The first light of dawn crept through the stone windowsill, casting pale beams across the cold floor of Caelus's room. The night had been long, the chill of the academy's halls settling into his bones, but it was the thoughts that plagued his mind that had kept him awake. The encounter with the stranger from the previous night had stirred something deep within him, something both dangerous and alluring. The power within him, the curse; or the gift, depending on how one chose to look at it; whispered in the back of his mind like an uninvited guest, tugging at his thoughts.
He hadn't asked for this. None of it.
With a sigh, Caelus rose from his cot, the rough blanket slipping from his shoulders as he stood. His eyes, tired and bloodshot, met the tarnished mirror on the wall. The reflection staring back at him was a far cry from the boy he had once been. The boy who lived in the slums, who survived on scraps and lived in fear of the city's guards. He was still that boy in a way; his skin still darkened by years of exposure to the elements, his eyes still haunted by the ghosts of his past. But now, those ghosts had taken on a new form: the academy, with its towering spires of stone and magic, with its secrets and dangers lurking in every shadow.
The academy had swallowed him whole, and he wasn't sure whether he was ready to be digested.
Shaking his head, Caelus turned toward the wardrobe. The clothes inside were unlike anything he had ever owned. A black robe, trimmed in gold, stared back at him from the folds of the fabric. His fingers brushed over the smooth material, and for a brief moment, he hesitated. This robe was a symbol of his new life, of everything he was expected to become. It was the uniform of Blackspire Academy, a place where power was everything; and those who held it decided who lived and who perished.
He dressed slowly, each motion deliberate as he tried to shake off the unease that clung to him like a second skin. The robe fit well, though the fabric still felt foreign against his skin. He tugged at the sleeves, making sure they didn't drag too far past his wrists, and ran a hand through his hair. The simple action helped center him, as if preparing for the day ahead.
Today was his first class.
When he exited the room, the hallway was still eerily quiet, save for the distant clatter of footsteps and murmurs of conversation. Most students would be arriving for their lessons by now, but Caelus didn't want to be caught up in the chaos of their first-day introductions. The sheer size of the academy was overwhelming, each corner a labyrinth of polished stone, tall columns, and high archways that seemed to stretch infinitely upward.
It was a world entirely different from the slums of his youth; a world of polished opulence and hidden cruelty. The smell of rich perfumes lingered in the air, mingling with the faint scent of old wood and damp stone. The flickering light from ornate sconces on the walls cast long shadows, making the halls feel even more oppressive than they already were.
He moved quickly, heading toward the main courtyard, the path to the classrooms just beyond. As he walked, Caelus caught sight of a boy sitting against one of the stone pillars in the courtyard, his eyes hidden behind a mess of dark hair. No one else seemed to take notice of him, as though he were invisible.
Curiosity piqued, Caelus approached the boy. His robes were a little frayed at the edges, and his posture slouched, as if he were too tired to hold himself upright. The boy looked up just as Caelus stepped closer, his eyes dark and hollow, and for a moment, Caelus thought he might be staring into the abyss itself.
"Are you… alright?" Caelus asked, his voice tentative, unsure of how to break the silence.
The boy blinked slowly, then gave a slight nod. "I'm fine," he muttered, though there was a hesitation in his voice that suggested otherwise. "Just… waiting."
"For what?"
The boy didn't answer immediately. Instead, he glanced at the students passing by, some sneering, others whispering behind their hands. "For someone who isn't afraid of the way I smell."
Caelus frowned. "What do you mean?"
The boy's lips curled into a bitter smile. "People here don't like to look at me. I'm… different."
Caelus was about to respond when he heard a voice from behind him. It was sharp and commanding, with a tone that carried authority even before the speaker was seen.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" The voice came from a boy dressed in a pristine robe, his posture straight as a board, his expression as if the world owed him something. His hair was impeccably styled, a golden sheen glinting in the sunlight, and his eyes gleamed with the arrogance that came from centuries of bloodlines.
He was an aristocrat, Caelus could tell immediately by the way he carried himself. His face was one that had been crafted to instill respect, to bend others to his will. He was also someone Caelus would never have crossed paths with in the slums.
