After 2 months...
Kallen stood at the entrance to the Academy's main building, no longer as a temporary student but officially, with a signature, a seal, and all that shit. He was wearing a fresh uniform: a dark blue vest, a black shirt, and the Academy's silver emblem on his chest. The collar was tight as a noose, but he didn't complain. Not anymore.
Two months, and he's changed. Silently. Without pathos. Without confessions. He's just different.
"Are you coming?" a voice asked from the side.
Reina. Still wearing her perfectly pressed cloak. Her eyes were like hot coals, and her eyelashes cast shadows on her cheeks. She wasn't smiling, but there was a tone in her voice that could have been interpreted as support. Or simply neutrality. He wasn't sure.
"I'm coming, I'm coming. Don't eat me," he muttered, and followed her.
First day of the first year.
The Academy has issued a new schedule: seven disciplines. Each one lasts thirty minutes, no exceptions, no extra breathing. If you're late, expect punishment. If you're stupid, no one will baby you.
The first lesson is the Theory of First-Level Magic.
The teacher is Archmage Lokhai.
Kalen was sitting in the front row. It wasn't because he wanted to, it was just the way things were arranged. The archmage emerged from the portal without saying a word and began writing on the blackboard with a piece of chalk.
"Magic," he said in a low voice, "begins with understanding what you fear."
Kalen leaned forward.
He knew what he was afraid of. He remembered the burning needles in his eyes, the mouths filled with flesh, the endless screaming inside, all within a nightmare that lasted forever.
It was a good thing that no one saw his fingers tremble.
The second lesson is Fiction.
A form of magic based on imagination, thought patterns, and the creation of illusions and fake constructs of reality. The teacher was a woman in a moss-colored robe whose name he couldn't remember. She spoke softly, as if recounting dreams. However, the lesson was valuable.
Kalen learned quickly — he memorized faster than he spoke. Imagination techniques, the structure of falsehood, ways to reinforce the fiction in the mind. He enjoyed it.
The third lesson is Ephota.
Aura magic. A direction that requires a balance between the body and the magical core. Here, Kalen almost lost it as his aura began to resonate with the Shadow. He could feel a growing пульсация on his back, where the tattoo rested, and had to hold his breath to keep from giving himself away.
Fourth: Fundamentals of Artifactorics.
Everything related to enchanting objects, weaving magical circuits, and creating simple magical mechanisms. He simply absorbed it without asking any unnecessary questions.
The fifth is the History of Magical Wars.
Kalen yawned. There was no power here. Just dusty pages, dates, and names. He hated it. But he remembered. Because he knew that behind every name was magic. And death.
The sixth is Combat training.
It was his home. He was given a training sword, and he went up against the second student and took him down in four strikes. No magic. No shadow. Just technique, muscle, and endurance. The teacher narrowed his eyes and made a note. Kalen said nothing.
The seventh is Core Self-Control.
Meditation. Immersion. Contact with your own magic.
Kalen sat down, closed his eyes, and once again heard the pulse of the Shadow. Somewhere deep within, Ward was watching. He was not interfering. But he was there.
When the lessons were over, Kalen went outside and looked at the sky. Clear. Clean. Blue.
And yet, inside him, there was a different sky—black, pulsating, echoing with the breath of others.
He wasn't going to fall behind.
He wasn't going to stop.
And let the Academy think that he's just an ordinary first-year student. Let them smile, throw out phrases, and make bets.
He came to fuck.
So-further only up.
After dinner, where he barely touched his food, Kalen went up to the dorm. The corridors were buzzing with voices, and the golden sunset was reflected in the windows, but he didn't pay attention. His head was buzzing. Not from fatigue, but from restraint.
When he entered the room, Reyna was sitting by the window, her back to him. Her scarlet eyes were catching the last rays of the sun, and her hair, almost black with a hint of ash, fell over her shoulders. She was writing something in a notebook. Her handwriting was perfect. As was everything about her.
"You're late," she said quietly, without turning her head.
"I was in the gym after class," Kalen replied, taking off his vest and walking over to his bed. "Jogging, push-ups, sword. It's the usual routine."
She put down her pen and finally looked at him.
"You've changed. Too quickly. The Academy doesn't make people strong in two months. It breaks them."
He didn't answer. He just sat down and took off his shoes. His body ached, but not in the same way as before. The pain had become a part of his routine. Like breakfast. Or the silence of the evening.
Reina studied him with her eyes. Not mockingly. Not hostilely. Just... as if she was looking for confirmation of her guess.
"Whatever you're hiding," she said finally, "don't let it eat you up."
He chuckled. It's bitter.
"It's getting late.
Night.