The lowest dormitory of Blackspire lay beneath the academy.
Not metaphorically.
Kael descended through a spiraling stairwell carved into raw bedrock, the air growing colder and heavier with each step. Faint runes glowed along the walls, old and worn, their light barely holding back the darkness pressing in from all sides.
"This place was sealed for decades," Orin said quietly beside him. "Before the academy decided it had use again."
Kael glanced at him. "Let me guess. For failures."
"For those deemed unnecessary," Orin replied.
The stairwell ended in a massive iron door scarred by claw marks, burn lines, and deep fractures. It groaned open at Orin's touch.
The dormitory beyond was vast and hollow—a cavern reinforced with stone pillars, iron walkways suspended over darkness, and rows of old, mismatched rooms carved directly into the walls.
Students watched from shadows.
They were fewer than Kael expected.
Scarred. Quiet. Dangerous.
No banners. No proud clan marks. Some bore sealed brands across their skin—symbols of suppressed power. Others radiated unstable mana, cracked and violent.
This was not where the weak were sent.
This was where problems were buried.
A tall woman leaned against a railing above, arms crossed. Her hair was silver-white, eyes sharp and predatory. A jagged black crest glowed faintly at her neck—Nightreaver Clan.
"Well," she said lazily. "Looks like we got a new corpse."
Kael met her gaze. "I'm still breathing."
"For now," she replied with a grin.
Orin stopped at the central platform. "Your room," he said to Kael. "End of the east wing. Do not explore beyond the sealed gates."
Kael raised an eyebrow. "Why?"
Orin didn't answer.
Instead, he placed a small black crystal into Kael's palm.
"A suppressor?" Kael guessed.
"A stabilizer," Orin corrected. "Your power will tear you apart if left unchecked. This will teach it patience."
Kael closed his fingers around the crystal. It was cold—unnaturally so—and the burning pulse in his chest dulled slightly, like a blade being sheathed.
"…Thank you," Kael said after a moment.
Orin inclined his head. "Survive."
Then he was gone.
Kael exhaled and turned toward his room.
He didn't make it ten steps.
The silver-haired woman dropped down from the railing, landing lightly in front of him.
"Name?" she asked.
"Kael."
She smiled, sharp and amused. "Lyra."
Her eyes flicked to his chest, then his hands. "You're the one who flattened Solaris' golden boy."
"Didn't mean to," Kael replied.
Lyra laughed. "That makes it better."
Footsteps approached from multiple directions. Three more figures emerged from the shadows—two men and a woman, all radiating dangerous, restrained power.
A broad-shouldered man with stone-like skin crossed his arms. "Unmarked, huh?"
Another, thin and pale with crimson veins in his eyes, tilted his head. "He doesn't feel empty."
Kael felt it then.
A slow, deliberate pressure rising from all four of them.
Testing.
He sighed. "If this is a fight, let's get it over with."
Lyra's grin widened.
"Oh," she said. "It's not a fight."
The pressure vanished.
Instead, Lyra turned and began walking toward the central platform. "It's a rule."
The others followed.
Kael hesitated, then went with them.
At the platform's center stood a massive stone table etched with old names—some scratched out violently. Lyra placed her hand on it.
"In this dorm," she said, "we don't bow to clans. We don't fight for instructors. We survive together."
The stone-skinned man snorted. "Or die alone."
Lyra looked back at Kael. "You want in?"
Kael studied their faces.
Outcasts. Weapons. Survivors.
"I don't join groups," he said.
Lyra shrugged. "Then you won't last."
Kael stepped forward and placed his hand on the stone.
"But I don't kneel either."
The table flared briefly, reacting to his touch.
The pale man hissed softly. "That reaction…"
Lyra's expression shifted—just a little.
"Interesting," she murmured.
That night, Kael lay on the narrow bed in his stone room, staring at the ceiling. The stabilizer crystal sat on his chest, faint frost spreading beneath it.
For the first time since awakening, the burning pressure eased enough for sleep to find him.
It didn't last.
The dream came swiftly.
A throne of shattered stars.
A figure seated upon it—face hidden, power vast and cold.
"You have entered the crucible," the figure said. "Good."
Kael clenched his fists. "Who are you?"
The figure leaned forward.
"Your future," it replied. "And your enemy."
Kael woke with a sharp breath.
The crystal had cracked.
And somewhere deep beneath Blackspire, something ancient stirred.