The courtyard stank of iron. Blood slicked the stones beneath Kael's boots, glistening under the pale light of the moon. The assassins groaned in their crumpled heap, barely alive, but Kael couldn't bring himself to finish them.
Not because he didn't have the strength. But because killing them outright would make him no better than the whispers clawing at his skull.
"Finish it. Take them. Grow."
Kael pressed his palms to the cold stone fountain, forcing his breath steady. His reflection stared back from the rippling water: pale skin, hair damp with sweat, eyes burning faintly crimson. His stomach twisted.
If anyone sees me like this… it's over.
He wiped his dagger clean on his sleeve, then looked down at his shaking hands. No matter how much he scrubbed, faint smears of blood clung to his skin, soaking into the lines of his fingers.
Stains that don't wash away.
The cloaked man's words echoed in his mind: Choose humanity or survival.
Kael shoved the thought aside. He had no time. He needed to leave before patrols found him standing over three assassins.
Dragging one of the groaning men into the shadows, he muttered under his breath, "Why me? Why always me?"
None of them answered. Their masks revealed nothing but ordinary faces, mercenaries, not nobles. He searched quickly, but found no sigils, no letters, no clue as to who had sent them.
So they'll keep coming. Until one of them succeeds.
A shiver crept down his spine.
When Kael finally slipped back into his dormitory, dawn was already threatening the horizon. His roommate, Bram, snored loudly, oblivious to the crimson flecks staining Kael's cloak. Kael peeled it off, stuffing it under the mattress.
He collapsed into bed, eyes wide open, sleep a distant fantasy.
All he could hear were the whispers.
"You hesitated. You could have been stronger."
"Kill next time. Take what is yours."
He clenched his fists against his ears, but the voices lived deeper than sound. They throbbed in his veins, restless, hungry.
By the time morning classes began, Kael felt hollow. His limbs moved on instinct, dragging him through the corridors. The whispers had quieted, but the exhaustion clung to him like chains.
When he entered the lecture hall, silence rippled across the rows. Dozens of eyes turned toward him. Whispers, real ones, not in his head, filled the air.
"That's him. The one who beat Joren."
"Did you hear? Someone said he cheated."
"No, I heard he's been training in secret. Dangerous."
Kael kept his gaze low, but he felt the weight of suspicion press against his shoulders.
Darius Valen lounged near the front, as smug as ever. His eyes met Kael's, and he smirked knowingly, as if he could see through every lie Kael carried.
Beside him sat Lira Ashveil, her silver eyes sharp and calculating. She didn't whisper like the others, she simply watched. Too intently.
Kael slid into his seat, his skin prickling.
Professor Helian swept into the hall, her long coat trailing behind her, silencing the chatter with a single look. "Today," she announced, "we discuss the politics of bloodlines."
Kael stiffened at the word.
Helian's voice was crisp, deliberate, carrying to every corner of the room. "Your family's blood determines not only your station but your potential. Bloodlines hold history. They dictate strength, weakness, alliances, enemies. Do not think yourselves free from it. Here, blood is destiny."
Kael's stomach churned. His blood was not destiny. It was a secret that could get him killed.
He clenched his quill so tightly it snapped, ink splattering across the parchment. A few students snickered. Darius smirked wider.
Helian's gaze flicked briefly toward Kael, sharp enough to make him sweat, but she said nothing.
After class, Kael tried to slip away unnoticed, but Joren intercepted him in the corridor. The boy's arm was still bandaged from their duel, but his pride looked far more wounded.
"You think one victory makes you special?" Joren spat, stepping into Kael's path. "It doesn't. You humiliated me. I'll take that back, with interest."
Kael's jaw tightened. His body still ached from last night. He had no energy for this.
But Joren wasn't alone. Two of his friends flanked him, glaring at Kael like jackals scenting weakness.
The whispers stirred eagerly.
"Fight them. Break them. Feed."
Kael's fingers twitched toward the dagger at his belt, but he forced his hand still. "Move, Joren."
The noble sneered. "Or what? You'll cheat again? Everyone's saying it, no way a nobody like you beat me without a trick."
Kael said nothing. He brushed past him, ignoring the shove Joren gave his shoulder.
But as he walked away, he caught Darius watching from down the hall, smirk firmly in place.
Like a wolf waiting for prey to stumble.
That evening, Kael sat in the library, trying to bury himself in books, but the words blurred together. His mind replayed the night over and over, the assassins, the cloaked man, the hunger he'd barely controlled.
A shadow fell over his table.
He looked up to see Elara, the red-haired girl who always carried tomes thicker than her arm. She studied him for a long, unnerving moment before speaking.
"You've changed."
Kael blinked. "What?"
Her eyes narrowed slightly. "Since the duel. You carry yourself differently. Your aura feels… wrong."
His chest tightened. "Aura?"
"Every mage, every fighter has one," she said softly. "Some stronger than others. Yours…" She tilted her head, as if examining an oddity. "…feels like it's eating itself alive."
Kael's mouth went dry. "You're imagining things."
"Maybe." She shut her book with a snap. "But if I were you, I'd be careful. The academy loves prodigies until they stop fitting neatly into the rules."
Her words lingered long after she walked away.
That night, Kael lay awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling. His cloak still reeked faintly of blood beneath the mattress. His hands still bore faint stains no scrubbing could erase.
His secret was slipping. Darius suspected. Lira watched. Elara sensed something.
And somewhere out there, a cloaked man waited for him to make a choice.
Kael curled his fists against his chest, whispering into the darkness.
"I just want to survive."
The Genesis pulsed in his veins, quiet but insistent.
"Survive… by becoming more."