The academy gate stirred as Kaelric approached, the embedded relic giving off a faint pulse that ran through the stone.
The guard's gaze lifted in advance. It did not linger on Kaelric's face. It settled on the deep-blue fabric instead, tracing the clean cut of the sleeves, the unfamiliar dye.
A moment passed. Then the guard stepped aside.
No greeting. No comment.
Kaelric adjusted his robes before stepping into the academy hall.
They were new. Not ceremonial, not flashy, but clean and well-fitted, dyed a muted blue that absorbed the morning light instead of throwing it back. The old onyx set had been practical. Forgettable. These were not. The color wasn't chosen for visibility or status. Deep blue sat between shadow and sky, refusing both. It didn't belong to any clan he cared about. It didn't announce a path. It suggested discipline without declaring allegiance.
Several students noticed.
None commented.
The academy hall was already awake. Benches scraped softly against stone as students settled in. Relics hummed at rest, a low, uneven thrum that blended into the space like insects hidden in tall grass. Sunlight spilled through the high crystal panes, catching dust motes and turning them briefly gold before they vanished again.
Training outside was only part of the academy. Everyone knew that. Sparring shaped the body. Lessons shaped how long you lived afterward.
Instructor Maerin stood at the front when the bell chimed.
Green robes fell straight from her shoulders, plain and practical, sleeves tied back for work rather than ceremony. Her brown hair was bound neatly at the nape of her neck. As her gaze swept the hall, a few students in the front row lifted their chins without realizing it.
She rested one hand against the desk beside her, and even that small motion carried weight. Brown eyes settled briefly on each cluster of seats before moving on, steady and unhurried. The room aligned itself around her without instruction.
She did not raise her voice.
"Sit."
The room obeyed.
Her gaze paused briefly on Kaelric.
"You weren't at relic training yesterday."
"I wasn't well."
She held his gaze for a breath, then turned back to the hall.
"You've been refining Relics for over a month," she said. "Some of you poorly. Some of you recklessly. A few of you…" Her gaze passed, briefly, over Kaelric, Aurella, and Gavric. "…with enough restraint to survive your own curiosity."
A few students straightened. A few scowled.
"Today," Maerin continued, "we are not discussing techniques. We are discussing why Relics exist in the first place."
A hand shot up immediately from the back.
Maerin ignored it.
"Relics are constructs," she said. "They are not alive. They do not think. They do not decide. Any of you who still believe a relic 'likes' you are confusing cause with indulgence."
Muted laughter rippled through the hall.
"A relic is forged from material," she continued, "and a trace of rogue heaven essence. A trace so thin most of you will never sense it directly. Without it, the structure collapses. The function decays. What remains is just a tool."
She tapped the stone board behind her. Lines flared to life. Layers of material. Binding arrays. And threaded through them, barely visible, a thin luminous vein.
"That fragment is not a gift," Maerin said. "It is residue."
That drew attention.
"Heaven essence does not stay whole," she went on. "Most of it disperses. It bleeds into stone, water, air, soil. It thins. Weakens. Loses cohesion."
Lorin near the front frowned. "Then how do Vitalis stones—"
Maerin raised a finger.
"—exist?" she finished for him. "Because dilution does not mean absence. It means harmless."
She faced the class fully now.
"Vitalis stones are condensation points. Places where dispersed essence settles without retaining intent. No will. No resistance. That is why quantity matters more than finesse when refining them. And why every cultivator relies on them."
A few students exchanged glances. Someone scribbled furiously.
"Compare that," Maerin continued, "to Relic-grade essence. Concentrated. Structured. Resistant. The higher the rank, the more of that resistance remains. Which is why construction difficulty rises exponentially."
She paused.
"And why no verified Relics above rank six exist."
A murmur moved through the hall.
"Not even the great clans?" someone whispered.
Maerin heard it. "Not even them."
Maerin's gaze shifted. She did not wait for hands this time.
