Beneath the glamor and magic lies a world of politics, power games, and ancient conspiracies. Through classes, rivalries, and an unexpected duel, Kael begins to understand the system—and prepares to break it from within.
Morning at Aurorium began with the Invocation of Ascent—a tradition where students gathered beneath the mirrored spires to hear from the Headmaster or his proxies. The glass ceiling above reflected not just the crowd—but who they could become.
Today, the speaker was Arch-Magus Thalion Vex, a living relic of the Eternal Flame Order, draped in red robes stitched with dragon sinew.
He walked to the dais and spoke with a voice like distant thunder:
"You are not here to be taught. You are here to remember. Magic is not learned. It is reclaimed—from your ancestors, your bones, your blood."
Kael stood in the crowd, silent.
The others clapped.
But Kael felt something strange: a second voice, just beneath Vex's. A whisper that only he could hear:
"The fire remembers you. Even if you forget it."
The class was held in a dome of living crystal, with timelines etched along the walls in ever-shifting runes.
Their professor, Master Ilthis Variel, was blind—but could see the "threads of memory" in each student.
He recounted the fall of the Kingdom of Ordyn Vell, a realm that vanished in a single night during the First Godwar.
"They say Ordyn Vell defied the gods. Built a city in the sky. Raised mortals to divinity."
"It was wiped from the world… but not from the blood."
Kael glanced down.
The Epochbrand, still hidden in his ring, pulsed faintly.
"Some of you carry that blood. You don't even know it."
Kael didn't notice Lia watching him, eyes narrowed.
Afternoons were for combat drills in the Arena of Fractured Flame—a field of shifting stone platforms hovering over lava channels.
Instructor Drel Stormborne, a thunder mage and former general, stood shirtless in storm-wrought armor. He addressed the class:
"Forget what your house taught you. Here, nobility means nothing. Only duels matter."
Duel circles were used to resolve disputes—and rise in rank. Victories meant honor. Defeats? Shame, and lowered privileges.
And to everyone's surprise…
Kael was challenged.
Alaric Thorneveil, a scion of one of the Twelve Great Houses, smirked as he stepped forward.
Tall, gold-haired, with a sigil blade gifted by his father, he was a fourth-rank duel prodigy. Known for defeating three students simultaneously during his first year.
"Kael Veyrion," he said mockingly. "From a border family no one's heard of. Curious that the Flame of Convergence turned silver for you."
"Let's see what you're hiding."
Kael stepped into the circle.
Whispers rippled through the crowd. Lia's face tightened. Riven just watched silently.
The ring activated.
Alaric struck first—lightning leaping from his blade, forming a whip of crackling plasma.
Kael dodged—not with elegance, but with precision.
He didn't draw a weapon.
The crowd murmured.
"Is he suicidal?" someone whispered.
Another arc came. Kael deflected it—not with magic, but with his palm, channeling the energy into the ground through a ward he instinctively created.
Stormborne's eyes narrowed.
"That's advanced Arcanic Redirection. Who taught you that?"
No one had.
Kael didn't know how he did it. It was like his body remembered what his mind did not.
Alaric laughed. "Parlor tricks, then."
He activated the second form of his blade—a blood-sigil passed down through Thorneveil generations. The air darkened.
Time slowed.
Now, the Epochbrand answered.
Kael reached into his ring—light flashing as the sword slid into his hand.
Everyone gasped.
The blade burned silver and gold, its runes shifting like stars.
The first strike cracked Alaric's whip.
The second shattered his defense.
Kael didn't finish him.
He stopped an inch from Alaric's throat.
"I'm not what you think," he said quietly.
"But I'm also not what I think yet."
He walked out of the ring.
Alaric lay stunned, humiliated—not just by defeat, but by the realization he hadn't even scratched Kael.
That night, Kael returned to the Ember Dorm.
Lia waited in the hallway. "That was… insane."
Kael shrugged. "He asked for it."
"No, you don't get it," she said, lowering her voice. "That sword? The runes? That's not minor noble blood. That's Epoch blood. From the Old Cycle."
Kael tensed.
"You need to be careful," she whispered. "Thorneveil doesn't forget insults. And if you're what I think you are…"
"You're not safe here. Not from them. Not from the faculty. Maybe not even from us."
Far above, in a tower of polished obsidian, the Headmaster watched Kael's duel replay in a magical scrying glass.
Beside him, a pale woman cloaked in crows emerged from the shadows.
"It's him," she whispered.
The Headmaster nodded. "The Cycle turns once more."
"Should we move against him?"
"No. Let him grow."
He touched the glass, where Kael's image held the Epochbrand.
"This time, we break the gods before the world burns."