The courtyard was silent.
Too silent.
The duel had ended minutes ago, yet the air still trembled with the weight of what everyone had just witnessed. The boy who had been considered quiet, almost invisible among his peers, had defeated a seasoned opponent with a surge of power that no one could name.
Dozens of eyes clung to him now. Some wide with awe, some narrowed with suspicion, others filled with something darker—fear.
Elian stood in the center of the ring, breathing quietly, though his body still hummed with the remnants of that strange energy. His hand felt heavy, as though something had passed through it that did not belong entirely to him.
Finally, a voice broke the silence.
"Elian."
Instructor Ravel's tone was low but commanding. His dark cloak shifted as he stepped forward. The man's eyes—hard, calculating—pierced into Elian's as if trying to unravel the mystery in his soul.
"Come to my office after class," Ravel said. "We need to speak."
There was no room for refusal in his voice.
Elian simply nodded.
Around him, the whispers began almost instantly. They followed him like smoke, curling into every corner of the courtyard.
"Did you see that light?"
"It wasn't normal magic."
"It looked like… wings."
"No. Shadows. It felt wrong."
"Maybe both."
"Maybe he's cursed."
He walked away, pretending not to hear. But he could feel the words sticking to him, branding him.
At the edge of the field, Lyra moved with quiet purpose. Silver hair glinted in the fading sunlight, her violet eyes locked onto him with unusual intensity.
She stepped into his path, barring his way. Her arms crossed, chin tilted slightly upward.
"So," she said softly, her voice cutting through the noise around them, "care to explain?"
Elian blinked, pretending to misunderstand. "Explain what?"
Lyra's gaze sharpened. "Don't play dumb. That wasn't fire or wind or any of the common elements. It wasn't even light magic." She paused, searching his expression. "What was it?"
For a moment, Elian considered lying. But his tongue felt heavy, as if honesty was his only choice.
"…I don't know."
Something flickered in her eyes—surprise first, then doubt. But instead of mocking him like she often did, Lyra leaned closer, studying him like one might examine a rare artifact.
"You're strange, Elian," she murmured, her lips curling into the faintest of smirks. "But strange can be… interesting."
With that, she turned on her heel, her long braid swaying behind her as she disappeared into the crowd.
Elian stood still, her words echoing in his ears.
~Instructor's Office
Evening came.
The academy's stone halls were empty as Elian stood before the heavy oak door of Instructor Ravel's study. He knocked once.
"Enter."
Inside, shelves sagged under the weight of ancient tomes and glowing crystals. Maps and scrolls littered the desk, their edges burned with arcane markings. A single lamp cast sharp shadows across the room.
Ravel did not look up immediately. He continued to write, his quill scratching across parchment, before finally setting it aside.
"Sit."
Elian obeyed.
The instructor leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, eyes fixed upon him with unnerving precision.
"What you revealed today," Ravel began, "was not from the registry of known human magic. Not fire, not light, not shadow. Something else entirely."
"I don't understand it myself," Elian admitted.
Ravel studied him for a long moment, then sighed. "That's exactly what worries me. Power without knowledge is dangerous—to you, and to everyone around you."
The silence stretched between them. For a moment, Ravel's sternness softened. His voice grew quieter, almost paternal.
"If you feel changes—voices, visions, surges—you must come to me immediately. Do you understand?"
Elian hesitated, then nodded. "…Yes, sir."
"Good." Ravel's tone hardened again. "You may go. But remember—power attracts eyes, both kind and cruel. Be careful which ones you meet."
~Alone
The corridors of the academy were empty as Elian walked back. Torches sputtered along the walls, shadows dancing with every flicker.
Students who passed him offered glances—some fearful, some curious, some whispering still. He ignored them all.
At the end of the hall, he paused by a tall window. Moonlight spilled across the floor, silver and cold. He pressed his palm against his chest. Beneath his skin, he felt it—a steady thrum of energy, like a second heartbeat, whispering of something beyond him.
Why does it feel like this power belongs to me?
And if it does… what am I?
A chill swept the corridor.
Unseen by him, a cloaked figure lingered at the far end of the hall. Its eyes glowed faintly in the dark, watching him. Waiting. Then, as silently as mist, it slipped away into shadow.
Elian exhaled slowly, unaware he was being haunted already.