Morning came slower the day after the Rite.
Though the village of Valmere hummed with the same soft currents of enchantment—glowing laundry lines, levitating crates, firewood stacking itself neatly beside cottages—there was a subtle shift in the air. A buzz just beneath the quiet. The kind that preceded a storm.
Darian Veyne felt it as he walked along the river's edge, barefoot, the chill water licking at his ankles.
He had always liked mornings before the rest of the village woke. There were no stares, no murmurs. Only birdsong and the rustle of leaves. No one to remind him what he lacked.
His wooden sword rested against a nearby tree. He practiced bare-handed this morning, moving through the drills he'd taught himself by watching guards, hunters, and traveling warriors. His form was not perfect, but it was disciplined. Honed. Earned.
A twig snapped.
Caelum stood nearby, holding two cups of steambark tea, his hair still tousled from sleep. He didn't speak right away.
Darian stopped mid-motion. "I know that look."
"You forgot to eat again," Caelum said, offering a cup.
"I remembered. I just didn't care."
Caelum sighed. "You've been up since dawn, haven't you?"
"Earlier."
"Of course."
They sat on the grass, the silence between them familiar. Darian sipped the tea, the warmth grounding him.
Caelum looked at him carefully. "They sent another letter from the Arcadium."
Darian stiffened. "What did they say?"
"They confirmed your trial. You'll be evaluated at the end of the week."
Darian blinked. "Trial?"
"For Bladeward admission. You'll spar in front of an examiner."
Darian set the cup down slowly. "So I'm not even accepted. Just considered."
Caelum didn't answer.
Darian stood, paced a few steps, then said quietly, "You think I can do it?"
"I know you can," Caelum said without hesitation. "But I also know what they'll think when they see you."
Darian's jaw clenched.
"They'll see a Makaras," Caelum continued. "No aura. No spellmark. Just a sword."
Darian turned, steel in his voice. "Then I'll make sure the sword is all they remember."
****
Later that day, Darian returned home to gather his belongings.
The house was quiet. His mother was tending to her herbs outside, murmuring soft charms to the soil. Inside, their father sat at the workbench, sketching glyphs into a blank runeplate.
Alric looked up as Darian entered.
"Leaving?"
Darian nodded. "For the evaluation."
Alric wiped his hands on a cloth. "You'll take the short blade I forged."
"I already have one."
"This one's balanced for your style."
A pause.
"Thank you," Darian said, and it wasn't just for the blade.
As he turned to leave, Alric added, "You're not just your mana. Or your lack of it. You're something… else. I don't know what yet."
Darian paused in the doorway. "Neither do I."
****
The journey to the Arcadium took three days by spellcaravan. The first was uneventful—Darian kept mostly to himself, while Caelum tried his best to deflect attention from the curious travelers who recognized his name.
The second day brought them closer to Zephandor's border. The terrain changed—rivers glowed softly with mana residue, trees whispered forgotten languages, and the stars shimmered brighter, even by day.
On the third morning, the Arcadium of Echoes came into view.
It wasn't a building. It was a floating archipelago of stone and crystal platforms, drifting in the sky like islands anchored by glowing chains of energy. Massive spellrunes circled the base like orbiting moons, casting light across the clouds.
Bridges of woven magic connected the platforms. Towers curved upward like branches of a tree stretching to the stars. The central tower, known as the Heartspire, pulsed with ancient rhythm.
Even Darian had to stop and stare.
Caelum grinned. "They say the whole place listens. That the Arcadium watches its students."
Darian raised an eyebrow. "Let's hope it doesn't mind blades."
****
The Bladeward evaluation took place on a circular dueling platform surrounded by silver amphitheaters. A dozen instructors sat watching as candidates demonstrated their combat forms.
Most trainees bore small amounts of mana. Their swords glimmered faintly with enchantments, their armor stitched with weak defensive runes. Darian stood out, completely mundane. No glow. No enhancements. Just him.
A man with a jagged scar over one eye called out. "Darian Veyne, step forward."
Darian walked calmly into the ring.
"Your opponent," the man said, gesturing behind him, "will be Instructor Rylos."
A tall, seasoned swordsman stepped forward—mana flickering around his limbs. His eyes were hard, expression unreadable.
"You'll have one minute," the judge said. "Impress us."
Rylos bowed. Darian returned it, then raised his blade.
They circled.
Rylos struck first—fast and sharp, his blade dancing with wind-edge enchantments.
Darian barely blocked. The force rattled his arm.
Another blow—then a feint. Darian dodged low, rolled, came up with a rising slash. Rylos parried, then kicked, sending Darian skidding back.
Murmurs from the observers.
Darian exhaled, centered himself.
Then he moved.
He struck not with speed but with precision, flowing from form to form like a river cutting through stone. He baited Rylos into overextending, then used the gap to land a solid strike to the side.
It didn't hurt the instructor, but it stopped the fight.
Rylos backed off and gave a small nod.
The judge stood. "Accepted. Bladeward Corps."
No applause.
But Darian felt something stir in his chest.
It wasn't pride.
It was something warmer.
Recognition.
****
That night, Darian sat at the lower dormitory window, staring out across the glowing bridges of the Arcadium.
Footsteps approached. Caelum sat beside him, legs crossed.
"You did it," Caelum said.
"It's just the start."
Caelum nodded. "It's going to be hard."
"I know."
"But you're here. You belong."
Darian didn't speak, but a small smile touched his lips.
Far below, in the shadows beyond the campus walls, a hooded figure watched the dormitories from the edge of the forest.
A broken pendant dangled from their neck.
A rose of fourteen petals.
And eyes that had not blinked in over a hundred years.