Cael had always trusted his magic.
From the moment it manifested, he knew it was good.
Not because it was gentle. It was not.
But because it had always answered him. Heat rose when he called it. Power bent when he pushed.
Even when it scorched his hands raw or left him shaking afterward, it had still obeyed the rules they had learned together.
They understood each other.
Today began no differently.
The Physical Magic Discipline hall rang with controlled violence. Stone cracked in measured bursts. Heat flared and collapsed under practiced restraint.
The air carried the sharp scent of scorched mineral and smoke, familiar enough that most students barely noticed it anymore.
Instructor Kest Vale paced the outer ring, hands clasped behind his back, eyes sharp and attentive without hovering.
"Again," Vale said. "Same output. Cleaner."
Cael stepped forward, rolling his shoulders loose, muttering to himself.
He grounded himself the way he always did. Feet planted. Breath even. Attention narrowing until the rest of the room faded.
Heat answered immediately, blooming beneath his skin, as familiar as the sun that rose every morning.
The first strike landed true.
Stone fractured cleanly along its seam, the impact contained and precise.
Vale nodded once.
"Again."
Cael drew deeper this time. The heat thickened, coiled tighter beneath his ribs.
The second impact hit harder, satisfying in its accuracy.
A few students murmured.
Cael did not smile. He had learned better.
"Half output," Vale ordered.
Cael hesitated.
Not because he could not.
But because something inside him shifted.
The heat flickered.
Not dimmer. Not stronger.
Just angled wrong.
Like a flame pulling sideways instead of upward.
Cael adjusted instinctively and cast.
The stone cracked unevenly, splintering instead of cleaving.
Vale's gaze sharpened.
Cael swallowed.
Again, he told himself. Just focus.
He inhaled and pulled harder. Heat surged too fast. It skipped something. An important step in formation.
For a fraction of a second, Cael felt it slip past him. Not out of control exactly, but out of alignment. Like a familiar weight suddenly hanging at the wrong angle.
He tried to correct it.
The magic tore free.
It did not strike forward.
It exploded outward.
Heat ripped through the space around him in a violent, unfocused surge. Uncontained. Unshaped. It slammed back into Cael's own body like a snapped tether.
Pain detonated.
His arms burned. His chest seized.
Something inside him twisted, sharp and deep, like his magic had turned on itself mid breath.
Cael cried out as he was thrown backward, hitting the stone hard enough to rattle his teeth.
He rolled instinctively, curling in on himself as heat continued to lash unpredictably from his body.
Shouts erupted.
Students scrambled back.
Vale was moving before the second surge hit.
"DOWN!" Vale barked. "CLEAR THE FLOOR!"
Cael tried to pull the magic in.
It resisted.
Not violently.
Indifferently.
The heat burned along his ribs, tore through his shoulders, seared lines into his skin that felt wrong even as they formed.
His vision blurred, white at the edges.
Stop, he begged.
Nothing listened.
Strong hands pinned his shoulders, forcing him flat. Vale's voice cut through the chaos, steady and commanding.
"Cael. Look at me."
Cael barely managed it.
"Do not force it," Vale said. "Do not fight it. Let it burn out."
"I cannot," Cael pleaded. "I feel like I am burning everywhere."
Another surge tore through him, shorter this time but sharper, ripping a raw sound from his throat.
Vale swore under his breath.
"Medical wing. Now."
They moved him fast.
The medical wing was too bright.
Cael drifted in and out as they worked. Healers' hands hovered just above his skin, magic pressing carefully against the damage.
Surface burns faded under their touch. His breathing steadied.
But every time they tried to reach deeper, something pushed back.
The pain dulled but did not release. Frowns deepened.
"Try again. This should not be happening," one healer murmured.
Another adjusted her approach, gentler, slower.
The magic slid off something unseen.
Cael clenched his jaw, sweat slick along his spine.
"What is wrong?" he rasped, barely conscious.
No one answered immediately.
Then someone said quietly, "It is… not fully healing."
Before Cael could ask what that meant, the doors opened again.
A different presence entered the room.
Calmer.
Quieter.
The air shifted. Not with power, but with focus.
"I will take this one," a voice said gently.
Cael turned his head.
The girl stepped closer, pale robes marked with the subtle sigils of the healer track. Silver hair draped over her shoulders, her expression shadowed by her hood.
Her eyes were steady.
Present.
Ilyra.