"Ephraim Aldore," the boy said with an air of superiority, drawing out his name as if it was a weapon. "I see we have a newcomer." His eyes flicked over Caelus, sizing him up, his lip curling ever so slightly in disdain. "I don't think I've seen you around before. Are you… lost?"
Caelus tensed, not knowing how to respond. He could feel the tension in the air as Ephraim's group, a few students who had been trailing behind him, moved in closer, creating a circle around Caelus. They weren't even looking at the boy who had been sitting before him anymore. Ephraim had made it clear who was the center of attention.
"I'm… Caelus," he finally managed to say, his voice low.
Ephraim's eyes gleamed with amusement. "Caelus. Interesting name. I'm sure you've heard of me. Aldore, noble blood," he added with a dismissive flick of his wrist. "Tell me, do you even belong here?"
Before Caelus could reply, Ephraim's hand shot out, fast and precise, grabbing the collar of his robe. "I don't think you understand. This place isn't for someone like you. It's for those with a future," he sneered, his eyes full of contempt.
The boy Caelus had been talking to flinched, his gaze dropping to the floor.
But Caelus stood his ground. His fists clenched at his sides, and he met Ephraim's eyes with a fierceness he hadn't known he had. "I belong here just as much as you do."
Ephraim laughed, a cruel, cold sound that echoed through the courtyard. "We'll see about that. See you at dinner, Caelus." With a final shove, he let go, turning on his heel and walking away, his followers following in his wake.
Caelus stood there for a long moment, fists still clenched, before he realized the boy beside him was still watching.
"You handled that well," the boy said quietly, his voice tinged with something Caelus couldn't place; admiration, perhaps? Or was it pity?
Caelus didn't answer. He was already lost in his thoughts, wondering just how far he'd have to go to prove he belonged.
The bell rang, signaling the start of his first class.
The classroom was a vast, imposing hall filled with ancient bookshelves that towered over the students. The stone walls were adorned with intricate runes that pulsed with faint light, a subtle reminder of the power that permeated every corner of Blackspire. At the front of the room, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, was Professor Gaelen Veylor, the master of Arcane Fundamentals.
Gaelen was an older man, his hair silver and his eyes sharp. His robes were a deep violet, trimmed in silver, and he exuded an aura of control. There was something about him; something in the way he carried himself; that commanded attention.
As the students settled into their seats, Gaelen spoke, his voice deep and commanding.
"Welcome, students, to your first lesson in the fundamentals of magic," he began, his gaze sweeping over them. "In this class, you will learn the very building blocks of the power that flows within you. Magic is not a mere tool; it is a force, an energy that can shape the very world around you. It is both a blessing and a curse. A gift and a burden."
The students were silent, hanging on his every word.
"To begin with, we will start with the basic concepts of Ley Energy—the foundation of all magic. Every living being is connected to the ley lines of the world, invisible currents of energy that flow beneath our feet, around us, and through us. You will need to learn how to sense these lines, how to draw from them, and, most importantly, how to control them."
Professor Veylor paused, his eyes narrowing as he observed the students. "It is not enough to simply cast spells. You must understand the source of that power. You must learn to listen to the ley lines, to feel their pulse as it thrums beneath your skin. When you do, only then can you truly begin to wield magic as you were meant to."
The lesson continued, with the professor explaining the basics of ley energy manipulation, the use of symbols to focus power, and the importance of concentration. Caelus listened intently, feeling a strange excitement rise within him. This was the power he had felt inside him; a force that could bend reality to his will.
But as the lesson concluded, a shadow fell over him. He could feel the eyes of the other students, some curious, some dismissive. Blackspire was not a place where one could simply learn magic; it was a place where magic would consume you, twist you, until you became something else entirely.
And Caelus knew, deep down, that he had only just begun to scratch the surface of what he would have to face.
The evening came far too quickly for Caelus, and as he made his way back to the dormitory after dinner, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to happen. As he rounded a corner, he saw them. Ephraim and his group, standing in the shadows, their eyes gleaming in the moonlight.
"You thought you were safe," Ephraim's voice was a low growl, "but the real test begins tonight."
The hazing had begun.
The night was just beginning, and Caelus was far from prepared for what lay ahead.