At dawn, the first light failed to touch the stone walls of Karn Dross, dissolving instead into the thick, pale mist that wrapped the fortress like a living shroud.
Footsteps echoed faintly through the corridors, slow and deliberate, drawing closer until they reached Lucian's door.
A single knock sounded firm and final.
"It's time. Your first lesson begins."
Lucian opened his eyes. The fatigue vanished in an instant, replaced by alert focus.
"All right," he said softly, his voice still rough with sleep.
He pushed aside the thin blanket and stood. The air was cold enough to sting his skin, the chill of the stone floor seeping up through his bare feet.
He dressed quickly. The black cloak rested heavy on his shoulders, woven with faint threads of arcane energy that pulsed against his back.
He gripped his staff firmly, the wood humming faintly at his touch. In the dim mirror, his reflection looked unfamiliar, eyes hollow from sleeplessness yet burning with purpose.
When he opened the door, two hunters of the Dark Council were waiting.
Their faces were hidden beneath masks of shadow. They gave no greeting, only a silent nod.
Together, they walked through the long, twisting corridors of Karn Dross.
The chains hanging from the vaulted ceiling swayed soundlessly, catching the pale glow of the hovering flame orbs.
The air smelled faintly of ash and iron.
At the end of the corridor stood a massive door carved from blackened stone.
The runes etched upon its surface pulsed a dull crimson light, reacting to the presence of the hunters.
One raised his hand, murmured a command, and the sigils unlocked with a low groan.
Beyond the door stretched a hall vast enough to swallow sound itself.
Rows of students stood in silent order, and the masters watched from the front, eyes glinting in the flicker of spellfire.
Lucian's heart thudded once, steady but hard.
This was the beginning of something new.
He would learn the limits of sorcery, and when the night came, he would test his forbidden ritual, the transformation into a serpent.
His plan was clear.
Train by day, transform by night.
There was no other way into the restricted archives.
Yet what stirred inside him was not excitement for power alone.
Somewhere among these halls, among these cold faces, might be the ones who had ordered Lumi's death.
He would find them.
The lessons began.
One by one, the instructors stepped forward, demonstrating the elemental foundations of summoning fire, shaping air currents, and weaving raw mana into form.
Lucian had already mastered all of this long ago. Still, he observed closely.
Students around him stumbled through the incantations, their voices cracking with fear and effort.
Flames burst out of control, singeing robes.
A gust of wind shattered a torch, scattering embers across the floor.
Lucian stood apart. His hands were clasped behind his back, his expression calm and detached.
After a while, the hall fell silent.
The air shifted.
From the entrance came a whisper of movement. The Archmage had arrived.
He was tall and narrow, draped in a deep crimson robe that trailed behind him like liquid shadow.
Half his face was hidden beneath the hood's fold; the visible half was carved with sharp age lines, and his black, reflective stones gleamed with restrained force.
Lucian felt those eyes settle on him.
"Show me a spell," the Archmage said, his voice resonating through the chamber.
"The strongest one you know. Remember you must impress me."
Lucian bowed slightly.
"With your permission, master."
For a moment, he hesitated.
He reached inward, into the depths of his mental vault.
He could not use Necromancy Skill not here, not before them.
That secret had to remain buried.
The Dark Council could never know the truth of his power Even his newly gained title, Gravewarden, was still unknown to them.
He steadied his breath.
"I'm ready," he said.
Taking two steps back, he positioned himself at the center of the circle.
The room went still.
Hundreds of eyes followed his every motion.
Lucian raised his staff.
With fluid precision, he carved symbols into the air up, down, across, again.
From his lips flowed ancient syllables, sharp and rhythmic:
"Vel'thara numen kor, ashrel dravon sul'ka mereth, nai'lor untra velm!"
The air rippled.
Darkness swept through the hall as the torches blinked out.
A low hum filled the space.
Then light.
A blinding blue flash erupted, followed by silence.
Every mage in the chamber gasped as their vision vanished. Their eyes turned white, their hands flailed in confusion.
Panic spread like wildfire staffs clattered, spells misfired, gusts of wind sent scrolls flying.
