He walked along the jagged cliffs, the wind tugging at his cloak and carrying the scent of rain and distant stone. Below, the spires of Tartarus Academy rose from the mist, sharp as spears, glowing faintly with the hum of unseen power. Occasional flashes of elemental light danced across the floating islands, and the cries of strange beasts echoed from the chasms. Every step forward was a step into a world of strength and rivalry—of Weapons, Beasts, Elements, and Concepts waiting to be awakened. For now, however, it was only a narrow, treacherous path leading him toward a place where the ordinary rules of life no longer applied.
"I told Father we didn't have time for an extra training session," muttered Caelan as he picked his way along the rocky trail.
The cliffs demanded his attention. One misplaced step was all it would take. The academy was already within sight now; it wouldn't be long before he reached the main road leading to its gates.
"Tartarus Academy," he said quietly. "Home of the strongest cultivators." He snorted. "Father said I'd enjoy it... assuming I make it off these cliffs alive."
He shook his head, irritation softening into reluctant affection. Father was terrible at expressing worry, but dragging him out here for "one last refresher" before enrolment was excessive—even for him. They hadn't trained in nearly a month, yet somehow today had been the day Father decided cliffs were the perfect solution. At least Caelan had managed to convince him to stop. Any later, and he would have missed the enrolment ceremony entirely.
Enrollment here wasn't about choosing classes or meeting instructors. In this world, every child awakened at eight years old—to a Weapon, a Beast, an Element, or a Concept. That awakening decided everything that followed.
"I'm excited to meet others for once," Caelan said, a small smile forming as he descended the final slope. "Eight years in the mountains without friends does that to you."
He didn't care what he awakened to. Strength could come later. Right now, he just wanted people.
The cliffs finally gave way to a wide road crowded with carriages and students heading toward the academy. The closer he got, the clearer their voices became.
"I don't want Master Rynar this year—he always pushes too hard."
"Tell me about it. Last year, he nearly broke us during weapons training."
Caelan chuckled under his breath. That sounds like Father. And somehow, he suspected Master Rynar might still be the gentler of the two.
When the gates finally came into view, Tartarus Academy revealed itself fully.
It stood apart from every known institution on the continent. It answered to no kingdom, bowed to no noble house, and recognised no authority beyond strength earned through effort and resolve. Here, titles meant nothing. Only determination decided how far one could climb.
Towering stone walls rose from the cliffs like the spine of an ancient beast—dark, weathered, and unbroken. At their centre stood a massive gate forged from gold-tinted alloy, its surface marked with a single letter on each side: T and A. Tartarus Academy, as if the place needed a name at all.
An oppressive, almost animalistic aura seeped from beyond the gates. It was neither hostile nor welcoming—just raw. Primal. Like standing at the edge of a predator's territory.
The air hummed faintly with power.
Even before stepping inside, Caelan understood one thing clearly:
This was a place that devoured the weak and refined the strong.
As he made his way toward the auditorium, Caelan finally had time to take in the academy's interior. Towering structures rose in layered terraces, connected by bridges and open courtyards, creating a unique architectural landscape. Seniors and staff moved with purpose, directing newcomers and adjusting formations with practised ease.
"I guess everyone's busy welcoming us," Caelan murmured.
Before he could look around further, a rough-looking senior appeared at his side.
"If you're heading to the auditorium, it's that way," the senior said, pointing ahead. "See that instructor leading the group? Follow him."
"Thank you, senior," Caelan replied.
The man waved it off. "Save the manners. They're about to start—don't be late."
He was gone as quickly as he had appeared.
I didn't even feel his presence until he was right next to me, Caelan thought, joining the group of students following the instructor. He must be strong.
As he walked among them, excited voices filled the air.
"I really hope I awaken an element—water would be perfect," a girl said, nearly bouncing in place.
"I want a weapon," the boy beside her said. "A sword or spear would be amazing."
"You shouldn't wish for that," his scrawny friend scoffed. "Weapon cultivators are the weakest. Everyone knows elements and beasts are better."
"Shut up," the boy snapped. "Weapons can reach the peak, too. And with the right techniques—"
"That's all you care about, isn't it, Kevin?" the scrawny boy laughed.
"Call me Kev," he shot back. "And weapons are way cooler."
They both laughed.
Caelan listened quietly.
Must be nice, he thought. Having someone to talk to like that.
He didn't quite understand the excitement. Whatever they awakened, everyone here was walking toward the same uncertain future.
"Find a seat anywhere," a teacher said as they entered the auditorium. "The Headmaster will speak shortly. Awakening will begin after."
She stood tall and composed, long black hair falling neatly behind her shoulders, her presence calm yet distant.
Caelan found an empty seat near the middle.
Suddenly, a hand tapped his shoulder.
"Hey. I'm Nerith Corath," the boy said with an easy grin. "This is Veynar Lyrion."
"Yo," Veynar added, giving a casual wave.
"Caelan," he replied after a moment.
Nerith nodded, settling into the seat beside him. "First time away from home?"
"...Yeah."
"Same," Veynar said. "Guess we'll be seeing each other around."
Caelan hesitated—then nodded.
"...Guess so."
For some reason, that felt like enough.
The lamps with crystal cores dimmed as a man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties stepped onto the podium.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and powerfully built, his physique carrying the deliberate balance of something honed rather than grown. Even beneath formal attire, the strength in his frame was unmistakable. His features were sharp and refined—high cheekbones, a narrow jawline, and a disciplined, unyielding expression. When his eyes swept across the auditorium, Caelan felt as though they were being measured, catalogued, and judged without a single word spoken.
"Ahm... I am Aurelian Valen Solmire," the man said calmly. "Headmaster of Tartarus Academy."
His voice filled the hall without effort.
"Here, you are nothing," Aurelian continued. "No prestige follows you. No status protects you. Whatever you desire, you earn. Whatever you lack, you overcome."
The silence in the room deepened.
"Tartarus Academy is not a place that follows norms. We train monsters—because it takes one to fight one. Your journey here will be far harder than it would be in any ordinary academy."
Unease flickered across the students' faces.
"You will fail," Aurelian said evenly. "And that is expected."
A pause.
"Failure is the point. You are here to learn, and learning is born from failure. Do not fear it. We, the instructors, exist to guide you through it."
The tension in the room loosened, if only slightly. Caelan felt it himself—the shift from dread to something steadier. Trust, perhaps. Or resolve.
"That is all," Aurelian said after a moment. "There is no need to explain Tartarus Academy. You will come to understand it on your own."
He raised his hand, a faint smile touching his lips.
"And now," he said, "the moment you've all been waiting for."
He snapped his fingers.
Light swallowed the auditorium.
Darkness returned just as suddenly.
They stood within a vast chamber lit by dim, greenish-red crystals embedded in the walls. Several instructors waited nearby, recording tools already in hand. At the centre of the room stood Aurelian.
Beneath him rose an elevated, hexagonal platform of polished white stone, nearly thirty meters across. Faint runes shimmered along its surface, shifting subtly as if alive. Measuring crystals surrounded it, tuned to resonate with archetypal facets.
The platform had been constructed over ancient ruins.
Lexaen's script was carved deep into the stone below—weathered, incomplete, and humming with residual Archetype energy.
Caelan felt it the moment he looked at it.
Something old was waiting.