I packed my bags carefully in the pre-dawn darkness, the cottage silent except for the soft rustle of my movements. The Viper's Kiss went into my inventory alongside my other essentials, a secret weapon waiting to be drawn. Elowen had already left a small pouch on the kitchen table—her way of wishing me well without the fuss of a formal goodbye. Inside, I found a single gold coin that gleamed in the faint light. Combined with the 168 silver from my Moledile haul and the 50 silver I'd had previously, my total now stood at 218 coins—a respectable sum for any student, especially one with my humble background.
The morning air carried a sharp bite as I stepped outside, my breath pluming in silver clouds against the fading stars. The Windstrider Boots made light work of the familiar path to town, their enchantment turning what would have been an hour's walk into mere minutes of near-effortless movement. In the central square, where the night watch was just concluding their final rounds, I found the coach I sought waiting in its usual spot, the horses stamping their hooves impatiently against the cobblestones.
The transport was a sturdy, enclosed carriage drawn by two muscular draft horses, their dark coats steaming in the cold air. The coachman wore a thick woolen cap pulled low over his ears and a heavy cloak the color of dried moss against the morning chill. A polished brass lantern swung from its hook beside him, casting dancing shadows across the weathered wood of his seat and illuminating the fine mist that hung in the air.
"And where might you be off to so early, lad?" he grumbled around the pipe clenched between his teeth, the smoke carrying the scent of cheap tobacco. His voice carried that familiar lilting cadence that reminded me of the highland shepherds who sometimes passed through Oakhaven.
"The Ivory Academy," I said, producing the thirty silver coins from my pouch. The coins felt cool and solid in my palm, their weight a tangible reminder of the morning's efforts.
He counted the coins with practiced efficiency, his chapped fingers moving swiftly despite the cold. "A scholar, are ye? Well, that'll do then. Get in, don't have all morning to be sitting about." He pocketed the coins with a satisfied nod.
The carriage interior smelled of old leather, hay, and the faint, sweet scent of apples. I took a seat on the worn bench, listening to the coachman's muttered commands to his team and the creak of harnesses as we set into motion. With a lurch, we were off, the wheels rumbling over cobblestones before smoothing out as we hit the packed earth of the high road leading out of town.
I watched through the window as the sleeping countryside gave way to more cultivated lands, then to the outskirts of the city where the Academy stood like a crown upon the hill. The journey passed in a comfortable rhythm of hoofbeats and turning wheels, the lantern light gradually becoming unnecessary as dawn broke across the landscape in shades of rose and gold. Farmers could already be seen in distant fields, their figures small and determined against the waking land.
We arrived as the first rays of sunlight gilded the Academy's ivory spires, before the morning bell had begun to ring. The Academy gates stood open, the grounds still quiet in the early light, holding their breath before the day's activities began. I made my way to the dormitories, the Windstrider Boots silent on the flagstone paths, my shadow stretching long before me.
Entering my assigned room, I expected to find Kael still asleep or preparing for the day. Instead, his bed was neatly made, his belongings orderly but absent. Looking out the window, I spotted a familiar figure moving through the morning mist on the training fields with that distinctive, economical grace that marked all his movements.
I quickly changed into exercise clothes and joined him outside. The grass was damp with dew, soaking through my thin shoes immediately, the cold a sharp contrast to the warmth of the dormitory.
Kael didn't break rhythm as I fell into step beside him. "Finally decided to join the living, Adam? I was beginning to think you'd taken up permanent residence in dreamland." His eyes glinted with that familiar competitive fire that seemed to burn constantly just beneath his surface. "Seven laps. Let's see if those fancy boots can keep up with actual effort, or if they're just for show."
I matched his pace, the Windstrider Boots making my steps light and efficient at first, almost buoyant. By the third lap, my lungs burned with the familiar ache of pushed limits. By the fifth, my legs had turned to lead, each step requiring conscious effort despite the magical assistance.
"Your form's slipping," Kael noted, his breathing still even and controlled. "Shoulders back, breathe from your belly like I showed you. You fight like a cornered wolf, but you run like a startled deer—all panic and no plan."
I couldn't manage a response, saving my breath for the effort, focusing on the rhythm of my footfalls and the expanding ache in my muscles. The seventh lap finished with me huffing and panting, hands on my knees as I fought to get air into my starving lungs, the world swimming slightly at the edges of my vision.
Kael studied me, barely winded, his assessment clinical. "You've got power in you, I've seen it. But power's useless if you can't sustain it. Like a blade that shatters on first impact—pretty to look at, but ultimately worthless in a real fight. We'll work on that." There was no mockery in his tone, just simple statement of fact.
We made our way to the bathhouse, where steam rose from the heated pools in great clouds, carrying the scent of minerals and cleansing herbs. The hot water felt like heaven on my aching muscles, the heat seeping deep into tired tissue. I washed quickly, the simple soap and water feeling like the greatest luxury after the morning's exertions, the steam clearing my head as much as it cleansed my body.
Back in our room, we were pulling on our stiff new academy tunics—dark blue wool with ivory trim that scratched slightly at the neck—when the door swung open. Raven entered first, his sharp eyes taking in the scene with quick assessment. "Morning. Don't mind us," he offered with a curt nod before going straight to his trunk and beginning to change with efficient movements.
Wren followed, his attention immediately locking on me, a familiar energy crackling around him. "Adam! How was your weekend? Get up to anything interesting out in the countryside?" He leaned against his bedpost, clearly expecting detailed answers while he changed, his movements fluid and unconcerned.
"Just some hunting," I said vaguely, focusing on buttoning my tunic, the stiff new fabric unfamiliar against my skin. "Needed to restock supplies, clear my head before the week's studies." The half-truth came easily, born of long practice.
"Right, right," Wren said, though his tone suggested he didn't entirely believe me, his eyes lingering on the fresh scratch on my hand that hadn't been there on Friday. "Well, hope you're ready for Professor Alchemius's lecture. Rumor is he's starting practical demonstrations today—something about reactive properties of moon-touched minerals." He finally turned to his own dressing, though he continued watching me with that curious intensity he so often displayed.
As we finished dressing, the first morning bell rang out across the grounds, its deep bronze tone reverberating through the stone walls and setting the day officially into motion. We joined the stream of students flowing toward the cafeteria, the smell of fresh bread, frying bacon, and something herbal—perhaps thyme or rosemary—guiding us through the stone corridors filled with the murmur of morning conversations and the scuff of boots on flagstones.
We turned a corner into the main hallway leading to the dining hall and nearly collided with Cain. His appearance stopped me cold, so dramatic was the change since I'd last seen him. Dark, bruised-looking bags hung under his bloodshot eyes, which seemed to have sunk deeper into their sockets. His skin had taken on a pale, almost waxy quality, and his hands trembled visibly at his sides, the shaking so pronounced I could see it from several paces away. He kept clenching and unclenching his fists as if trying to steady them, but the tremor persisted. His hair stood at wild, desperate angles as if he'd been repeatedly dragging his hands through it. But most disturbing was the way he moved—a strange, jerky stiffness that spoke of exhaustion pushed to its absolute limits.
He stared straight through the twins, through Kael, his gaze locking directly on me with an intensity that felt physical. When he spoke, his voice was raw, stripped down to a single word that hung in the air between us like a threat or a promise of violence, charged with something dark and desperate that hadn't been there before.
"You."