Lucian stood motionless at the center of the chaos, a faint smile playing on his lips.
The blindness would last only thirty seconds. Enough to observe, to measure.
He watched how they moved, how they panicked, who reacted with fear, and who with discipline.
He was taking notes in silence.
Then, as abruptly as it had come, the blindness faded. The light returned.
A hush fell over the hall.
The Archmage strode forward, fury etched into every step. His eyes blazed.
"Where did you learn this?!" he thundered.
"How dare you blind me!"
Lucian lowered his head respectfully, though his tone remained calm.
"Master," he said,
"I learned it from a sorcerer of Niven Arx. You asked me to impress you. I see that I have succeeded."
For a moment, the hall was utterly still.
The Archmage studied him. The anger behind his expression wavered, replaced by something else curiosity, perhaps even reluctant admiration.
"Continue," he said finally.
"Return to your studies."
Lucian bowed once more.
A small risk, but a calculated one. He had their attention now.
The lessons stretched on through the day.
More spells, more rituals.
Lucian absorbed everything how they wove mana, how they stabilized chaos, and how they hid weakness behind grandeur.
There was one spell that caught his attention a preservation enchantment cast over the main hall itself.
Within its bounds, hunger, thirst, and fatigue ceased to exist. It kept the apprentices functional for hours without rest.
If he could learn that spell for himself, he could work endlessly, searching for clues about Lumi without sleep, without food.
By dusk, the lessons ended. The masters departed.
Students filed quietly to their chambers. Lucian, however, lingered.
He had gathered the components he needed. The ritual would be tonight.
There was no sense in waiting.
His chamber was silent.
From the narrow window he saw the world beyond Karn Dross swallowed by darkness.
Even under the nine suns, night here was deeper, thicker like black oil coating the air.
He turned to his desk.
The ritual items were neatly arranged: crushed serpent fangs, venom sealed in a vial, a blood sigil, and the circle drawn with precise geometry.
Everything was ready.
He began with a small spell to enhance his vision.
His pupils dilated, glowing faintly yellow.
The world sharpened, shadows gained texture, and air currents became visible streams of dim light.
Then he took his staff and slipped quietly out into the courtyard.
Among the cold stones, a snake slithered lazily. Lucian knelt, reaching out.
"I'm sorry," he whispered.
The blade flashed once.
The snake fell still. He drained the venom into the vial, extracted its fangs, and carried them back inside.
Back in his room, he sat before the ritual circle, breathing slowly, matching rhythm with the pulse of magic that filled the air.
He rehearsed the incantation in his mind, over and over, until the words felt like blood through his veins.
When he finally began, the air thickened. The scent of metal and ozone mingled.
He mixed the venom, his own blood, and a fragment of ash.
Dark vapor rose from the bowl, swirling like ink in water.
He murmured the final invocation and lifted the vial to his lips.
It burned like fire. Pain surged through his chest, spreading through every nerve.
His vision blurred, then shattered into flashes of red and black. His knees buckled. He fell.
The cloak crumpled to the floor, lifeless. For a heartbeat, nothing moved.
Then the fabric stirred. Something thin and smooth pushed through the folds. A shadow slithered free.
Lucian had succeeded.
The creature that emerged was a serpent, sleek and black, its scales glinting crimson under the candlelight.
Golden eyes gleamed with unmistakable awareness. His movements were deliberate, cautious, and alive.
He had done it.
On his first attempt.
A rush of power coursed through him, electric and primal.
He could feel every vibration on the stone, every whisper of air. His body was reborn, sharper, faster, and silent.
He would never need reagents again, only the words.
He coiled near the desk, lifted his head, and whispered softly through the fork of his tongue:
"Morveth al'kran, silun thrae morlun."
The sound vibrated in the air, low and resonant.
This would be his key his second birth. Each time he spoke it, his humanity would slip a little further away.
Lucian turned toward the door.
The hallway beyond was silent, asleep beneath its own darkness. The forbidden section of the library waited.
He moved forward, silent as breath, his scales gliding over the stone.
His eyes glowed faintly, catching the reflections of runes carved into the distant walls.
The night had just begun.