The train hissed to a stop at Veridian Station, a sharp exhale of metal and steam that hung in the cold morning air. Elias Ren stood at the edge of the platform, his single suitcase balanced beside his leg, watching the tendrils of vapor curl upward and dissolve into the mist. The city beyond loomed through that haze — a city built on ambition, secrets, and the kind of beauty that felt deliberately cruel.
Veridian Academy sat high above the streets, a cathedral of glass and dark stone that gleamed against the overcast sky. Its towers pierced the clouds like needles, each crowned with glowing sigils that pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat. Elias had seen the Academy once before — from a distance, as a boy — but standing here now, beneath its shadow, he felt something deeper stir. Not awe. Not excitement. A kind of recognition, as though the place had been waiting for him.
He adjusted the strap of his bag and began the climb up the serpentine path leading to the gates. The air was colder here, sharp enough to sting the lungs. Students passed in small clusters, laughter and chatter rising, their robes catching the light in flashes of silver embroidery. He kept his hood drawn low, head down. His goal was simple: blend in, keep quiet, avoid attention.
That had always been the safest way to exist.
A small wind tugged at his sleeve, and the faint scent of rain-soaked iron reached him. Elias's steps faltered. He knew that scent — not the metallic tang of city rail, but something older. Blood.
He blinked it away. Sometimes, his senses betrayed him before his mind could catch up — his psychometry leaking into the waking world like a cracked dam. He had been careful on the train, his gloves never leaving his hands, his fingers never brushing the metal rails or the seats too long. He could not afford another slip. Not here.
He reached the crest of the hill. The Academy's main gate loomed before him — two immense slabs of black iron interlaced with gold sigils, humming faintly. Words were carved into the arch above: Veritas Arcanum — Knowledge Through Mastery. The phrase should have inspired pride. Instead, it felt like a threat.
A guard approached — a young woman in a deep blue uniform, her posture formal yet polite. "New enrollee?" she asked, scanning his ID card. "Elias Ren. Department of Magical Psychometry."
The title sounded foreign on her tongue, even faintly pitying. Few psychometrics lasted long in academic settings. Too fragile, too volatile.
Elias nodded once, wordless.
"Go ahead," she said, motioning toward the gate. "Your assigned student representative will meet you inside."
He murmured thanks and stepped forward.
The closer he came, the louder the hum grew — a low, resonant vibration that pressed against his skin. It was a barrier sigil, meant to ward off curses, but something about its rhythm felt… wrong. Unbalanced. He hesitated, gloved hand outstretched. The air before him shimmered like heat.
His reflection warped in the gate's polished surface — his own pale face distorted by the sigils' glow. Light brown eyes stared back, wide, uncertain. For a moment, he imagined his mother's eyes instead — the same shade, though hers had always carried a warmth his lacked.
He whispered, almost to himself, "It's just metal. Nothing more."
The lie trembled in the air.
When his fingers brushed the sigil lines, the world shifted.
Not yet into the vision — only the faintest flicker, a breath of something vast and terrible waiting behind the door of his mind. A pulse traveled up his arm like lightning, biting cold and electric. He jerked his hand back, heart hammering, the ghost of a scream brushing his thoughts.
The hum subsided. The gate remained closed, but the sigils now glowed brighter, as if aware of his presence.
He exhaled shakily. "You'll behave," he muttered to himself. "You promised."
A promise to whom? His mother? Himself? The memory blurred. He closed his eyes, forcing his breathing to steady, forcing his heartbeat to slow. This was not the place to falter. He could not afford to draw eyes, not when every rumor about the Ren bloodline was still whispered like a curse.
Rain began to fall — soft, silver droplets pattering against stone.
He looked up at the towering gates again. For a moment, they almost seemed alive, watching him. The stench of iron returned, stronger now, curling beneath his tongue. He swallowed hard.
Something terrible waited beyond these gates. He could feel it — not as fear, but as inevitability.
Still, he lifted his hand again. The rain dripped from his glove, tracing the sigils like veins of liquid light. This time, he didn't hesitate.
The instant he touched the gate, the world shattered.
Sound disappeared first, sucked from the world in a single breath. The air warped and folded, and Elias found himself standing in another place — a memory that wasn't his, a moment preserved in the cold marrow of the gate itself.
He stood in a chamber of black stone. The smell of blood was suffocating.
A circle of runes pulsed faintly on the floor, drawn in something dark that gleamed under the dim torchlight. At the center of the circle lay a dismembered body — arms severed, chest hollowed, the eyes gouged clean. Every nerve in Elias's body screamed stop, but his mind was trapped within the vision's current, dragged helplessly deeper.
Shadows gathered near the corpse. Cloaked figures stood in silence, their faces obscured by masks of bone. One of them — taller than the rest — knelt and dipped a hand into the pooling blood. The figure raised its head, and through the veil of darkness, Elias saw eyes like molten gold flicker toward him.
The voice that followed wasn't heard; it struck directly into his thoughts.
The vessel wakes.
Elias gasped and stumbled backward.
The chamber, the bodies, the torches—all of it fractured into shards of light, collapsing inward. The sensation of falling replaced sight, replaced sound. He was yanked back into his own body with a violent jolt, hitting the cold pavement hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs.
Rain spattered his face. The world snapped back into motion—the hiss of the gate's magic, the murmur of distant voices, the rumble of approaching footsteps.
