Chapter 3 – Sparks in the Mist
The academy bells tolled again, this time sharper—faster.
Trial day.
Students poured through the arched corridors, their boots echoing across the floating walkways. The Silver Vale shimmered far below, but no one dared look down; failing a trial meant expulsion—or worse, losing one's bond with Yee-ul entirely.
He stood at the entrance of the Arena of Measure, the vast open dome carved into the floating island's core. Runes crawled along its walls like living light.
His breath fogged in the air.
> "First-year trials," Lirian announced from the dais. "Each of you will face the Reflection Crystal. It will manifest your inner emotion—your anchor. You will shape your Yee-ul against your own weakness."
Her voice rang like tempered steel.
Then she looked at him.
"Begin."
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The Reflection Crystal
The crystal hung in the center of the arena, suspended in midair, rotating slowly. When his turn came, he stepped onto the etched circle. The sigils flared beneath his boots, responding to the pulse in his chest.
He reached out. The crystal shimmered—and then split apart into shards of light that swirled into form.
A boy stood before him.
Same face. Same eyes.
But his reflection smiled.
> "Still pretending you're calm?" the reflection asked. "You burned your family. You felt it, didn't you? The rush. The power."
He stumbled back. "That's not true—"
The reflection raised a hand, and the arena exploded with movement. Air bent, water condensed from the moisture in the air, gravity folded inward. The floor cracked beneath him.
He fell to one knee, Yee-ul flaring uncontrolled. His heart raced—fear, guilt, anger—a storm he couldn't cage.
> Calm. Calm. Calm.
No. Not calm. Control through truth.
He inhaled sharply, letting the guilt in—letting it fuel him instead of drown him. His Yee-ul flared white-blue, twisting the air around him into rings of pressure. Water vapor crystallized, and the reflection shattered in a flash of light.
Silence.
Then the crystal cracked and fell apart entirely, glowing fragments vanishing into the mist.
The room erupted into murmurs.
Lirian descended the dais slowly. "Few shatter the Reflection Crystal. You didn't control Yee-ul—you merged with it."
He didn't answer. His body trembled. Somewhere deep within, something pulsed—a low, echoing hum that wasn't entirely his own.
---
Aftermath – The Observation Wing
That night, while others celebrated, Lirian stood in the observation hall, watching a floating orb replay the trial.
A tall man in silver robes appeared beside her—his face hidden beneath a mask shaped like an ancient rune.
> "His resonance level?" the man asked.
"Off the charts," Lirian said quietly. "Three affinities: air, water, and gravity. But it's his emotional synchronization that worries me. He channels pain like it's purpose."
The masked man's tone darkened. "The Shadow Sovereign will feel him soon."
She stiffened. "That name is forbidden here."
"Then forget I said it," the man replied, fading into smoke.
---
Night Training
Sleep never came. He found himself again in Training Hall Seven, alone this time. The moonlight reflected off the basin of water, turning it silver.
He reached out, letting his Yee-ul trickle through his fingertips. The water rose in spirals. He twisted his wrist—and felt gravity fold inward, compressing the air and dragging the water back down in a perfect sphere.
> "Good," a soft voice said behind him.
He turned. Ilya stood at the doorway, her pale hair lit by starlight. "You really don't sleep, do you?"
"I can't."
"Then teach me," she said, stepping closer. "If you're going to burn the world someday, I'd rather know how to survive next to you."
For a second, he almost smiled. "You'd regret it."
"Try me."
They trained until dawn. Water and air intertwined, bending and pulsing in rhythm. Her laughter echoed in the empty hall—fragile, human, alive.
And as the first light broke through the clouds, he felt something strange.
For the first time since the fire, he didn't feel alone.
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Meanwhile – Beneath the Academy
In the depths below Helmwick, far under the floating rock, a dark chamber thrummed. Shadows moved like smoke, coalescing around an unseen figure seated upon a throne of cracked glass.
A voice whispered.
> "He's begun to awaken."
The figure did not move.
Only the faint glimmer of two eyes—cold and endless—broke the dark.
> "Then let him climb. Let him ascend.
The higher he goes, the greater his fall."
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End of Chapter 3 – Sparks in the Mist