Chapter 5 – Whispers of the Void
The academy slept uneasily.
Karl lay on his narrow bed, staring at the ceiling beams that creaked with the night wind. Outside, the moonlight spilled across the towers like silver blood, the stained-glass windows glowing faintly with their own inner fire.
Sleep refused to come. His fists still tingled from the duel with Damien, but it wasn't the fight that kept him awake—it was the storm's voice.
The sparkless one walks among you. His strength is a curse.
The words pressed against his skull like a brand. He had laughed it off in front of Lira, joked that he was on the Void King's "list," but alone in the dark, it didn't feel funny anymore.
At some point, exhaustion dragged him under.
And then the dream came.
---
Karl stood in a wasteland of ash. The sky was torn, bleeding darkness into itself. Towering spires lay broken and smoking, the banners of Arcana Academy shredded and burning in the dirt.
He staggered forward, his boots sinking into black sand. The air reeked of sulfur.
A figure rose from the shadows ahead, impossibly tall, its form shifting like smoke caught in a storm. Its eyes burned like twin stars swallowed by void.
The Void King.
Karl tried to speak, but his throat closed. His body refused to move.
The shadow's voice poured into his mind, icy and ancient.
"You are mine."
Karl's chest clenched. He fought to move, to lift his fists, to do something, but invisible chains bound his arms.
"Strength without spark. Power without anchor. You are the fracture through which I will enter this world."
The void around him pulsed. The ground split, molten cracks spreading like veins of fire. From them, clawed hands reached up—shadow-creatures dragging themselves free, their eyeless faces turning toward him.
Karl roared, straining against the chains. His muscles bulged, his veins burned, and with one last surge, he tore free. The chains shattered.
The shadow froze.
Karl grabbed the nearest clawed creature by the neck and hurled it into the fissure. Another lunged, and he smashed his fist through its skull. Ash exploded.
The Void King's laughter rumbled like an earthquake.
"Good… Break your chains, Karl Draven. Break them all. Every blow you strike feeds me. Every act of strength opens the gate wider."
The ground collapsed beneath him. Karl fell, darkness swallowing him whole—
---
He woke with a violent gasp, drenched in sweat, sheets tangled around him like bindings. His chest heaved. The moonlight had shifted; hours had passed.
It had been a dream.
But his fists were bleeding.
---
The next morning, Karl sat hunched in the dining hall, staring at his untouched bread. The other students crowded the long tables, chattering about spells and classes, their laughter a constant reminder that he was an outsider.
Lira slid into the bench across from him, balancing her usual stack of books. She studied his face.
"You didn't sleep."
Karl gave a humorless chuckle. "Was it that obvious? What gave it away—the bloodshot eyes or the fact I look like a zombie?"
"Both," she said simply.
He rubbed the back of his neck. For a moment he thought about telling her everything—the wasteland, the chains, the Void King's voice. But saying it out loud made it too real.
Instead, he muttered, "Bad dreams."
Her gaze lingered, sharp and knowing, but she didn't press.
Before she could reply, someone dropped onto the bench beside Karl with the subtlety of a falling boulder.
"Draven! Fountain-lifter! Curse-breaker! Hero of hallway book-stacks!"
Karl blinked. A boy grinned at him, all teeth and wild energy. His messy black hair stuck out in every direction, and his robes were stained with what looked suspiciously like soot.
"…Who are you?" Karl asked warily.
"Jax Fenwick." The boy thrust out a hand, nearly knocking Karl's cup over. "Future Archmage of Explosions. Current expert in blowing things up accidentally."
Karl raised a brow. "That last part tracks."
Jax laughed, unbothered. "Saw your duel yesterday. That punch? Beautiful. The way Damien's face crumpled—pure art. If you ever want to team up, you punch, I blast, we make history."
Karl couldn't help but chuckle. "You're insane."
"Correct," Jax said cheerfully.
Lira rolled her eyes. "He's also reckless. Last week he tried to enchant a cauldron to stir itself and blew up half the Alchemy wing."
"Correction," Jax said, pointing a finger. "Three-quarters of the Alchemy wing. Efficiency, Vale. Efficiency."
Karl shook his head, grinning despite himself. For the first time since arriving, the knot in his chest loosened. Maybe he wasn't completely alone here.
---
Their fragile peace didn't last long.
That evening, Mistress Elowen summoned all first-years to the training yard, a vast expanse of stone and sand encircled by glowing wards.
"You have entered Arcana Academy at a dangerous time," she said, her voice cutting through the murmurs. "The shadow you witnessed is not idle. The Void King stirs. And he seeks a vessel."
Karl stiffened. His hands curled into fists.
Elowen's gaze swept the crowd. "Tonight, you will be tested—not by me, but by the wards themselves. These stones are ancient, bound with spells older than kingdoms. They reveal weakness. They reveal lies. Step into the circle, and you will face the truth of yourself."
Students shifted uneasily. Some looked eager, others afraid.
Karl's stomach churned. Truth of yourself? What if mine isn't worth seeing?
Names were called. One by one, students stepped into the circle. The wards flared, illusions rising to test them—fear made manifest, weakness revealed. A boy who bragged of courage cowered before a phantom serpent. A girl who flaunted her control lost her grip, her own spells turning against her.
Then Elowen's voice rang out: "Karl Draven."
The crowd hushed.
Karl stepped into the circle. The wards hummed. Light wrapped around him like chains of fire.
And the world vanished.
---
He stood once again in the wasteland of his dream.
The Void King loomed before him, vast and endless.
"You cannot run from me, Karl Draven," the voice boomed. "You are the fracture. You are the key."
Karl roared, fists clenched. "I'm not your anything!"
The shadow laughed. Chains whipped from the ground, coiling around his arms and chest. This time, they bit deeper, burning like molten iron.
Karl strained, muscles bulging, sweat pouring down his face. He remembered the words from his dream—every chain he broke only fed the Void King.
But he also remembered his grandfather's voice: Strength alone won't win you a place in this world. But courage might.
With a guttural cry, Karl stopped pulling. Instead, he pushed against the chains—not breaking them, but anchoring himself. Refusing to move. Refusing to yield.
The Void King's laughter faltered.
"Defiance…?"
Karl glared up, teeth bared. "Yeah. Defiance. I'm not breaking for you. And I'm sure as hell not bending."
Light blazed from the chains. The wasteland shook. The shadow recoiled, its form flickering.
And then—
The vision shattered.
Karl collapsed onto the training yard sand, gasping. Students stared, wide-eyed. The wards around the circle still glowed faintly, but instead of collapsing in humiliation or screaming in terror like so many others, Karl had remained on his feet.
Mistress Elowen's gaze lingered on him, unreadable. Finally, she said softly, "Curious."
---
That night, Karl sat with Lira and Jax under the lanterns of the courtyard. His body still ached, his hands raw, but his chest felt lighter.
"You're different," Lira said quietly. "The wards show weakness, but yours… showed something else."
Karl frowned. "Like what?"
She hesitated. "…Like resistance. Like you're fighting something none of us can see."
Jax grinned, tossing a pebble into the fountain. "Well, if the Void King's dumb enough to pick a fight with Karl Draven, he's in for a world of pain."
Karl chuckled, though the memory of the shadow's eyes lingered. He wasn't sure the Void King feared him at all.
But maybe—just maybe—he could make him.