In this corner of the town, the only abundance was the sun and its heat, ceaselessly falling down. Compared to a city, it felt like even the world was boring onto the forsaken.
Caelan Voss Ebonveil was still out cold this late into the morning. It was unusual for him. He had the habit of rising early, working out to keep his body in top shape, then going to the restaurant where the boss was kind enough to allow him to make his own breakfast if he would open the restaurant before anyone on the street.
Slowly, his eyes opened to the world, his obsidian eyes shining like never before.
The first thing he did after waking up was pinch himself. When the pain shot through him, he screamed in joy.
"Yahoo!!"
Neighbors peeped from the outside.
"What is it, Voss? Did you find your dead parents' buried wealth?"
"Fatass, look after your kids. They might have fallen in the gutter again," he warned of the past happening again.
"You..."
"Honey, let that orphan go."
"Hmm."
Caelan was not going to concentrate on these lowlifes who were doomed to rot here in both life and death.
He thought back to the visions and the promise of power.
_Umbre seed,_ he thought to himself.
A seed that came far from the world's understanding.
"I don't give a f# where it came from. All I know is that I am gonna be the best wizard in the world," he said in reverence to its power, his smile breaking his face.
He looked up to his parents' photos on the wall.
_I am happy,_ he repeated his mantra. At last, that was the wish of his parents—for him to be happy.
---
Caelan Voss Ebonveil woke before dawn, not because he was anxious—though he probably should have been—but because he was excited.
Today was the day.
He stretched, yawned, and swung his legs over the side of his narrow cot. His room was small and crooked, but he didn't mind. The single window overlooked the roofs of crooked townhouses, all bathed in the soft glow of lanterns just starting to dim.
He'd never seen anything more promising.
Caelan reached for the envelope. He opened it again, just to be sure the words hadn't vanished in the night or all this was an illusion.
**Academy of Arcane—Notice of Acceptance**
He grinned. Perfect. Still there.
He carefully folded the letter and pressed it to his chest.
_Doesn't matter if they expect nothing from me,_ he thought. _I'll show them I am the best._
---
The next day by sunrise, he was packed. One battered suitcase. One patched coat. One bright, unstoppable certainty that the world was about to change.
The neighbors watched him with curiosity as he stepped into the lane. An old woman selling dried herbs gave him a cautious nod. Two boys from the restaurant whispered behind their hands.
He had resigned yesterday, and it was a very public slew of curses.
The owner was very angry, and if not for Caelan's reputation for beating up so many, he would have tried his hand on the boy.
He knew from a young age that no one would stand for you but yourself, so he had taken care of his body and worked out to be fit. It had all paid off when he beat the shit out of his bullies.
He flashed the boys a confident smile and tapped the brim of his cap.
"Wish me luck," he called.
They didn't answer, but that was all right. He didn't need their permission to go.
---
The carriage that waited for him was older than he expected—a dented, creaking vehicle drawn by a single mule. The driver looked about as lively as a pile of damp straw.
Caelan climbed aboard without hesitation, settled onto the splintery bench, and set his suitcase between his feet.
The ride would take most of the day. He intended to enjoy every moment.
---
They passed rolling hills where the sunrise turned the grass to molten gold. In the distance, towers gleamed—shining academies built for the elite.
He leaned out the window as each came into view.
"Look at that," he whispered to himself. "I bet they've got entire libraries just for spell theory."
The driver grunted but didn't look up.
Caelan didn't care. It was all beautiful.
---
By late afternoon, the carriage slowed.
He stepped down in front of the Academy gates, feeling his breath catch. The building rose high above him in sweeping arches and polished towers, every wall carved with intricate reliefs of ancient symbols and creatures. Stained glass windows gleamed like jewels in the slanting light.
It looked as grand as any academy he had ever imagined—maybe more.
But there was no crowd of students. No teachers bustling about. The vast entrance courtyard stood silent, the air too still, like the academy had been waiting for centuries without anyone coming.
He glanced around, uncertain.
No signposts. No welcoming party.
A glimmer caught his eye—a small, spherical construct floating toward him. It hovered a few feet away, pulsing softly with blue light.
"Huh. Do I follow you?"
The orb bobbed and drifted purposefully along the immaculate stone path. He took a breath and followed.
It led him through a soaring archway into a cavernous hall lined with tall pillars. Moonlight poured through high windows, reflecting off polished marble floors.
Suspended in the center was an enormous book, its leather cover etched with silver runes. A woman hovered behind it, watching him. She had curling purple horns, skin the color of polished ebony, and hair so long it rippled on the air like a trailing veil.
Both woman and tome floated in place, perfectly still.
"Good afternoon, ma'am. I'm a new student," he said, unflinching.
Her eyes, faceted like amethyst, blinked once. With a flick of her finger, the book spun away and vanished behind a column. A roll of parchment unfurled from the air, floating in front of her.
"Name," she intoned in a hollow voice.
"Caelan Voss Ebonveil," he said, reaching into his coat. "And this is my admission letter."
At the mention of his surname, her gaze sharpened, dissecting him.
"You don't have to show the letter. Nobody fakes to come here."
He gave a wry smile. He knew the reputation, but he had no choice after being ostracized and barred by all academies.
She handed him a small brass key.
"Room twelve," she said. "Orientation tomorrow morning."
"Thank you," he replied, entirely sincere.
---
Room Twelve turned out to be at the top of a wide staircase that spiraled upward past stained glass windows and ornate sconces. The key turned smoothly in the lock.
Inside, the room was grander than he could have hoped. A tall canopy bed stood beneath a vaulted ceiling painted with constellations. A polished mahogany desk waited by the window, set with fresh parchment and a crystal lamp. A wardrobe carved with griffins gleamed in the dusk light. Even the floor was covered by a thick, midnight-blue rug embroidered with silver runes.
He set his suitcase carefully by the bed.
He turned to look out the window. Beyond the academy, he could see distant spires—other schools, guilds, and the promise for a future.
He didn't feel bitter for being ostracized. It could have been a lot worse.
As he stood there, a sudden, impossible chill bloomed in his chest. For an instant, it felt like a second heartbeat pulsed beneath his ribs—slow and immense, as if something vast was watching him.
Then it faded, leaving a faint tingle behind.
He touched his sternum, thoughtful.
_Umbre seed._
_Whatever you are,_ he thought, _I hope you're ready to see something interesting, too._
He smiled, turned, and closed the door behind him.
Tomorrow, the real work would begin.
And he couldn't wait.