With the Blood Nights officially over, life at the academy returned to its usual rhythm. The third year continued without major disruptions, allowing students to focus on their growth. The tension that had loomed over them for months had finally lifted, replaced by an air of cautious optimism.
Kalem, ever the enigma, continued excelling in his studies. He met every academic challenge with precision, but what surprised many was his unexpected proficiency in Environmental Impact Studies.
Environmental Impact Studies was not a class most students paid much attention to. It involved assessing and mitigating the environmental effects of material harvesting—things like preventing mine collapses, avoiding over-extraction, and ensuring that dangerous creatures in mining zones weren't disturbed. While it was important for alchemists and craftsmen, most combat-oriented students dismissed it as irrelevant.
Yet, Kalem was effortlessly acing the subject, his insight surpassing even the instructor's expectations.
This raised more than a few eyebrows. Many students remembered Kalem's infamous arena stunt during the tournament—where he had deliberately damaged the arena's ruin network during the first two rounds, creating artificial catastrophes that disrupted his opponents' strategies. The contrast between that reckless destruction and his current knowledge of responsible resource management was hilarious to his friends.
"I still can't believe you're the top student in Environmental Impact Studies," Nara smirked. "You, of all people, lecturing about responsible mining? The same guy who turned an arena into a crumbling deathtrap?"
Kalem, unfazed as always, merely shrugged. "It's not about responsibility. It's about efficiency. You take what you need and ensure the system doesn't collapse on you."
"Sounds pretty responsible to me," Lyra teased, nudging him. "Should we start calling you Professor Kalem?"
Jhaeros chuckled, shaking his head. "It's almost as funny as the fact that you only recently learned how to forge armor for women."
Kalem sighed, running a hand through his hair. He had become the target of endless teasing since that revelation. In truth, it hadn't even occurred to him until a few months ago—his previous experience had been centered around weapons, general-purpose armor, and gear suited for his own use. It wasn't until Isolde bluntly pointed it out that he had realized the gap in his knowledge.
"Laugh it up," Kalem muttered. "Not like it changes anything."
"Oh, it changes plenty," Nara grinned. "Next time, you'll probably forget to consider left-handed fighters or something."
Kalem sighed again but didn't argue.
Despite the teasing, the conversation shifted when Kalem finally shared a piece of his past that most of them hadn't heard before.
As they sat together in the forge, Kalem pulled out a cloth-wrapped bundle, carefully unrolling it to reveal a jagged red spear embedded with the hardened scales of a slain Garon.
Jhaeros's eyes widened in recognition. "That's—"
"The same weapon I used when we first fought," Kalem confirmed. "Back then, I was still using it regularly."
Nara leaned forward, inspecting the spear. The weapon had an ominous feel to it, the crimson hue of its blade seeming almost unnatural.
"What's the story behind this?" Garrick asked.
Kalem ran a finger along the spear's shaft, his expression unreadable. "I was a miner in Warsaw for a time. A real one, not like the forge work I do now. We worked in the deep tunnels, and that's where I found the materials for this spear."
Jhaeros crossed his arms. "You never mentioned this before."
"It didn't seem relevant," Kalem replied simply.
Lyra, who had already known a version of the story, filled in some details. "Warsaw's mines have always been dangerous, but Kalem was one of the miners who worked in them. He crafted a weapon from the materials he found there."
Kalem didn't correct her—because she didn't know the full truth.
Isolde narrowed her eyes. "And then?"
Kalem's fingers tightened around the shaft of the spear. "Then a Garon took residence in one of the mines."
Silence settled over the group.
Garons weren't ordinary beasts. They were monstrous creatures covered in near-impenetrable scales, known for their ferocity. Even seasoned warriors hesitated to fight them.
"The Warsaw authorities didn't want to lose control of the mine," Kalem continued. "So they started forcing miners to fight it. No proper weapons. No training. Just a pickaxe and orders to kill something that couldn't be killed."
His friends stiffened.
"You were drafted into that?" Jhaeros asked, his voice carefully neutral.
Kalem nodded. "I was. I survived." His eyes flicked toward the spear. "And after that harrowing encounter, I crafted this—a spear strong enough to pierce its scales. Then I went back and killed the thing myself."
Nara let out a low whistle. "Damn."
Garrick leaned forward. "Wait. If you did that, why didn't you get any recognition? You should've been a hero."
Kalem let out a short laugh—one that held no humor. "Because I used forbidden materials to make the spear. And the authorities? They couldn't have their incompetence exposed."
Isolde's expression darkened. "They exiled you."
Kalem simply nodded.
The realization hit Lyra the hardest. She had known about the spear, about the Garon—but she hadn't known about the forced draft or the exile.
"You never told me about that," she murmured.
Kalem shrugged. "You didn't ask."
Lyra gave him a flat look. "You deliberately left that part out."
"Does it matter?" Kalem asked.
His friends didn't answer immediately.
It did matter.
Warsaw had used him, thrown him into a death sentence, and when he did the impossible, they discarded him to cover their own mistakes.
The story sat heavy in the air.
Jhaeros was the first to break the silence. "I get why you don't talk about it. But…" He gestured to the spear. "If you don't tell people what you've done, they're going to keep underestimating you. And that's dangerous."
Garrick nodded. "You don't like showing off, but that means people will keep picking fights with you. They'll think they can win—and when they can't, it's not going to end well."
Isolde crossed her arms. "You're walking around with a Garon-killing weapon and the knowledge to forge things most people wouldn't dream of, but you act like you're just another student."
Kalem exhaled. "And?"
"And that's going to get people killed," Jhaeros said bluntly. "One day, someone's going to come at you expecting an easy fight, and they're going to die before they even realize how badly they miscalculated."
His friends weren't wrong.
Kalem had always avoided drawing attention to himself—but in doing so, he had created a different kind of risk.
He leaned back, considering their words.
"I'll keep that in mind," he finally said.
Jhaeros exhaled. "Good. Because you don't get to act like you're normal after slaying a Garon with your own hands."
Kalem smirked. "Fair point."
For now, though, he was content to keep working—refining his craft, improving his techniques, and quietly preparing for whatever came next.