Morning crept into Dorm Nine like a nervous intruder—thin light pushing through cracked windows, turning dust into drifting silver motes. The air was cold, unmoving, thick with the stale breath of too many frightened students.
The academy's First Bell shattered the quiet.
A deep, metallic GONG that vibrated through the floorboards and rattled the glass. Students jerked awake in a chorus of curses, groans, and frantic shuffling.
Caelum opened his eyes at the first echo.
He didn't stretch.
Didn't blink groggily.
Didn't sit up slowly.
He simply shifted from stillness to awareness with the precision of a blade leaving its sheath.
The Proto-Sigil beneath his ribs pulsed once—quiet, warm, expanding like a spiderweb unfurling.
Another day.
Caelum stood and dressed with calm efficiency while the hallway outside descended into chaos—bodies colliding, half-buttoned uniforms, someone crying, someone else yelling about missing shoes.
Standard morning behavior for the Reject Dorm.
He stepped out last.
Jalen, the dorm monitor, was attempting to form the residents into a line. It wasn't working. The students looked like prisoners marching to an execution.
"You all look like ghosts," Jalen groaned. Then he spotted Caelum. "And… you look normal? How?"
Caelum smiled mildly. "I slept well."
A lie.
He hadn't "slept" so much as listened.
The whispers under the floorboards had continued long into the night.
Watching him.
Studying him.
Calling him something only ancient things remembered.
He didn't mind.
Lira emerged from her room, hair messy, fear still lingering in her eyes. The moment she saw Caelum, her shoulders loosened.
"Good morning," she whispered shyly.
"Morning," he replied, gentle and warm.
Her reaction was immediate—a small smile, relief softening her features.
Predictable.
Useful.
A door slammed open at the far end of the hall. A second-year stumbled out, limping, bruised, eyes ringed with exhaustion.
He sneered when he saw the line of Reject Dorm first-years.
"Trash." His gaze locked on Caelum. "And you. The failed Veylor. Lost your spot in the main dorms, huh?"
Caelum tilted his head slightly, offering a quiet, polite: "And you are?"
The older student faltered—just for a heartbeat.
Something in Caelum's eyes made his breath hitch.
The sneer weakened.
"…just stay out of trouble," he muttered, pushing past them.
The hallway watched him leave in stunned silence.
Jalen whispered, "What did you do to him?"
"Nothing," Caelum said softly.
And walked away.
Outside, the fog rolled across the courtyard in low waves, swallowing the feet of students marching toward the academy. The massive towers of Ashthorne loomed overhead, carved from obsidian stone and threaded with faint sigil-light that pulsed like veins.
Higher-ranked students walked on paved paths.
Reject Dorm students trudged through mud.
Lira hugged her cloak. "What do you think our first class will be?"
"Support Division theory," Caelum replied. "Healing, resonance fundamentals, stabilization techniques."
"I hope I can handle it…" she murmured.
"You will," he said. And she believed him.
The rest of Dorm Nine stayed close together—like prey animals huddling for safety. Other students pointed and whispered as the rejects passed.
"Slate-tier failures."
"Why keep them alive?"
"Look, there's the disgrace Veylor."
Caelum didn't react.
People who announce their superiority loudly rarely possess any.
As the courtyard broadened, the different divisions split into tight clusters—Combat students sparring aggressively, Magic students levitating books, Strategy students analyzing everyone, Support students trying their best not to look terrified.
Caelum's gaze drifted across the sea of faces.
House Kaldros—muscle and arrogance wrapped into uniforms.
House Edevra—controlled and cold, eyes sharp as scalpels.
House Umbraxis—too still, too quiet.
House Pyrell—
Seraphine Pyrell stood among her peers, fingers trailing lines of crimson sigil-flame that curled like living smoke. She noticed Caelum watching her and turned her head slowly.
Their eyes met.
Not curiosity.
Not hostility.
Recognition.
She looked away first.
Interesting.
A gust of wind tore through the courtyard.
Then, with a violent crack of displaced air, a figure appeared in the center like a blade piercing the world.
Tall. Armored. Expression carved from stone.
Kael Dravos.
Combat Division instructor.
The air warped slightly around him—heat or something else, something older.
"Welcome," Dravos said, voice carrying like thunder over stone. "To your first day of training."
Silence fell.
His gaze swept across the students like a blade slicing through cloth.
Then it paused.
On Caelum.
A hundred heads turned.
Whispers.
"That's him—"
"The trash—"
"Why him—?"
Dravos stared for three long, oppressive seconds.
Then he looked away.
The moment passed like a dark cloud sliding across the sun.
Dravos conjured a sigil of flame in his hand—burning bright, sharp, alive.
"This academy does not care about your lineage," he growled. "Your rank. Your pride."
He crushed the flame.
Glass-like shards of fire scattered, dissolving midair.
"If you are weak, you die here."
His finger pointed directly at the Support Division.
"The rest of you—earn your place."
A ripple of fear spread through the courtyard.
Caelum remained perfectly calm.
When the divisions began to disperse, a girl stepped directly into Caelum's path.
Short black hair. Glasses. A belt full of neatly organized books.
Her eyes were too sharp, too alert, too focused.
"You're Caelum Veylor," she said.
A statement, not a question.
"Yes."
"I'm Marenne. I was top of Support Division in written exams."
She pushed her glasses up.
"I watched you during the entrance exam."
Lira stiffened.
Jalen took a slow step backward.
Caelum smiled gently. "Did you?"
"You're wrong for your rank," Marenne continued calmly. "Your movements were too precise. And the crystal scanner didn't malfunction — your resonance made it fail."
Ah.
Someone with a brain.
Caelum's expression warmed.
"Interesting," he murmured.
Marenne leaned closer. "I want to know what you are."
The smile he gave her was soft, polite, harmless.
And entirely untrue.
"Then study hard," he whispered. "Answers come to those who survive long enough to understand them."
A shiver ran through her.
Not from fear.
From curiosity.
"Fine," she said quietly. "I'll be watching you."
Caelum inclined his head.
Good. Watch. You will see nothing.
Just as the instructors began calling students to their divisions, a cold pulse washed up Caelum's spine.
A whisper rose from beneath the courtyard stone.
The same whisper that haunted Dorm Nine.
The same whisper that tasted his soul.
"…thread… bearer…"
Caelum lowered his eyes slightly.
You again.
His voice was barely audible.
"Patience."
The presence receded like a tide pulling back from the shore.
And the day began.
The day Ashthorne would start noticing him.