"Kaelric."
He looked up.
"If diluted heaven essence carries no will," she said, "why does relic-grade essence resist refinement?"
The room quieted.
Kaelric held her gaze. For a moment, nothing surfaced. Not instinct. Not memory. Just absence.
He answered anyway.
"Density," he said after a breath. "Structure. The fragment is more concentrated, so it pushes back harder."
Maerin did not nod.
She waited.
The silence stretched.
Kaelric's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He had no more to give.
Aurella leaned forward.
"Because Relic-grade essence isn't just denser," she said calmly. "It's coherent."
Maerin turned to her.
"Explain."
Aurella rose smoothly. "Diluted essence disperses into the world. It bleeds into stone, water, roots, air. Vitalis stones form where that residue condenses harmlessly, without identity."
She gestured lightly.
"But Relic fragments don't disperse. They retain internal alignment. Not will, but direction. When you refine one, your aperture doesn't just absorb energy, it has to overwrite that alignment."
She paused, eyes flicking briefly toward Kaelric before returning to the class.
"That overwrite leaves an imprint."
Maerin stepped forward.
"That imprint is called an etching," she said. "Because refinement does not grant mastery. It grants recognition."
She let her gaze sweep the room.
"When you refine a Relic, your aperture learns what it does before it learns how to use it properly. Effects come first. Control comes later, if at all."
Aurella inclined her head.
"When a cultivator refines a Relic," she added, "its function imprints itself onto the aperture. Different paths leave different etchings. Most are shallow. They fade."
She paused.
"If etchings conflict, or accumulate beyond what the aperture can reconcile, backlash follows. Not because the relic rebels, but because the aperture cannot stabilize incompatible structures."
Silence held the hall.
Maerin nodded once.
She turned back to the class. "Knowing a relic's effect does not mean you can wield it safely. Stack incompatible imprints carelessly, and your own foundation will punish you."
A few students glanced uneasily at the relics resting beside them.
"And yes," Maerin added, "this applies to defensive relics. Clan-issued ones included."
That landed.
She waved a hand. "Break. Ten minutes."
The hall erupted.
Benches scraped back. Conversations spilled over one another. Small clusters formed, arguments already igniting.
Kaelric stood, intending to cross toward Daren.
He made it two steps.
Aurella passed close enough that her sleeve brushed his arm. She did not slow.
"No blood today?" she murmured, grey eyes forward, voice low. There was a faint, dangerous gleam in her gaze. "Come sit with us then."
He hesitated for a fraction of a second.
Then he turned.
Seryn and Gavric were already seated near one of the side pillars. Seryn spoke animatedly, hands moving as she recounted something trivial, her expression open, unguarded. At one point her fingers caught in her braid, tugging it loose before she let it fall again.
Gavric listened.
She laughed.
Gavric smiled back.
The smile lingered a heartbeat too long, as if he were holding onto the sound after it had already faded.
Kaelric noticed.
He said nothing.
It was harmless. Just… instructive.
Daren stood a short distance away, watching Kaelric with wary eyes. There was no jealousy in his posture anymore. Just caution. Shared understanding. A lie neither of them named.
Kaelric inclined his head slightly. Daren looked away.
Nearby, students debated Maerin's lesson. One argued that the clan's vitalis river must be diluted heaven essence that never bonded. Another scoffed, calling it romantic nonsense. A third worried aloud about how many relics were too many.
Life, in fragments.
Aurella sat opposite Kaelric, studying him openly now. Her gaze flicked briefly to his sleeve, to the faint discoloration near the cuff.
"No hunting today," she said lightly.
"Tomorrow, maybe," he replied.
Her eyes lingered.
The bell rang again.
Maerin's voice cut through the hall. "Seats. Now."
As students returned to their places, Aurella did not look away from Kaelric.
Not once.
And Kaelric, for the first time that morning, felt certain of one thing.
She was watching closely.