Chapter 3 – Sparks and Shadows
The dormitory smelled faintly of old parchment and candle smoke. Karl trudged through the long hallway, his boots echoing against marble floors. Every wall was lined with moving portraits of famous mages: stern faces in gilded frames, their eyes tracking him with disdain as though even painted legends could sense he didn't belong.
Karl tried not to notice. He adjusted the strap of his satchel and muttered under his breath, "First day, and I've already lifted a fountain. Great way to make friends."
"Friends?" a voice sneered.
Karl turned. A boy leaned against the doorway ahead, arms folded across his chest. He was tall, pale-skinned, his blond hair gleaming like polished gold. His robes were trimmed in crimson, embroidered with a crest Karl didn't recognize—a serpent coiled around a staff. His eyes were icy blue, sharp as daggers.
"Or maybe you mean jesters," the boy said coolly. "Because that's all you are here. A joke."
Karl sighed. "And you are?"
"Damien Veylor." The boy smirked. "Yes—Veylor, as in Headmaster Veylor. My grandfather runs this academy. Which means I don't have to share the halls with… sparkless peasants."
Karl raised his brows. "Wow. You got all that arrogance from your family name? Or is it natural talent?"
Snickers echoed from a few students clustered nearby. Damien's smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of fury.
"You don't belong here," Damien hissed. "You'll fail every class, embarrass yourself in every duel, and when the council realizes what a mistake this is, you'll be sent back to whatever mud hole you crawled out of."
Karl's grin widened. "Maybe. But until then, you're stuck with me. Hope you like mud."
For a moment, Damien looked ready to draw his wand. The air around him shimmered faintly, sparks gathering at his fingertips. But then a voice cut in.
"Leave him alone, Damien."
Both boys turned. A girl stood at the end of the hall, clutching a stack of books so high it nearly covered her face. Her robes were plain gray, unadorned, though a faint glow seemed to cling to her fingers as she balanced the pile. She pushed a strand of curly auburn hair behind her ear and adjusted her glasses.
"You again," Damien muttered. "Do yourself a favor, Lira. Stay out of this."
She frowned. "Do yourself a favor and stop picking fights. Not everyone is terrified of you."
Damien's lips curled. "They should be." He flicked his wand. The books in Lira's arms flew apart, scattering across the floor like startled birds.
Karl's jaw clenched. Before he could think, he stepped forward, scooped one of the fallen books off the ground, and hurled it—not at Lira, but at Damien's hand. The impact smacked his knuckles hard enough that Damien yelped, dropping his wand.
The other students gasped.
Karl smirked. "Oops. Guess muscles are good for something."
Damien's face turned crimson. "You'll regret that, Draven." He snatched up his wand, spun on his heel, and stalked away, his entourage trailing behind like obedient shadows.
The hallway quieted. Lira crouched to gather her books, cheeks flushed. Karl knelt to help.
"Thanks," she murmured, pushing her glasses up. "Most people don't stand up to Damien. Especially not on their first day."
Karl shrugged, stacking the books in his arms. "Yeah, well, most people can't throw a fountain around either."
That earned him a small smile. "I'm Lira. Lira Vale."
"Karl." He offered her the pile. "Resident sparkless peasant."
Lira giggled softly, then shook her head. "Not sparkless. Different. I saw what you did at the fountain. That wasn't magic, but it wasn't ordinary either. You're stronger than any normal person should be. There's something… unusual about you."
Karl frowned. He wanted to laugh it off, but her tone was serious. "If by unusual you mean I've been chopping wood since I could walk, then yeah, I guess."
But her eyes narrowed, thoughtful. "No. It's more than that. You don't realize it yet, do you?"
Before Karl could respond, the floor trembled. A low hum rolled through the air, rattling the glass lanterns overhead. Students stumbled, clutching the walls.
"What was that?" Karl asked.
Lira's face went pale. "Not here. Come on."
She grabbed his wrist and pulled him down the hall. They pushed through the heavy doors into the courtyard.
The sky above the academy had darkened unnaturally, clouds spiraling into a vortex that blotted out the sun. Thunder cracked, jagged and furious. And at the center of the storm—a shadow loomed, tall and indistinct, its shape flickering as though torn between worlds.
Karl's breath hitched. The figure stretched across the clouds like a wound in the sky, its voice a whisper that slithered through the air:
"The sparkless one walks among you. His strength is a curse. His path leads only to ruin."
Students screamed. Professors rushed into the courtyard, their wands raised, spells of protection shimmering against the storm. The shadow's form shivered, then split into a thousand shards of darkness that rained down like broken glass before vanishing altogether.
Silence fell, heavy and suffocating.
Karl realized every eye had turned to him.
Lira's hand tightened on his sleeve. Her voice trembled. "They were talking about you."
Karl swallowed hard, his mouth dry. "Yeah. I caught that."
---
That night, the academy buzzed with whispers. Students crowded the halls, trading theories about the storm, the shadow, the curse.
Karl sat alone on his narrow bed in the dormitory, staring at his calloused hands. His muscles felt heavier than ever, as though the storm's words had lodged in his bones.
A curse.
Was that what he was? Not a mistake, but something worse—something dangerous?
He squeezed his fists, knuckles whitening. "No. I'm not cursed. I'm just… me."
But even as he said it, he wasn't sure he believed it.
Outside his window, lightning flashed in the distance, illuminating the academy towers like jagged teeth. And in the shadows of the forest beyond, something stirred—watching, waiting.
The Void King's gaze had found Karl Draven.
And it would not turn away.