Thalen's feet barely touched the floor as Instructor Vorren hauled him through the halls, the dragonkin's grip like iron. Students scattered at the sight, whispering behind cupped hands.
He wanted to say something — to explain, to ask — but his mouth was dry, his thoughts tangled. Every step seemed to echo with the word the voice had spoken.
Firstborn.
They passed from the East Wing into the central spire, the air growing cooler, heavier. The hallways narrowed into stone corridors lit only by orbs of pale blue light. Thalen had never been here before, but he felt the weight of the place in his bones.
At the end of the corridor was a tall set of doors carved with a dragon coiled around a blazing sun. Vorren knocked once. The sound rang like a bell.
The doors opened on their own.
Inside was a vast chamber that smelled faintly of incense and rain. Bookshelves climbed the walls, and maps of constellations glimmered faintly across the domed ceiling. At the far end sat Headmaster Calren — a slender man in silver-trimmed robes, his hair white as frost. His eyes were the color of deep water, and they fixed on Thalen the moment he entered.
Vorren bowed slightly. "He lost control during Combat Arts. Nearly tore the roof down."
Calren's gaze didn't waver. "Leave him."
For a heartbeat, Thalen thought Vorren might refuse, but the instructor gave a short nod and stepped out, the doors closing behind him.
The silence stretched. Thalen shifted under the headmaster's stare. "I didn't mean to—"
"You touched something ancient today," Calren said softly, but there was no gentleness in it. "Power that should not exist in this age."
"I don't even know what happened," Thalen said. "I was just—"
"Defending yourself. Yes. And yet you called lightning, cracked stone, and carved runes no living mage can name." Calren leaned forward slightly. "Do you know what you are, Thalen Aric?"
Thalen shook his head.
Calren studied him for a long moment, then stood. His robes whispered across the floor as he walked to a high shelf, pulling down a thin, leather-bound book. He set it on the desk and opened it to a faded page.
The illustration showed a figure crowned in light, wings of shadow and flame, standing over a battlefield. The eyes glowed silver.
The title beneath read: The Firstborn — Heirs of the Dawn
Thalen's breath caught. "That… looks like—"
"You," Calren finished. "Or rather, it did."
He closed the book gently. "The Firstborn vanished a thousand years ago, after the War of Sundering. Some say they were wiped out. Others… that they chose to leave. In either case, their bloodline should be gone."
"I'm not—" Thalen began, but Calren's gaze hardened.
"You bear their mark. I do not yet know if that is a gift… or a curse."
Before Thalen could respond, the doors opened again. A tall man in a black robe entered — pale hands clasped behind his back, eyes like shards of glass. Thalen's heart jolted. He'd seen him at the sealed door two nights ago.
"Headmaster," the man said, his voice smooth as oil, "the faculty council requests the boy be… tested."
Calren's jaw tightened. "He is not ready."
"That," the man said with a faint smile, "is precisely what we must determine."
They locked eyes, the air between them taut. Then Calren looked back at Thalen. "Go with Master Kael. He will… evaluate you."
Every instinct in Thalen screamed no. But Kael was already beside him, a hand on his shoulder. His grip was cold.
"This way," Kael murmured.
The halls beyond the headmaster's chamber were darker, the light from the orbs dim and sickly. They descended a narrow stair, deeper and deeper, until the air turned damp and smelled faintly of metal.
At last they emerged into a circular room lined with stone pillars. In the center was a raised platform carved with the same kind of runes that had flared beneath Thalen in the training hall.
"Stand there," Kael instructed.
Thalen hesitated. "What are you going to do?"
Kael's smile didn't reach his eyes. "We're going to find out exactly what you are."
The runes on the floor began to glow, faintly at first, then brighter. Thalen felt something pull at him — not physically, but deeper, like a hook in his chest. His breath quickened.
Resist. The voice from before surged in his mind, urgent. If you let him see, he will bind you.
The glow became blinding. Pain stabbed through Thalen's skull. He gasped, falling to one knee—
And then the runes shattered. Not faded — shattered, as if some invisible hammer had struck them. Light exploded outward, hurling Kael back into the wall.
When the glare faded, cracks spiderwebbed the stone floor, and Kael was slowly rising, his expression twisted in something between fury and fascination.
"Interesting," Kael murmured. "Very… interesting."
Before Thalen could move, Kael's hand snapped out — not to grab him, but to trace a rune in the air. The rune flared and vanished, and Thalen felt the hairs on his neck rise.
"That mark will let me find you," Kael said calmly. "Wherever you go."
Thalen's stomach turned cold.
"Run along, boy. Your time will come."
Kael turned away, his robe swirling, already dismissing him.
Thalen didn't wait to be told twice. He bolted for the door, up the stairs, not stopping until he saw the light of the main halls again.
But even there, among the chatter of students and the warmth of the lamps, he couldn't shake the feeling of cold fingers tracing the back of his neck — or the certainty that whatever Kael had started… had only just begun.