She washed her hands out of habit more than necessity, then moved to Cael's side, gaze scanning him with practiced efficiency.
"Tell me where it hurts," she said.
"Everywhere," Cael muttered.
Her lips twitched once. "Start deeper."
He hesitated, then swallowed.
"It feels like my magic took the wrong route."
Something flickered in her eyes.
"Alright," she said softly. "I will give it my best try."
Her hands hovered just above his chest.
The magic she used was not forceful. It did not press or pry.
It listened.
Cael felt it sink past the surface pain, threading carefully between what was damaged and what still held.
Then the world dropped out.
Ilyra stiffened.
Her breath caught sharply as something slammed into her awareness. Fire without heat. Silence without peace. A place scraped hollow of life.
For a heartbeat, she saw it again.
The same ruin.
The same impossible stillness.
And Cael.
Burning at the center of it.
"Ilyra," someone said sharply.
She snapped back.
Her hands flared with light. Not brighter. Not stronger.
Truer.
The magic surged, decisive now.
Cael cried out as the wounds slammed shut beneath her touch. Not knitting. Not smoothing.
Closing.
The pain vanished.
Too fast.
Ilyra pulled her hands back, breath shaking.
Silence fell.
Cael lay still, chest rising and falling evenly. The burns were gone.
But where they had been, thick dark scarring marred his skin.
Uneven. Wrapping around his arms and hands in intricate lines.
Healing was supposed to erase any noticeable damage outside of regrowing whole limbs.
This had not happened.
Ilyra stared, her heart hammering.
She was the only one who felt the echo still ringing in her bones.
The only one who knew something had answered her back.
And it had not been the spell.
Cael lay still, staring at the ceiling.
The pain did not come back.
That unsettled him more than the burns ever had.
He shifted one hand slowly, testing. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary.
His fingers obeyed. No heat followed. No familiar pressure coiled beneath his skin.
"Do not cast," Vale said, already watching him. "Not even a spark."
Cael let his hand fall.
"Am I grounded?" he asked.
Vale exhaled through his nose. "You are restricted."
Cael frowned. "That is not really different, is it?"
"No," Vale said. "But it is intentional. You had a close call today. You need to focus on why your magic disobeyed before worrying about classwork."
The healers moved around them, quiet now.
Slate tablets glowed as readings were recorded and cross checked. None of them commented on the scarring.
They did not have to.
Vale stepped closer, gaze fixed on Cael's chest, then his arms, tracking patterns that did not correspond to impact or recoil.
"This was not an overload," Vale said. "And it was not a loss of control."
Cael swallowed. "Then what was it?"
Vale did not answer immediately.
"That is what you need to figure out. Do not worry. Our best healers are actively researching as well."
Ilyra stood near the foot of the bed, hands folded, posture carefully neutral. If anyone noticed the way her shoulders were held too still, they did not comment.
Vale turned to her.
"Your intervention stabilized him," he said. "Nothing more. Correct?"
She nodded once.
"Correct."
Vale accepted it.
He addressed the healers again.
"Document this as an anomalous feedback event. No cause assigned. No external attribution."
One of them hesitated. "Instructor, the scarring,"
"Is cosmetic until proven otherwise," Vale said flatly. "And not a topic for student discussion."
That ended it.
The healers resumed their work.
Cael stared at the marks again. Dark, uneven lines where smooth skin should have been.
They did not hurt.
That somehow felt worse.
"When can I train again?" he asked.
Vale met his gaze. "When you know it will not happen again."
"And if I do not figure it out?"
Vale did not look away. "Then you adapt."
Cael absorbed that in silence.
Adapt.
Not fix.
Vale straightened. "You will be reassigned for now. No active casting. Observation only."
Cael's jaw tightened, but he nodded.
Ilyra finally spoke.
"He responded well to restraint," she said carefully. "If whatever had pushed back harder,"
"It did not," Vale said. "That is what matters right now."
He paused, then added, quieter, "You did what you were supposed to."
Ilyra inclined her head.
Vale turned to leave, then stopped.
"This stays in this room," he said. "No theories. No rumors. Anyone asks?"
"It was a training accident," Cael said.
Vale nodded. "Exactly."
When they were gone, the room felt emptier.
Cael lay back, eyes closing.
His magic was quiet.
Unresponsive.
Like something had been rerouted without telling him.
And whatever had gone wrong,
No one was naming it yet.