Ashthorne Academy never felt quiet.
Not truly.
Its halls were always alive with whispers, footsteps, wind against stone, the distant roar of training arenas, the crackle of unstable sigils humming in classrooms.
But today…
Ashthorne was silent.
Not calm.
Not peaceful.
Silent.
The kind of silence that only follows fear—
or the arrival of something the academy was not built to handle.
Caelum stepped into the courtyard, uniform immaculate, posture relaxed, hands tucked casually into his pockets. Morning mist clung to the stone floor like ghost-breath, swirling around his boots with every light step.
Students saw him.
And parted.
Not dramatically.
Not overtly.
No screams, no panic.
Just a ripple of instinct.
Like prey quietly stepping out of a predator's path.
The Dominion Council's summons had reached every corner of the academy before breakfast.
"They called him…"
"He walked out alive…"
"They didn't even question him—he questioned them…"
"The chains cracked—did you hear?"
"He touched an anomaly and it obeyed."
"That's impossible."
"Impossible things fear him."
Only Ashthorne could turn rumors into weapons this fast.
Lira, Marenne, and Jalen waiting
Caelum found them near the outer training yard—huddled behind a stone column as if hiding from the cold.
They weren't.
They were hiding from everything else.
Lira looked like she hadn't slept at all.
Her hair tangled.
Eyes red.
Fingers twisting anxiously around the strap of her bag.
When she saw Caelum, her breath hitched.
"You're alive," she whispered, voice trembling.
Caelum blinked once. "Shouldn't I be?"
"Students don't walk out of Dominion Council summons," Marenne said sharply. She adjusted her glasses, though her hands shook. "I read a report—they've executed students for less than what you did."
Jalen leaned close, whispering as if Ashthorne's walls might be listening.
"What did they do to you in there?"
Caelum shrugged. "They asked questions."
"What kind of questions?" Marenne pressed.
"The wrong ones," he answered simply.
That shut them up.
Lira stepped forward cautiously.
"C-Caelum… are you okay?" she asked, her voice barely more than a breath.
He looked at her—quiet, unreadable, observing her fear-thread trembling like a plucked violin string.
"Yes," he said gently. "Nothing happened to me."
He didn't mention the thing beneath the academy.
The black thread that rose for him.
The way the Council panicked.
The broken barrier.
The truth would only frighten her more.
But the academy had changed
Students tried not to stare.
Failed.
Every noble heir tracked him as he walked.
House Kaldros brutes stared like they'd seen a ghost.
House Umbraxis members blended into shadows but peeked anyway.
House Edevra's top Stabilizers whispered heatedly amongst themselves.
House Pyrell watched him like a flame watches fuel.
They didn't know what he was.
Only that he was not normal.
And not safe.
And when Caelum passed a group of third-year duelist students in the courtyard, they fell silent in a wave, as if instinct told them silence was the only proper greeting.
He didn't need Thread Sense to read it.
But Thread Sense made everything clearer.
He saw their fear-threads tightening like nooses.
Their envy-threads flickering like sparks.
Their curiosity-threads unfurling like tendrils.
And their hatred.
A thick, bright-red thread coming from one direction—
Kaldros.
The Challenge
The training yard gates slammed open.
A huge figure strode out.
Tall. Broad. Towering.
Armor reinforced.
Sigils burning faintly across his arms.
A sword strapped to his back that hummed with bloodmetal resonance.
Brutus Kaldros.
The eldest Kaldros heir in First-Year Division.
A monster among students.
Brutus cracked his neck as he approached, cracking the stone pavement under each step.
"Caelum Veylor," he growled. "I challenge you."
Students gasped.
Lira grabbed Caelum's arm—hard.
"Caelum, don't. Please don't—Brutus is ranked B-class already—he'll kill you!"
Marenne's eyes widened. "This isn't an ordinary duel. Look at his stance—he's in Kill-Right mode."
Jalen squeaked, "W-What?! That's legal?!"
"No," Marenne snapped. "But Kaldros does it anyway."
Caelum stepped forward without fear.
"What do you want?"
