The streets were already busy.
Aerin walked with the flow of students heading toward the academy district, his bag slung over one shoulder, posture relaxed but alert. Stone pathways stretched between rows of buildings old enough to feel permanent, yet clean enough to suggest careful maintenance. Magic lanterns dimmed gradually as daylight strengthened, their runes fading like embers after a fire.
No one paid him any special attention.
That, he noticed immediately, was normal.
Students laughed, argued, compared notes about instructors and rumors about the upcoming awakening ceremony. Some walked alone with headphones made of crystal discs—magitech, he realized absently—while others moved in tight groups, confidence radiating from the way they carried themselves.
Talent shows early in Vallorae.
And mediocrity even earlier.
Aerin adjusted his pace, letting two louder boys pass him. From the fragments of conversation he overheard, he pieced together more of the world without trying to force it.
"—my cousin awakened fire last year, pure elemental—"
"—heard the North Wing had three dual wielders already—"
"—doesn't matter if you awaken late, lineage still counts—"
Lineage.
He filed the word away.
The memories of the body he inhabited offered context: some families produced awakeners more consistently than others. Bloodlines didn't guarantee strength, but they raised expectations. Those without them were quietly placed in a different category long before any official evaluation.
Aerin knew which category he belonged to.
Unremarkable.
Average.
Background.
He crossed a wide bridge over a canal, the water below reflecting the academy towers rising ahead. The main structure dominated the district—arched entrances, layered terraces, and a central spire carved with sigils that shimmered faintly even in daylight.
This wasn't a place built solely for learning.
It was built to filter.
The classroom smelled faintly of chalk and metal.
Aerin took his usual seat near the window, setting his bag down with practiced ease. The desk felt solid beneath his hands, its surface etched with anti-damage runes—standard issue for students who might accidentally crack stone during training.
He wouldn't.
At least, not yet.
Two students slid into the seats nearby.
One was broad-shouldered, with cropped brown hair and a perpetually irritated expression.
"Morning," the boy said gruffly, nodding once. "You look… better."
"Morning," Aerin replied.
This one he remembered.
Rethan.
Decent physical aptitude.
Poor magical sensitivity.
Friendly enough, but easily frustrated.
Next to him sat a girl with neatly tied dark hair and sharp eyes that missed very little.
Lysa.
Top ten academically.
Ambitious.
Polite—but calculating.
"You didn't collapse on the way here," she observed. "That's new."
Rethan shot her a look. "That's not—"
"It's fine," Aerin said calmly. "I feel stronger today."
Lysa studied him for a moment longer than necessary.
"…You're standing straighter," she said. "Did you finally start training?"
Aerin paused.
"I plan to."
Not a lie. Just delayed truth.
She hummed softly, already losing interest. "Good timing. Awakening ceremony is in three months. Late effort won't help much, but it's better than nothing."
Better than nothing.
That phrase carried weight in Vallorae.
The instructor entered before conversation could continue—an older man with iron-gray hair and a prosthetic left arm crafted from layered metal and glowing runes. The room quieted instantly.
"Instructor Halver," Rethan muttered under his breath.
The man placed a thick tome on the desk with a dull thud.
"Sit," Halver said.
No one dared not to.
His single natural eye swept across the class, sharp and unsympathetic.
"This term," he began, "we will focus on applied theory. Not spells. Not techniques. Understanding."
A few students groaned quietly.
Halver ignored them.
"Power without understanding creates corpses," he continued. "Usually your own."
His gaze paused briefly on Aerin.
Not judgmental.
Not curious.
Evaluating.
"You all want to awaken," Halver said. "Some of you will. Most of you will not awaken anything worth mentioning."
The room stiffened.
"This academy does not exist to comfort you," he went on. "It exists to reveal reality."
Aerin listened closely.
Not because he feared the words—but because he believed them.
By midday, the hum of conversation filled the training yard.
Students practiced basic forms—weapon drills, mana circulation exercises, elemental visualization. Aerin stood at the edge, observing rather than participating.
Not laziness.
Restraint.
He could feel it now—the faint presence of something inside him. Not power. Not magic.
Potential.
Raw, unshaped, and dangerously easy to misuse.
"Hey."
Rethan jogged over, wiping sweat from his brow. "You're not even trying?"
Aerin shook his head. "Not yet."
"That's stupid," Rethan said frankly. "You'll fall behind."
Aerin met his eyes.
"I know."
Rethan frowned, then shrugged. "Suit yourself."
He ran back toward the others.
Aerin remained where he was, watching.
In Vallorae, those who rushed often shone brightly.
And burned out just as fast.
He flexed his fingers slowly, feeling the weight of this body, this world, this borrowed chance.
Three months until awakening.
Three months to prepare—not to shine, but to survive what came after.
Above him, the academy spire pulsed faintly.
And far below it, deep beneath layers of stone and forgotten history, something sealed listened.
The unremarkable boy had begun to move.
And Vallorae, patient and ancient, was beginning to take notice.