Kalem's second year had settled into a steady rhythm—classes, research, crafting, and training. His courses, though demanding, were manageable, and he had even been excused from a few due to his demonstrated expertise.
The academy remained its usual blend of scholarly pursuit and political undercurrents. Yet, small things felt different this year.
It wasn't obvious, not yet, but Kalem had learned to recognize when the air changed.
Kalem first noticed it during practical combat training.
Master Rourke, usually strict but composed, seemed more watchful. He paired students more carefully and lingered longer near certain matches, as if evaluating something beyond their combat skills.
Then there was the matter of the professors.
While his courses were challenging, the faculty's private discussions had grown more frequent. Sometimes, Kalem would catch glimpses of them talking in the halls—low, quiet conversations that ended abruptly when students came too close.
Most would dismiss it as nothing, but Kalem wasn't most students.
Something had changed.
One afternoon, as Kalem fine-tuned an alloy mixture, Garrick stopped by the forge.
"You've noticed it too, haven't you?"
Kalem didn't look up from his work. "Noticed what?"
Garrick crossed his arms. "Don't play dumb. The academy's… different this year."
Kalem set his tools down and glanced at him. "Go on."
Garrick exhaled, leaning against the nearby table. "The instructors are more on edge. Some students, especially those from noble families, are acting more careful, like they're watching their backs. And then there's the matter of your tournament reward."
Kalem frowned. "What about it?"
Garrick hesitated before saying, "It's not a big deal. Yet. But let's just say some people find your choice oddly interesting."
Kalem held back a sigh.
"So much for avoiding attention."
A few nights later, Lyra found him at the forge. She wasn't alone—Jhaeros and Nara followed close behind.
"You got a letter," Lyra said, handing over a sealed envelope.
Kalem took it, recognizing the seal of The Bank.
It was a simple notice, detailing that a particular request had been fulfilled and was ready for delivery at his convenience. But the phrasing was careful, almost too formal, as if to ensure nothing could be inferred from it.
Jhaeros raised an eyebrow. "Something important?"
Kalem folded the letter neatly. "Just a confirmation."
Nara smirked. "Right. A confirmation from The Bank. That's normal."
Kalem gave her a dry look. "Nothing strange about managing one's resources."
Lyra hummed thoughtfully. "If you say so."
The group didn't press further, but Kalem knew they weren't entirely convinced.
For now, life at the academy continued as usual. The days passed in study and practice, the nights in refining his projects.
But Kalem had the distinct feeling that this was the quiet before something louder.
He didn't know when, or how, but eventually—something would shift.
And when it did, he intended to be ready.