Kalem's third week at Arcathis was marked by growing frustration. No matter how hard he tried, the gap between him and his peers seemed insurmountable. His classes demanded not only intelligence but also precision, intuition, and a certain finesse that he couldn't seem to master.
In Runes and Inscription, Kalem spent hours trying to etch a stabilizing rune onto a small piece of iron. His lines were either too deep or too shallow, causing the rune to fail repeatedly.
"Focus, Kalem," the instructor's voice rang out. "You're treating the material like a common tool. Runes require delicacy, not brute force!"
Kalem gritted his teeth, gripping his chisel tighter. "Delicacy," he muttered under his breath. "Right." But no matter how careful he tried to be, his hand trembled with frustration, and the rune sparked and fizzled out once again.
By the end of class, Kalem's iron was covered in ruined etchings, and he had nothing to show for his efforts.
It didn't help that the other students in the Material Division were less than welcoming. Most of them came from prestigious backgrounds, with years of private tutoring and hands-on experience. Kalem's humble origins made him an outsider, and his struggles didn't win him any sympathy.
"Another failed project, huh?" a fellow student sneered as they passed him in the workshop. "Maybe you should've stuck to village blacksmithing."
Kalem clenched his fists, biting back a retort. He didn't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing him lose his temper.
That evening, Kalem and Lyra met up at their usual spot near the academy gardens. Lyra had her notebook open, scribbling formulas for a new alchemical experiment. Kalem, on the other hand, sat slumped against a tree, staring at the ground.
"Rough day?" Lyra asked, glancing at him.
"More like a rough week," Kalem replied. "I'm starting to think this place isn't for me."
Lyra frowned. "Don't say that. You've come this far."
Kalem sighed. "It's not just the classes. It's everything. The students, the professors, the expectations... I feel like I'm drowning."
"Well, it's not supposed to be easy," Lyra said. "But you're not alone in this, Kalem. You've got me, and you've got Onyx. Besides, you're tougher than you think."
"Tough doesn't cut it when everyone else is better," Kalem muttered.
Lyra set her notebook aside and looked at him seriously. "You're looking at it all wrong. You're comparing yourself to people who've had every advantage handed to them. You're not just here to survive, Kalem. You're here to prove that you deserve to be here just as much as they do. Maybe even more."
Her words hit him harder than he expected. For a moment, he felt a spark of determination, but it was quickly overshadowed by doubt.
The next day, in the Practical Lab, Kalem's frustration boiled over. They were tasked with enchanting a simple iron rod to emit heat—an exercise in basic runic alignment.
Kalem poured all his focus into the task, meticulously etching the runes and infusing them with magic. But when he activated the rod, it didn't just emit heat—it exploded in a burst of sparks and smoke, leaving a blackened scorch mark on his workstation.
The other students burst into laughter, and even the instructor struggled to hide his amusement.
"Well, Mr. Kalem," the instructor said, his tone dry, "at least you succeeded in making it... memorable."
Kalem stormed out of the lab, his face burning with humiliation.
That evening, Kalem went straight to Lyra's room, his face grim and determined. She was surprised to see him.
"Kalem? What's—"
"I need your help," he interrupted. "I need you to make me something."
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "Sure, what kind of potion are you thinking? Something for focus? Maybe something to stabilize your magic output?"
"No," Kalem said firmly. "I need anti-sleeping potions. Fifty vials."
Lyra blinked, stunned. "Fifty vials? What on earth are you planning to do?!"
"I need to catch up," Kalem said, his voice low but resolute. "I'm so far behind everyone else, Lyra. If I keep going like this, I'll fail out of Arcathis before I even get the chance to prove myself. I need time—more time than I have during the day. The only way I can get that is by cutting out sleep."
Lyra frowned. "Kalem, that's insane. You can't just stop sleeping! Your body and mind won't last—"
"I don't care!" Kalem snapped. "I'm not like the others. I don't have their resources or their training. If I don't push myself harder than anyone else, I'm done for. Please, Lyra. You're the only one who can help me."
Lyra hesitated, clearly torn. "I'll do it, but only if you promise me one thing."
"What?" Kalem asked.
"That you'll stop if it gets too dangerous. No proving a point if it means hurting yourself, okay?"
Kalem nodded, though he wasn't sure he could keep that promise.
With Lyra's potions in hand, Kalem threw himself into his studies. Every night, while his peers rested, he stayed awake, poring over books, practicing his runes, and experimenting with enchantments. Onyx kept him company in the workshop, the bull's steady presence a comforting anchor in the endless hours of work.
At first, the potions seemed like a miracle. Kalem felt energized and focused, using every minute to learn and refine his skills.
But as the days turned into weeks, the strain began to show. His hands shook as he worked, and his temper grew shorter with every failed experiment. The potions kept his body awake, but his mind felt increasingly frayed, his thoughts scattered and unfocused.
Even Lyra noticed the change. "Kalem, you look like a walking corpse," she said one evening. "This isn't sustainable."
"I don't have a choice," Kalem replied, his voice hoarse. "I'm getting better, Lyra. I can feel it. Just a little longer."
Lyra sighed, knowing she couldn't stop him but worried about the toll it was taking.
Kalem's frustration had driven him to the brink, but in his darkest moments, his determination burned brighter than ever. If he was going to succeed, he would do it on his own terms—even if it meant sacrificing everything else in the process.