The door to the corridor closed softly behind him, the hum of the lecture hall now a distant echo. Sharo's footsteps were quiet against the stone floor, but his thoughts were anything but silent. The confrontation with the noble from House Karrel still felt fresh, the sting of his blows, the coldness of the magic he had wielded. But those sensations were fading now, slipping through his fingers like the frost he commanded. What mattered now was the path ahead, the long journey he had yet to travel.
Lira's words hung in the air like a phantom: "Your eyes… they're like ice that remembers fire."
They were simple, almost careless words, yet they dug into him, scraping at the edges of his soul. Sharo had spent his life concealing the storm that churned within him—his family's history, his bloodline, the ancient power that was his inheritance. Yet she had seen through it. How? What made her different?
A faint shiver ran down his spine, but he pushed it away. He couldn't afford to let himself be distracted. Not now. The world was full of people who would try to unravel him, to test him. And Sharo had learned long ago that when you stood in the cold, you had to learn to embrace it.
But the whispering students as he passed were harder to ignore. They buzzed with excitement, their voices low but sharp, carrying the weight of rumors and speculation.
"Did you see that? A Karrel… on the ground…"
"I heard he's just a commoner. No noble blood. How is that even possible?"
The whispers were like daggers in the air, cutting through the silence around him. Yet, he remained unshaken. Not yet.
As Sharo turned a corner into the academy's central courtyard, the sharp winter wind greeted him. The courtyard was empty for the moment, the stone tiles slick with frost. He paused, the cold biting at his skin, and closed his eyes for a brief moment, centering himself. The chill of the air, the emptiness of the courtyard—it felt familiar, like home.
But the peace was fleeting.
A shadow shifted at the far end of the courtyard. Sharo's senses flared, every muscle in his body tensing in an instant. The figure that emerged from the shadows was tall, cloaked in dark robes, his face obscured by a hood. The way the man moved—calm, measured, but with an undeniable presence—made Sharo's instincts scream. This was no ordinary academy staff member.
Sharo's fingers twitched toward the hilt of his sword, but he didn't draw it. Not yet.
The man stepped forward, the sound of his boots muffled by the snow. He stopped just a few feet away from Sharo, his eyes gleaming beneath the hood—dark, calculating, assessing. The air seemed to thicken, the space between them charged with an unseen force. Sharo could feel the pressure, like the air before a storm.
The man's voice came low, but it carried through the courtyard with unnatural clarity. "Impressive," he said, his tone almost… detached. "Not many have the courage to stand against House Karrel."
Sharo's gaze remained steady, though something inside him tightened at the mention of Karrel. He had known that his actions in the lecture hall would bring attention, but he hadn't expected it to come from someone like this.
The man smiled faintly, though there was no warmth in it—just the cool calculation of someone who had seen everything. "I am Professor Arlin," he continued, his voice carrying a quiet authority. "And you are Sharo Velcryn, correct?"
Sharo didn't answer immediately. He had no intention of revealing anything to this stranger—not yet. But the way the man spoke, the way his presence seemed to swallow the courtyard around them, told Sharo that this was no ordinary instructor. This was someone who had the weight of the academy on his shoulders. And his every word felt like it was being measured against a far greater purpose.
Professor Arlin took a step closer, his movements slow but purposeful. He wasn't in a hurry. "You've piqued my interest," he said, his gaze unwavering. "I've watched you for some time. You're not like the others here, are you, Sharo?"
The words felt heavy in the air, and for a brief moment, Sharo felt a flicker of unease. This man knew more than he was letting on. Arlin wasn't just a professor—he was a force, something Sharo could feel deep in his bones. The power radiated from him like the cold that clung to the courtyard, and Sharo knew—this man was dangerous.
"Your fight with Karrel?" Arlin's eyes darkened slightly, though the smile never left his lips. "It was more than a mere clash. You used magic, didn't you? A control over ice that goes far beyond the reach of your training here."
Sharo's jaw clenched. His control over his power was something he guarded fiercely. The black ice within him—the cold that burned with an unnatural, obsidian hue—was more than just a magic. It was an extension of his bloodline, something that had been passed down through generations of the Velcryns, an ancient legacy that ran as dark as the frozen veins in his own body. And it was something he had never fully learned to control.
Black ice wasn't like ordinary frost. It was volatile, dangerous, and deadly. It devoured warmth and light, consuming anything in its path. And for a long time, Sharo had hidden it—buried it deep within himself—because the last thing he wanted was for others to see just how powerful, how uncontrollable it could be.
"You think you're ready for this place," Arlin continued, his voice colder now, sharper. "But this academy doesn't care for potential, Sharo. It demands results. Only the strong survive here." His gaze sharpened, and Sharo felt an oppressive weight press against him. "The Ranking Exams are approaching. You've made your mark, but that's just the beginning. The real challenge lies ahead."
A flicker of something—anger, uncertainty, something darker—shifted in Sharo's chest. He wasn't afraid of tests, of challenges. He had faced far worse in his life. But the weight of Arlin's words, the chill in his presence, made it feel like he was standing at the edge of a precipice, unsure of how deep the fall would be.
Professor Arlin's smile remained, though there was no humor in it. "I hope you're ready, Sharo. Because you're about to find out just how far you're willing to go."
With that, Arlin turned, his cloak swirling around him, leaving Sharo standing alone in the courtyard. The air was still heavy with the aftertaste of the encounter. The breeze picked up, the cold biting deeper, but Sharo didn't flinch.
His mind was racing, his thoughts scattered. The Ranking Exams. He had heard of them, but he hadn't expected them to loom so soon. Arlin's words echoed in his mind, his presence still lingering like a shadow on Sharo's skin.
As Sharo walked away, his hand instinctively gripped the hilt of his sword. He had been warned. The challenge ahead wasn't just about his strength—it was about his survival.
Lira's words flitted through his mind once more, sharp and cutting: "Your eyes… they're like ice that remembers fire."
And for the first time since arriving at the academy, Sharo wondered if he truly understood what those words meant. His bloodline—his power—wasn't just a gift. It was a storm. A storm of black ice, cold and unforgiving. And storms were dangerous, both to those who wielded them and to those who stood in their path.