"Sreeet, sreeet… tek sreeet."
The sharp hiss of chalk scraping against the board filled the silent room.
Kael stood there, focused, tracing out the final curve of an intricate batik pattern.
"Finished, Kael?" the teacher asked, taking the chalk he handed over.
"Yes, sir," Kael replied simply.
"Good. Take your seat."
The teacher rose from his chair, brushing chalk dust from his fingers. His gaze lingered on the board.
"At first glance, this looks simple—the core structure is minimal. But what complicates it are the other circular motifs winding around the center..."
He turned to the class, voice even.
"I won't ask where or how you learned to draw something like this, Kael. But let me ask one more question—to make sure."
The students leaned forward slightly.
"What do you think makes a batik pattern usable as a medium—for anything at all? Especially... for sorcery?"
Kael didn't answer right away. His brows furrowed slightly.
He wasn't struggling to know the answer.
He was thinking about how to frame it correctly.
Because to answer that, he'd have to define the function first: what the pattern was made to do, what it was meant to manifest.
Before he could speak, a voice broke in from the middle row.
"Seriously? You don't even know something that basic? Maybe you should start back in first year!"
The same boy who had mocked him on his first day—Setnov.
The teacher sighed. "Then tell me, Setnov. What's your answer?"
"It's obviously Arkanum!"
"That's only half right," said the teacher calmly.
"How can that be wrong? Everyone knows that's the answer!" Setnov barked, glaring around the room.
Kael's voice cut through, low but steady.
"That's true only if you assume a pattern activates because of Arkanum.
But if you don't understand its function first, it won't respond at all."
He didn't even bother to look at Setnov when he said it.
To him, the statement was simple fact, not provocation.
Murmurs followed.
"Whoa... really?"
"Guess Setnov got ahead of himself, huh?"
The whispers were quiet, but Setnov heard them clearly enough. His jaw tightened.
BRAK!
He slammed his palm on the desk.
"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY—!"
"Enough," the teacher interjected, firm but calm. "Both of you, stop there."
He looked over the room. "Many of you probably think Kael jumped straight into this class because of Ruby—since Ruby's grandfather is the head of the foundation, right?"
No one spoke, but the silence itself was an admission.
Setnov leaned forward. "Then how else could he get in?"
Ruby groaned audibly. The teacher said nothing, only glanced toward Kael.
"I'm not obligated to answer that," Kael said without emotion.
The teacher exhaled, shaking his head with a faint smile.
"Alright then. I'll tell you—because it's my duty as your teacher to clear up this misunderstanding before it turns into another fight."
The room went still again.
They weren't curious about seals anymore. They just wanted to know who this quiet boy really was.
---
A few weeks earlier...
"How can a child who's never been to school skip directly to year seven? It's absurd! How am I supposed to explain this to the board?"
That voice—gruff, weary, and incredulous—belonged to Risto, Ruby's grandfather, in his modest office lined with old books and a heavy oak desk.
Across from him stood Lina, calm but unyielding.
"Father, you own the school. Shouldn't this be easy for you?"
"Yes, but I have a reputation to maintain," Risto snapped. "And this sets a terrible precedent."
"If Kael starts from the first year, he'll never socialize properly. The age gap alone will make him a target for ridicule."
"So that's your reason for skipping him ahead? That's ridiculous."
"It's not the only reason," Lina said evenly.
"Then what is?"
"You'll understand when you see him."
"I don't have time for that," Risto barked.
"You'll regret it if you don't," Lina warned. "That boy can't be described with words."
Risto's brow furrowed. "And what makes you so sure?"
"I have a strong feeling."
"A feeling?" He laughed harshly. "You're insisting on this because of a feeling?"
"Yes."
"Unbelievable. Get out."
He rose and ushered her gently but firmly out of his office.
"Father! Listen to me or you'll regret it!" Lina shouted from the corridor.
Her words echoed off the walls. No reply.
"Stubborn old man," she muttered, glaring at the door. "You'll see."
---
That night, Risto couldn't sleep.
No matter how he tried to dismiss it, Lina's words kept circling in his head.
He turned in bed, stared at the ceiling, sat up again. Hours passed.
When dawn finally broke, the window was already burning white with light.
He sighed heavily, rose, and washed his face. The cold water stung his eyelids awake.
Outside, his driver was already waiting by the car, hands clasped behind his back.
"Good morning, sir. Everything's ready."
Risto nodded, adjusting his tie. "Let's go."
The driver hesitated. "Are you alright, sir? You look... a bit off today."
"I'm fine."
"With respect, sir, you seem distracted—"
"Enough. Just drive. I need something to keep me busy."
"Yes, sir."
The car hummed down the quiet road toward the small foundation office.
