"There's nothing lonelier than realizing people notice you… only when they're afraid."
The Academy buzzed louder than usual.
Not in volume.
In tension.
It moved through the halls like static—hushed voices just outside hearing range, flickers of sideways glances when no one thought you were looking. That tower bell had cracked two nights ago, and no one had explained why. And worse: no one had denied it either.
Kael noticed it first in the eyes of the gatekeeper.
Normally, the old man barely looked up when Kael passed. Today, he flinched.
Then the lecture halls—half the fireline nobles were missing, and the ones who stayed spoke softer. Like something might be listening.
And then there were the runes.
Subtle.
Hidden beneath the floor tiles.
But Kael could feel them now.
Wards.
Seals.
Something ancient being rewoven through the Academy's very bones.
He didn't say anything. Of course not. The last time he told someone the shadows whispered, he got reassigned to flame-pit maintenance.
So he stayed quiet.
Until someone didn't.
"You didn't do that, did you?"
Kael turned.
It was her again—Cerys of the Firebloods. The one with the arrogant posture and wildfire in her veins.
She leaned against the stairwell wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"Do what?" he asked, keeping his voice dry.
"Crack the tower bell."
"Would it matter if I did?"
She stared at him.
That sharp, silent kind of stare that meant she hadn't ruled it out.
Kael didn't flinch. "I don't crack bells. I sleep through them."
"Mm." She pushed off the wall. "Then you're more dangerous than I thought."
"Good."
He turned to walk away—but her next words stopped him cold.
"They're sending a Scalemaster."
He blinked.
"What?"
"A recruiter. From the outer academies," she said. "Specifically for anomaly tracing."
Kael felt it then—the sudden chill in the back of his throat.
"They think someone awakened something forbidden," Cerys continued. "And they're right."
He swallowed.
"Why tell me?"
"Because I'm bored." She walked past him. "And I hate being the only one who knows a secret."
She disappeared around the corner.
Kael stared at the empty air where she'd been.
Then looked down at his palm.
The mark had faded again.
But his shadow curled the wrong way.
It didn't follow the light.
It followed him.
Later that night, Kael returned to the ruins behind the elemental forge. The broken courtyard where he first trained was now sealed with fresh sigils. Official-looking. Layered. Dangerous.
So he found a new place.
The rooftop above the Ashbound kitchens—half-collapsed and mostly ignored.
He stood beneath the stars, wind teasing his coat, and exhaled slowly.
"Okay," he murmured. "If you're real… if you're listening… show me something that doesn't want to be seen."
His shadow rippled.
A flicker.
Not across the stone—but in the air.
Like something was folded there.
Waiting.
Kael reached out with one hand.
And the sky tore open.
Only for an instant.
A slit in the night—blacker than the sky, pulsing like a heartbeat.
On the other side, he saw… a throne again.
The same as before.
But this time, someone else sat on it.
Not him.
Not a reflection.
Another figure.
Eyes glowing like moons carved from amethyst.
Watching.
The slit sealed.
Kael staggered back, chest tight.
And behind him—
Footsteps.
He turned.
And saw a man in silver and green, cloak fluttering like mist.
Older.
Eyes cold.
Smile thinner than steel.
"You're late to be practicing, Ashbound," the man said.
Kael's throat closed.
"…You're the Scalemaster."
The man bowed slightly.
"Call me Invar. I find… unusual things. And you, Kael Maelvaran, are very unusual."
Kael said nothing.
But the mark on his hand ached.
Not from fear.
From warning.
Invar stepped closer.
"Let's have a talk. Just you, me… and whatever's hiding in your blood."