Brutus pointed his sword at Caelum's chest.
"You humiliated Darin. You humiliated House Kaldros. You left my brother shaking for an hour."
"He touched me first," Caelum replied calmly.
Brutus snarled: "I'm here to teach you respect."
Caelum tilted his head with mild curiosity.
"Respect is not taught," he said. "It is earned."
Brutus' jaw clenched. "Then I'll earn it by beating you into the dirt."
The crowd gasped.
Lira pulled Caelum back, frantic.
"Caelum—no! He'll tear you apart! He uses body-strengthening sigils—he's a combat prodigy—he—"
"It's fine," Caelum said gently.
She froze.
Because she sensed it too now.
Something in his tone.
Calm.
Cold.
Certain.
Marenne whispered, "He's… confident. Why is he confident?"
Because he saw Brutus clearly.
Not the body.
Not the sword.
Not the reputation.
He saw the threads.
Fear-thread pulsing faintly beneath the bravado.
Anger-thread burning bright but sloppy.
Pride-thread thickening enough to blind him.
Stability-thread cracking around the edges—too much training, not enough rest.
A structure with weaknesses everywhere.
Defeat was already woven into his pattern.
Brutus didn't notice.
"Duel zone!" he barked.
A ring of students formed.
Some hungry for blood.
Some terrified.
Some thrilled.
Brutus cracked his knuckles.
"Any last words?"
Caelum stepped into the center of the ring.
"Yes," he said softly.
"You should have stayed in class."
Brutus roared and charged.
The Fight Begins
Brutus moved like a stampeding beast.
Fast. Loud. Brutal.
His first punch cracked the air—
a shockwave of pure physical force—
the type of attack that could break ribs, crack stone, destroy a normal student.
But Caelum stepped aside.
Not hurriedly.
Not chaotically.
Just one step.
Effortless.
Brutus slammed into the ground, stone exploding beneath his fist.
Students screamed.
He looked up, furious.
"STAND STILL!"
"No," Caelum said.
Brutus swung his bloodmetal sword in a wide arc.
Caelum ducked.
Barely.
Precisely.
Like he knew exactly where that sword-thread would travel.
Because he did.
Brutus slashed again, roaring.
Again.
Again.
Caelum wove past each strike like walking through rain.
Then—
He touched Brutus' wrist.
Just two fingers.
Thread Touch: Pain-Thread Disruption.
Brutus screamed.
A short, sharp, involuntary howl—
the sound of pain igniting along nerves that didn't even exist a moment ago.
He stumbled back, clutching his arm.
"What—what did you DO to me?!"
Caelum took a step forward.
Brutus took a step back.
He wasn't fighting a student.
He was fighting something he couldn't understand.
Caelum's voice was quiet and polite.
"You are unbalanced. Your threads are frayed. Your stability is low. Every strike you make weakens your soul."
Brutus trembled with rage.
"STOP TALKING LIKE YOU KNOW EVERYTHING!"
Caelum closed the distance instantly.
Brutus didn't even see him move.
Thread Sense timed perfectly.
Pain-thread.
Pride-thread.
Balance-thread.
Caelum tapped Brutus' shoulder.
Light touch.
Barely contact.
Brutus collapsed like someone had stolen the bones from his legs.
He hit the ground hard, gasping, humiliated, unable to rise.
Horror rippled across the crowd.
Marenne whispered, "He disabled him… with a touch…"
Jalen whispered, "Caelum isn't human."
Lira whispered, voice trembling, "Caelum… please stop…"
But Caelum crouched beside Brutus' head.
He whispered just loud enough for the crowd to hear.
"Respect is earned, Brutus. And today…"
He leaned closer.
"…you learn who not to challenge."
Brutus shivered uncontrollably.
The duel was over.
Everyone knew it.
Everyone saw it.
And now everyone feared him.
Something Watches
As Caelum stood, the ground beneath the academy trembled faintly.
Just once.
A pulse.
A heartbeat.
A message.
"…well done…"
Caelum's eyes darkened.
This academy was waking up.
And it had decided he belonged to it.