When they arrived, Risto stepped out, straightened his coat—and froze.
Lina was already there.
Sitting in his chair.
He pressed a hand to his forehead. "What now?"
"You already know, Father," she said, smiling slyly.
"What?"
She didn't answer—just grinned knowingly, watching his expression. She had guessed it: he hadn't slept a wink.
Risto sighed, approached, and, with a half-grumble, lifted her off the chair as though she were still a little girl.
"Out of my seat."
Lina laughed softly. "So... you couldn't stop thinking about it?"
He dropped into the chair, exhaling. "Fine. I'll decide."
"Good!" Lina clapped once, delighted.
"But—" Risto raised a finger. "On two conditions."
"Alright. What are they?"
"First, I need to see him myself."
"That's easy. I'll take you today."
"Wait. I'm not done. Second, he'll take an exam—set by our teachers. Eighth-year material."
"Eighth?! I only asked for seventh!"
"If you can't agree to that, this discussion ends here."
Risto's tone softened slightly, more thoughtful now.
He still didn't understand why this child haunted his thoughts—but he needed proof.
"Fine," Lina relented. "When do we start?"
"After work. I'll come to your house."
---
That evening, Risto kept his word.
He told Lina he'd observe from a distance only.
They drove out to the quiet outskirts.
"Stop here," Risto ordered his driver.
From the roadside, he could see Kael clearly—alone, swinging a wooden sword in precise, measured arcs.
Risto folded his arms, silent.
"Where are his parents, Lina?" he finally asked. "And why are you, an outsider, the one fighting for him?"
Lina explained everything: Kael's parents, their disappearance, the boy's solitude, her promise to Selaphine.
Risto said nothing for a while. Then he sighed. "Turn around. That's enough for today."
But he returned the next morning.
And the next.
And the next.
Each time at the same hour, watching Kael's discipline, his calm focus, the unwavering rhythm of his training.
Finally, on the last morning, Risto called Lina.
"Bring him tomorrow. Let the teachers test him."
The exam lasted hours.
When it ended, the teachers exchanged glances—somewhere between awe and disbelief.
Kael's answers not only passed the eighth-year test—they reflected concepts from research theory.
Principles that even the instructors hadn't fully mastered.
---
"And that," the teacher concluded, "is how Kael entered this class."
He left the details vague, but the point was clear: Kael belonged there.
A mix of sighs rippled through the room—some in relief, others in quiet envy.
Setnov sat stiffly, jaw tight.
"Now," the teacher said, clapping once, "let's return to our topic."
He looked back at Kael.
"Your thoughts on the mechanism, Kael?"
Kael reorganized his reasoning silently, then answered.
"First, determine its purpose.
Second, analyze the mechanism.
Third, measure the Arkanum required for activation.
Only then can you link it to a mental command."
He paused, then continued.
"Some patterns appear identical—even share the same function—but each requires a specific Arkanum threshold to trigger. Understanding that variance is the foundation of control."
"In short," he added, "Arkanum is merely the final stage of a process.
That's also why children under twelve can't use it properly—it demands both comprehension and inner control."
The teacher nodded, impressed.
Many of the others simply stared, lost.
"Alright," the teacher said, gesturing to the board.
"Since this pattern's function is clear—a key, or a seal—the next question is: how does it work, and how much Arkanum does it need?"
He turned again to Kael.
"What's this pattern made of, Kael?"
Kael hesitated.
"For keys and seals, they must be carved, written, or painted... but what are they made from? Ink? Blood? If blood, whose?"
The question struck him like thunder.
He'd forgotten that variable entirely.
[ "The envelope... what was it made of?" ]
He tried to recall every detail—the texture, the weight, the faint ridges—but his memory blurred.
The teacher continued discussing theories, calling on others for input.
Kael barely heard him, lost in thought, until the sound of chairs scraping pulled him back.
"Come on, Kael." Ruby nudged his arm.
He stood and followed the others as they filed out.
"If you ever need help or guidance, come see me," the teacher said softly as Kael passed the door.
Kael gave a small nod, a polite smile.
Outside the gate, Ruby waved. "See you tomorrow!"
Kael nodded again.
One by one, the others pedaled away on their bicycles.
Kael, as always, chose to run.
His father's words echoed faintly in his head: 'Training continues, even on broken legs.'
---
The afternoon air was warm. The road stretched empty ahead.
Kael kept a steady pace, eyes fixed forward—until—
BRAAK!
The shriek of tires and the crash of metal jolted the quiet.
"Ah—sorry, boss! Maybe a little on purpose, hahaha!"
Setnov's mocking laugh followed, ringing behind him.
Kael straightened slowly, dust brushing off his uniform.
He turned his head, eyes cold as glass.
The wind stilled.
To be continued…