He tried to stand but his legs refused to obey. The psychometric backlash seared through his nerves, his mind clawing to separate present from past. Every heartbeat echoed with the ghost of that voice: The vessel wakes.
A hand caught his arm—firm, steady.
"Careful," a voice said, smooth and calm. "You're not supposed to touch the gate directly."
Elias blinked up through the rain.
The boy—no, young man—standing over him seemed untouched by the storm. His dark hair clung neatly against his temples, his Academy coat perfectly pressed despite the drizzle. A faint smirk curved his mouth, confident and unreadable. But it was the eyes that unsettled Elias: deep green, sharp, assessing. The kind of gaze that didn't simply look at you—it read you.
He pulled his arm free, forcing himself upright. "I'm fine."
"Doesn't look like it." The stranger's tone held a hint of amusement. "Most people don't faint before even entering the Academy."
"I didn't faint." Elias brushed the rain from his hoodie sleeve, his breathing still uneven.
"Right. You were just… admiring the pavement?"
The teasing lilt in his voice was subtle, the sort of thing meant to test reactions. Elias didn't take the bait. He simply stared at the other boy, expression composed, though his head throbbed from the echo of that vision.
The stranger sighed softly, tone dropping into something cooler, more formal. "Daniel Fluke. Senior representative. You're the psychometric transfer, right? Elias Ren?"
Elias hesitated, then nodded.
Daniel's gaze flicked briefly to the gate, where the sigils had dimmed again. "You triggered the warding resonance. Impressive. Or reckless. Depending on how generous one wants to be."
He said it lightly, but there was an undercurrent—an edge of calculation that felt almost tangible. Elias recognized it instantly: the voice of someone used to power, to getting answers through charm and precision.
"I didn't mean to trigger anything," Elias said. "I just… touched it."
Daniel studied him for a moment longer than necessary, then smiled faintly. "You've got strong resonance output. The gate only reacts like that to unstable aptitude sources."
Something in Elias stiffened. Unstable. The word cut deeper than it should have.
"I'm not unstable," he said quietly.
Daniel's smile didn't falter, but the gleam in his eyes sharpened, as if he'd just confirmed something important. "Of course not," he said smoothly. "Walk with me. You'll catch a cold standing here."
Elias considered refusing, but his body still trembled from the aftershock. He fell into step beside Daniel, the sound of rain muffled by the rising hum of the Academy's wards.
The path wound through a garden of crystal lamps and marble statues, each glowing faintly with a pale internal light. Students hurried past under umbrellas, laughter echoing against stone. The contrast was jarring—so much life and color above ground, while beneath it, he had just glimpsed something rotting.
Daniel glanced sideways at him. "You came from the northern province, right? Long trip."
"Two days," Elias murmured. "I prefer quiet travel."
"Psychometrics usually do." Daniel's tone was conversational, but his eyes tracked Elias's every micro-expression. "Your file mentioned that your aptitude level's… uncommon."
Elias frowned. "You've read my file?"
"I read everyone's file. Comes with the job." A faint smirk returned. "Don't worry, yours was redacted in all the interesting places."
Elias didn't reply. Silence suited him better.
They reached the inner courtyard—a vast expanse framed by towering arcane spires. Rain gathered on the cobblestones, reflecting a kaleidoscope of glyphs from the high windows. Somewhere far off, a bell tolled, its tone resonating faintly with the same rhythm as the sigils on the gate.
The same rhythm that still thrummed in Elias's veins.
He slowed, one hand pressing against his temple. "Do you feel that?"
Daniel turned to him, eyebrow raised. "Feel what?"
"The pulse. It's the same as—" He stopped. The look Daniel gave him wasn't confusion. It was interest. Sharp, dissecting interest.
Elias exhaled, forcing the words away. "Never mind."
Daniel watched him for another heartbeat before shrugging lightly. "You're sensitive to wards. That'll be useful. Or inconvenient."
They continued in silence until the main hall came into view—a massive structure of obsidian glass. Sigils crawled faintly along its surface, alive with unseen energy.
As they approached the entrance, Daniel glanced sidelong at him again. "For what it's worth," he said, "most students don't get through orientation without vomiting or crying. You managed both dignity and curiosity. That's rare."
It sounded like a compliment, but Elias heard the subtext: You're being observed.
He gave a small nod. "Thank you. I think."
Daniel's smile deepened. "Try to stay conscious during your first class. That would help your reputation."
"I didn't faint," Elias repeated, voice colder this time.
Daniel chuckled quietly, opening the door for him. "Of course not, Ren. You just had… an experience."
Elias stepped inside without another word.
The air within the hall was warm, perfumed faintly with old paper and magic ink. Light from floating orbs bathed the marble in gold, yet the reflection in the polished floor made Elias pause. For just a second, he saw the shimmer of blood again—the same circle, the same runes—and his own reflection standing in its center.
Then the vision flickered out.
He exhaled slowly, steadying himself. Whatever he had seen at the gate wasn't random. It was a warning. Something inside Veridian was sick, and the infection ran deep.
Daniel's voice broke through his thoughts. "Welcome to Veridian Academy, Elias Ren."
Elias glanced at him. Daniel's smile was perfectly polite, his tone perfectly cordial. Yet behind the charm, something glimmered — curiosity sharpened into suspicion.
And Elias, even in his exhaustion, understood instinctively: this was not just a senior representative. This was a hunter who had just caught the faintest scent of blood.