Morning sunlight filtered through the high windows of the academy's main hall, casting long shadows across the stone floor. Kael sat among the rows of initiates, but his mind was far from the lecture. The instructor's words about discipline and cultivation barely reached his thoughts replayed the assassin's blade, the whispers, and the fox's heartbeat syncing with his own.
He forced himself to focus. If he wanted to survive here, he couldn't stand out. Not yet.
" and so," Elder Veylan's voice cut sharp across the hall, "we come to the matter of ranks."
Every head turned. Whispers spread like wildfire.
Ranks determined everything in the academy-privileges, resources, and status. Those who climbed high were groomed for leadership in the empire's legions or even the shadowy council that whispered in the king's ear. Those who fell behind became cannon fodder or worse, discarded.
Kael's gut twisted. He needed strength, but he couldn't risk exposing what fueled it.
"Your sparring evaluations will begin tomorrow," Veylan continued. His cold eyes scanned the room, lingering for a heartbeat too long on Kael. "Prepare yourselves. Weakness will not be tolerated."
The room buzzed after the announcement. Students whispered, alliances formed, rivalries sharpened.
Kael's gaze shifted toward the front rows, where a boy with golden hair and sharp, arrogant features leaned casually against his seat. Darius Valen—heir to one of the empire's most powerful noble houses. His family's bloodline was rumored to grant him enhanced strength and elemental mastery.
Darius smirked when he caught Kael looking, his voice loud enough to carry.
"Some of us were born for greatness. Others… well, they'll be lucky to survive their first duel."
Laughter rippled through his circle of followers.
Kael clenched his jaw but said nothing. Drawing attention now would be suicide.
Beside Darius sat Lira Ashveil, a girl with raven-black hair and piercing silver eyes. Unlike the others, she didn't laugh. She watched Kael silently, her expression unreadable. Rumors said her family were scholars, keepers of forbidden histories, and her sharp tongue made her dangerous in debates. She was a rival, but not like Darius. Something about her gaze made Kael uneasy, as if she could see through masks others missed.
Then there was Joren, hulking and broad-shouldered, practically a mountain of muscle for his age. He laughed loudly at Darius's taunts, eager to crush anyone beneath his fists.
And finally, Elara, quiet, observant, with flame-red hair. Unlike the others, she didn't seem to belong to Darius's faction. She sat alone, reading from a tome, ignoring the posturing around her.
Kael filed their faces away in his mind. Allies and enemies alike. In this place, knowing both could mean survival.
Later, as the hall emptied, Kael lingered in the shadows. He overheard voices in the corridor beyond, sharp and low.
"…the assassin failed?" a voice hissed.
"Yes," another answered. "But the boy shows signs. If the Genesis is truly awakened, the council will want him erased."
Kael's blood ran cold. He pressed himself against the wall, every nerve on fire. They were talking about him.
"We can't act yet," the second voice continued. "If he dies within the academy, suspicion falls on us. Let the sparring trials expose him. If he is what we fear, his power will betray him."
Their footsteps faded, leaving silence.
Kael exhaled slowly, his hands trembling. He had confirmation now, the attack hadn't been random. Someone powerful wanted him dead, and they were willing to use the academy as the stage.
He returned to his dorm that night, staring out at the moonlit forest. The Genesis pulsed faintly in his veins, the whispers quiet but present.
"Enemies watch. Grow strong. Survive."
Kael clenched his fists. He couldn't afford to wait any longer. Tomorrow's sparring evaluation wasn't just a test of skill. It was survival.
And if he faltered, he wouldn't simply lose face, he would lose everything.