line ahead, his tail flicking lazily. "Humans bark more than they bite."
Lucien gave him a slight nod. "I'm used to it."
The man leading them, the same instructor who'd arrived from the capital called everyone closer. He looked to be in his fifties, weathered but energetic, with a grin that never quite left his face. "My name's Garron. You'll be hearing me talk a lot today, so best you start liking the sound of my voice."
Some chuckles spread through the crowd, loosening the tension. Lucien found himself listening despite the noise.
Garron continued, gesturing as the wyvern handlers finished loading supplies. "This beauty here is a Windcarver Wyvern, one of Valoria's finest. These beasts are older than most kingdoms and twice as proud. They feed on ambient Aether, so don't try feeding them bread or you'll lose a hand."
He paused, enjoying the small laugh he got from the group before his tone softened. "Now, while we're in the air, I'll give you a little geography lesson. You're all heading to the Aetherion Academy, built on the Aether Cradle, a floating island that stays above the world's central riftline."
Lucien adjusted his self on the wyvern's back as the harness tightened. The others leaned forward eagerly, drinking in every word. Garron, clearly in his element, began pointing out over the horizon as the creature spread its wings.
"Down south, you've got Valoria, the kingdom of humans, ambitious and stubborn as they come. And to the east lies Sylvaris, home of the elves, who think the rest of us are made of dirt and bad manners. Northwest is Ironspire, where the dwarves hammer runes into everything that doesn't move. Out west, the Feralis Expanse, the beastkin territory. Savage to outsiders, but loyal to their own."
He paused as the wyvern leapt upward, the rush of air drowning everything for a heartbeat. Then the creature's glide steadied, and the world below unfolded like a map.
"And above all that," Garron said with a note of pride, "is the Seraphine Dominion. The floating citadel of the faithful, ruled by those who claim the blessing of the divine. You won't find them mixing much with the rest of us, but their influence reaches everywhere."
Lucien listened, his eyes tracing the horizon. Even from this height, he could see faint rifts pulsing in the distance, like purple scars in the fabric of the world.