The morning sun cast a golden veil over the lush plains of Eldoria. Birds of violet feather glided between sky-islands that floated lazily above the horizon. Beneath them, walking with a limp but steady steps, was Kael Ramos—now Rael.
His cloak was new. Brown, modest, hooded. His boots were scuffed from forest paths, and the burns on his hands, though healing, still ached when clenched. But in his eyes, there was no weakness. Only resolve.
He crested a hill and came to a stop.
Before him, nestled in a wide river valley, stood a breathtaking city built around a towering mountain. The floating city he'd seen faintly in the sky was tethered above its highest spire with long, glowing ley-lines. Magical currents shimmered in the air like northern lights.
Cindrial—the city beneath the skies. He'd overheard the name from a group of beastkin traders yesterday.
"This must be it," Rael murmured, adjusting his hood. "The gateway to the Academy."
He entered the city through a checkpoint where guards—some armored humans, others scaled lizardfolk—briefly inspected him and waved him through without much interest. He kept his aura tightly suppressed, his soul quiet, his stance unassuming.
Inside, the streets bustled with life. Arcane carts zipped down glowing rail tracks. Merchants shouted about enchanted scrolls and mana-thread robes. Students in colored robes—green, blue, gold—laughed, sparred, or floated on glyph disks overhead.
But Rael's gaze was drawn to a massive silver tower at the city's heart. Its tip almost kissed the clouds. Etched along its spiraling surface were runes so ancient, his Solari blood stirred just looking at them.
"That's it," he whispered. "Arcane Academy."
A Merchant's Curse
Before making his way there, Rael knew he needed two things: shelter and coin.
He wandered into the eastern trade quarter where the scent of roasted beastmeat mixed with the crisp scent of spell-smoke. A cluster of people had gathered around a frantic dwarf, his beard practically ablaze with frustration.
"Damn this cursed crate! I've tried every purification rune!" the dwarf bellowed, kicking a wooden chest. "It zaps anyone who touches it!"
A curious onlooker reached for the crate—and yelped as a bolt of blue lightning arced into their hand.
"Serves ya right, ya fool!" the dwarf snapped.
Rael stepped forward, eyes narrowing.
"What kind of curse?" he asked calmly.
The dwarf blinked at the cloaked youth. "Who's askin'?"
"Someone who might help."
A moment passed. Then the dwarf crossed his arms. "Fine. Name's Brumli. I bought this box off a drifter. Opened it, and—bam—curse rune latches to it like a leech. Every mage I hired failed. If you can dispel it, I'll pay twenty gold."
Rael studied the crate, letting a whisper of spirit sense wash over it. Instantly, his inner energy flared in recognition.
It wasn't a curse. It was a binding echo—an ancient Solari trick meant to trap malevolent spirits in containers, not curse them.
"Stand back," Rael said quietly.
He placed his palm over the runes, channeled a sliver of his inner resonance—the ember of his bloodline. Golden threads of energy laced into the wood. The rune pulsed once, then cracked and dissolved like dust in the wind.
The chest opened with a creak, revealing a scroll and a glimmering crystal.
The crowd gasped.
Brumli's jaw dropped. "By the gods…"
Rael shut the lid gently. "It was a binding echo. Not a curse. Be more careful who you buy from."
Brumli handed over twenty gold coins, eyes still wide. "You've got talent, kid. Ever think of joining the Academy?"
Rael offered a faint smile. "That's the plan."
A School of Legends
The gates to Arcane Academy loomed like a fortress entrance, but shimmered with magical glyphs instead of steel. Dozens of potential students were lined up, guarded by golems and instructors robed in silver.
A posted announcement read:
> ENTRANCE EXAM – THREE DAYS FROM NOW
Applicants will be tested in Mind, Magic, Combat, and Spirit. Only those who pass all four stages will be granted entry.
Warning: Cheating results in instant dismissal and memory seal.
Rael memorized the details and stepped aside.
He had three days.
Plenty of time.
Three Days of Preparation
Rael rented a room at a modest inn run by a kind elderly elf. He kept to himself, spending most of the day observing the city and studying public spell-boards that outlined basic spirit theory and mana classifications.
At night, he meditated.
In the dark room, golden sparks flickered around him as he balanced his soul energy and honed what was left of his Ember Ascension. The backlash from overusing it during his arrival still scarred his inner veins.
But it was healing.
Faster than it should've.
"Just like Father said," he muttered one night, eyes closed. "Emotions feed the fire. But control tames it."
He practiced with a wooden sword in an alley behind the inn, drawing forms from his clan's techniques. Blade arcs that combined grace with ferocity. His movements were efficient—flawless in flow, yet dull by design.
He was holding back. Always.
But that was the point.
No one could know what he truly was.
Not yet.
The Choice of Power
On the second day, Rael encountered a group of aspiring applicants sparring in the courtyard below the Academy.
A girl with silver hair conjured illusions to mislead her opponent, while a burly orc-like youth used brute strength to shatter magical barriers. Some wore enchanted rings or wielded heirloom staves.
Rael leaned against a tree, observing silently.
He felt the surge of pride and insecurity ripple through the crowd—each student trying to prove themselves, impress someone, or hide their fear.
One girl with red eyes and stormy aura noticed him and frowned. "Not going to show off?" she asked.
Rael shrugged. "No need. The exam will speak for itself."
She scoffed. "Arrogant much?"
"Confident," he replied. "There's a difference."
She rolled her eyes and walked away.
But others had taken notice of him.
By nightfall, whispers of the "quiet swordsman" began to spread among the hopefuls.
Rael ignored them.
His mind was elsewhere.
"Do I fight to win… or fight to blend in?" he asked himself, staring at his reflection in the inn mirror. "Show too little, and I'll get rejected. Show too much…"
They might come for me.
He remembered the letter his father once wrote, before the final siege of their world.
> "Power attracts power, Kael. But also envy. And gods do not like rivals."
So Rael decided.
He would pass the exam. But just barely.
Enough to enter.
Not enough to draw divine eyes.
Or so he thought.
The Night Before
The night before the exam, thunder rumbled beyond the floating isles. Rain fell gently over Cindrial's rooftops.
Rael stood alone on a high balcony, staring toward the heavens. Clouds veiled the stars, but behind them, he could feel it.
The presence.
The same one that chased him across galaxies. The one that ordered his people burned.
The Nameless God.
Somewhere, it watched. It always did.
"I'll survive this," Rael whispered. "I'll grow. I'll bury you in the ashes of what you tried to erase."
Below, students lit floating lanterns for luck.
Rael didn't.
He didn't believe in luck.
Only in will.
And the fire inside him that refused to die.