Cael drifted in and out of consciousness as the academy's medical wing swallowed him whole.
Bright mana-lamps burned overhead, their sterile glow harsh against his eyes. The air reeked of alchemical disinfectants and refined mana crystals—clean, artificial, and utterly hostile to blood. The moment he was laid on the treatment bed, suppression seals activated automatically, humming as they anchored him firmly to the world's accepted laws.
Good.
Let them suppress him.
It made the lie easier to sell.
"He's still bleeding internally," a healer muttered, hands glowing with soft green mana as she pressed them to Cael's chest. "Mana pathways are unstable. Looks like backlash from a forced awakening."
"A Bronze initiate shouldn't survive that," another replied. "Especially not after facing a Valerius."
Valerius.
Even half-conscious, Cael catalogued the name calmly.
So the insect had a pedigree.
He forced his breathing to remain erratic, shallow—weak. Every instinct screamed to stabilize his blood, to repair the microscopic tears screaming through his veins. But he didn't.
Not yet.
Healing too quickly would raise questions.
And questions were far deadlier than pain.
Hours passed.
When Cael finally "woke," the room was quiet. Night had fallen beyond the narrow window, moonlight filtering through mana-reinforced glass. His body felt like it had been fed through a grinder—every movement sent sharp reminders of the suppression's punishment.
But he was alive.
That alone amused him.
"You're awake."
The voice was old. Calm. Unhurried.
Cael turned his head slowly.
The elderly examiner sat beside the bed, hands folded atop a black cane etched with faded runes. His eyes were sharp despite his age—eyes that had seen battle, politics, and betrayal in equal measure.
"Yes," Cael croaked. "Sir."
The old man studied him in silence for a long moment.
"Do you know how many Bronze initiates die in their first month here?" he asked.
Cael considered. "Enough that my survival is inconvenient."
A thin smile tugged at the examiner's lips. "You're either very honest… or very foolish."
"Both have kept me alive so far."
Interesting.
The old man leaned forward slightly. "Kars Valerius is dead. His heart ruptured under extreme internal pressure. His aura collapsed as if… strangled from within."
Cael swallowed with difficulty. "I didn't touch him."
"I know."
The answer came too easily.
Cael's pulse slowed—just a fraction.
"I also know," the examiner continued, "that you possess mana sensitivity inconsistent with the damage sustained. And that during the Awakening Ceremony, the orb reacted to you in a way it hasn't reacted to anyone in nearly a millennium."
There it was.
The blade.
Cael lowered his gaze, allowing fear to creep into his expression. Not false fear—this body truly was vulnerable—but curated, directed.
"I don't understand," he whispered. "I just wanted him to stop."
The old man watched him carefully.
Then he sighed.
"A thousand years ago," the examiner said quietly, "there were techniques that did not rely on mana or aura. They were erased. Suppressed. Forgotten."
Cael's fingers twitched beneath the sheets.
"But," the examiner went on, "if such a thing were to reappear… it would not do so loudly. It would hide. Adapt. Blend in."
He stood slowly.
"You will be placed under observation," he concluded. "No punishment. No promotion. Officially, Kars Valerius died due to unstable aura backlash caused by his own arrogance."
Cael looked up sharply. "Why?"
The old man met his gaze evenly. "Because the Valerius family already has too many enemies. And because if I am wrong, I ruin an innocent child. If I am right…"
He paused.
"…then the world is already in trouble."
The examiner turned and left without another word.
Cael exhaled slowly once the door closed.
So even in this era, he thought, there are those who remember enough to be afraid.
Good.
Fear bred mistakes.
Mistakes bred blood.
The Valerius family learned of Kars' death before dawn.
In a towering estate carved into a floating mountain of white stone, rage erupted like a storm. Aura pressure shattered furniture, cracked walls, and sent servants scrambling in terror.
"A Bronze initiate?" a woman snarled, her golden eyes blazing. "You expect me to believe that?"
A man seated at the head of the chamber—broad-shouldered, his presence oppressive—raised a single hand.
Silence fell instantly.
"Kars was careless," Lord Valerius said coldly. "And Eclipse Ascension Academy does not lie lightly."
"They are protecting someone," another elder hissed. "I felt it. Something killed him from the inside."
Lord Valerius' gaze darkened. "Then we observe. Quietly."
He leaned back, fingers steepled.
"No assassins. No public accusations. If something abnormal is growing inside that academy… it will reveal itself."
His lips curled faintly.
"And when it does, we will decide whether it is worth harvesting."
Cael was discharged three days later.
Weaker.
Palmer.
Officially traumatized.
Unofficially, he was cataloguing every ripple his single act had caused.
Students avoided him now.
Whispers followed him through the Bronze dormitory halls.
"Did you hear? The Valerius senior died after touching him."
"They say he's cursed."
"My cousin swears the instructors sealed the training hall afterward."
Cael ignored it all.
He needed solitude.
He found it late that night, seated cross-legged on the cold stone floor of his room, suppression seals still faintly active beneath the academy's foundation. He had waited until his roommate slept, then carefully bit into the inside of his cheek.
Blood welled.
This time, he didn't rush.
He closed his eyes.
The pain from earlier echoed faintly in his veins—a reminder.
This world charges interest, he realized. And it collects aggressively.
He let a single drop fall into his palm.
The blood trembled.
Cael did not command it.
He listened.
The blood responded sluggishly, constrained by laws that despised it. Mana in the air pressed inward, trying to dissolve it, overwrite it.
Slowly, carefully, Cael shaped it—compressing, folding, reinforcing its structure with intent rather than force.
The drop darkened.
Thickened.
A crude success.
The backlash still came—sharp and punishing—but far less violent than before. Cael hissed softly, sweat beading on his brow.
Progress.
But also confirmation.
Killing accelerates growth, he acknowledged. But it also accelerates attention.
That was the price.
And the price was steep.
Images flickered unbidden in his mind—faces from his past life. Cities burning. Disciples kneeling. Aurelian's trembling hands gripping the dagger.
Obsession had destroyed him once.
He would not repeat the same mistake.
Not yet.
He dispersed the blood, wiped his palm clean, and lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
Survival first, he decided. Control second. Power… last.
Outside the academy walls, something ancient shifted restlessly.
The Demon King did not yet know his name.
But it had felt the echo.
And echoes, given time, always led back to their source.