Aerin did not sleep that night.
Not because of fear—though there was some of that—but because his mind refused to slow down. Every time he closed his eyes, the sensation returned: that faint pressure at the base of his neck, like a mark that had always been there and only now remembered itself.
He sat on the edge of his bed, shirt pulled aside, fingers brushing the skin just below his hairline.
Nothing.
No scar.
No brand.
No raised surface.
Yet he could feel it.
A presence—not active, not demanding—but aware.
"…Later," he murmured, more to himself than to whatever was listening.
If something truly ancient had bound itself to him, panic would only make things worse. Vallorae was filled with sealed artifacts, lost legacies, and ruins whose dangers lay not in immediate destruction but in careless curiosity.
He had no intention of becoming a cautionary tale.
The next morning, the city felt unchanged.
That, oddly, helped.
Students hurried along the streets. Merchants opened their shops. The academy bell rang out in its measured cadence. Vallorae did not tremble because of one boy discovering something he didn't understand.
That perspective grounded him.
Aerin attended his classes as usual, listened carefully, asked nothing unusual. He noted, however, that his awareness felt… sharper. Not stronger—just clearer.
When Instructor Halver spoke about mana resonance, Aerin grasped the concept faster than before. When diagrams were drawn on the board, he saw not just lines but flow.
Still, he restrained himself.
No experiments.
No testing limits.
Not yet.
At lunch, Rethan dropped into the seat across from him with a groan.
"You hear the rumor?" he asked between bites.
Aerin shook his head.
"They're changing the awakening evaluation," Rethan said. "More emphasis on control tests. Less raw output."
Aerin paused mid-motion.
"…That's recent," he said.
"Yeah. Something about too many unstable awakenings last year." Rethan snorted. "Like that's going to help people like me."
Aerin didn't respond immediately.
Control tests favored preparation. Discipline. Understanding.
Not bloodline.
Interesting.
Across the courtyard, Lysa was deep in conversation with a group of upper-year students. Her posture was confident, her expressions measured. Someone with ambition—and the means to pursue it.
Aerin looked away.
That evening, he returned to the storage room.
Carefully.
He closed the door behind him, set a lantern on the floor, and sat cross-legged in front of the open trunk. The space where the bracelet had been was empty, but the air still felt… denser.
He focused inward.
Slow breathing.
Measured heartbeat.
Awareness without intent.
The sensation at his neck responded—not with power, but with recognition.
For a brief moment, something brushed the edge of his perception.
Heat.
Weight.
A distant, disciplined stillness.
Then it withdrew.
Aerin exhaled slowly.
"Not now," he repeated. "Later."
Whatever was sealed within him was not impatient.
That alone worried him.
Days turned into weeks.
The awakening ceremony loomed closer, and the academy atmosphere shifted. Conversations grew sharper. Training yards became crowded long before sunrise. Even instructors adjusted their lessons, emphasizing stability and restraint.
Aerin continued his quiet routine.
Physical conditioning in the courtyard.
Controlled mana circulation at night.
Study, observation, patience.
His body changed steadily. Muscles filled out where there had once been fragility. His movements grew confident, efficient. Not powerful—but ready.
Mireya noticed.
"You're eating more," she said one evening, watching him finish a second serving.
"I need it," Aerin replied.
She hesitated, then smiled faintly. "I'm glad."
One night, as Aerin lay staring at the ceiling, a thought surfaced unbidden.
If this bracelet truly belonged to an ancient civilization…
Then its presence alone could shift his future dramatically—if discovered.
Academies were not safe places for secrets.
Neither were cities.
Aerin turned onto his side, eyes narrowing.
He would keep this hidden.
He would not rely on it.
And he would not let it define him.
At least—not yet.
Outside, the wind moved through the city, carrying the faint scent of stone and old magic. Somewhere beyond the walls, ruins slept beneath layers of earth and time.
And three sealed echoes waited.
Patient.
Unspoken.
Unrevealed.
The awakening drew closer.
And Vallorae, vast and indifferent, prepared to see what kind of existence Aerin Solvane would become—
not by the power he wielded,
but by the power he chose not to use.