(The Academy, the King, and the Shadows React)
⸻
I. Waking in the White Room
The world came back to Lyria in fragments.
A white ceiling. Soft crystal light humming overhead. The scent of herbs and Source-infused incense thick in the air.
And Kael's face.
He sat hunched forward in a chair beside her bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles whitened. His eyes were red-rimmed; tired. His dark-blue hair fell in messy strands over his brow.
"…Kael?" she whispered.
His head snapped up."Lyria?"
She tried to sit up—pain stabbed through her shoulder and she flinched. Kael was on his feet instantly, one hand behind her back, the other steadying her good arm.
"Easy," he murmured. "You got stabbed saving my life. You're allowed to lie down for once."
She frowned slightly. "Did… did it work? The antidote?"
On the far side of the bed, Nira slept curled awkwardly in a chair, green hair spilling over her face, fingers still faintly aglow from hours of healing. Under the bed, Valdyros lay coiled like a blue guardian, only the end of his tail visible as it flicked lazily back and forth.
"You're still here," Kael said softly. "So yeah. It worked."
She studied him for a moment.
"You didn't sleep," she said.
"I had help." He tipped his head toward the floor. "He kept me awake. And insulted."
Under the bed, Valdyros grumbled:
« You would have collapsed in a puddle of drool if not for me. I did the world a favor. »
Lyria blinked. "Still not used to the whole… talking dragon in my head thing."
Kael tried to smile and almost managed it.
She reached up carefully and brushed her fingers along his cheek.
"You saved me," she said quietly.
His throat tightened.
"No," he said. "You saved me. If you hadn't pushed me—"
"Then we'd both be dead," she interrupted, some of her usual fire returning. "I'd rather it be neither, so we're even."
They held each other's gaze.
Her hand slipped down to squeeze his hand.
"I know that I'm safe with you, I knew you wouldn't let me die," she added.
"Really?" Kael asked, voice rough.
"Always," she said.
He looked away for a heartbeat, swallowed, then nodded.
"Thank you."
On the other side of the bed, Nira stirred, blinking sleep from her eyes.
"Oh—Lyria! You're awake!"
Lyria smiled. "Hey."
Nira leaned in and hugged her gently. "Don't you ever do that again."
Lyria laughed, winced, and laughed anyway.
It sounded like relief.
⸻
II. Summoned
By midday, the healers finally pushed Kael toward the door.
"She'll live," the head healer said, tone crisp but not unkind. "But she's on light duty for a few days."
Kael hovered in the doorway, reluctant. "I'll come back later."
Lyria gave him a lazy salute with her uninjured arm. "You better."
Nira waved. "We'll be fine. Go… not get expelled or something."
He managed a smirk. "I'll see what I can do."
When he stepped into the hall, Eiran was already there, leaning against the far wall with arms crossed.
"Come," Eiran said. "The headmaster wants you."
"Now?" Kael asked.
"Now," Eiran replied.
⸻
The headmaster's chamber felt more like a war council than an office.
Headmaster Aeldric sat behind a broad stone desk, silver hair tied at the nape of his neck, eyes cool and assessing. Three senior instructors stood nearby, along with two armored Source Knights. In the center of the room, a crystal pedestal projected flickering images of last night's battle.
Lightning, Water, Wind. Assassins pinned to the ground. Kael wreathed in stormlight.
"Kael Varos," Aeldric said, voice calm but heavy. "Step forward."
Kael obeyed.
"You understand why you are here?" the headmaster asked.
"Because eight people tried to kill me in your courtyard?" Kael said.
One instructor frowned. Another gave the faintest snort before smoothing their expression.
Aeldric's mouth twitched, but only slightly.
"Partly," he said. "Also because, in defending yourself and your classmates, you revealed abilities no student has displayed in generations. Perhaps longer."
The image shifted—Kael's half-awakened storm form, his King Presence crushing the assassins to the stone.
"Triple-gate resonance," one instructor murmured. "Body, Mind, and Soul—all active."
"And the beginnings of King Presence," another added quietly. "I have only felt that from sovereigns and… from sacred beasts."
Valdyros, perched on the window ledge, lifted his head with smug satisfaction.
« You're welcome. »
Aeldric ignored the dragon and fixed his gaze on Kael.
"How long," he asked, "have you been able to touch your third gate?"
Kael glanced at Eiran once, then answered.
"Since a young boy," he said. "Training under Master Eiran. And Valdyros."
"You concealed it during the entrance exams," one knight pointed out."
"Valdyros told me to," Kael said. "He said showing everything would paint a target on my back."
The knight's jaw tightened. "Sensible counsel. Even if it didn't stop your enemies from coming."
Aeldric steepled his fingers.
"Do you know who sent the assassins?" he asked.
"No," Kael replied. "They kept talking about 'our master' and calling it a test. They came for me specifically."
A murmur of unease moved through the room.
"You are not on trial, Kael Varos," Aeldric said at last. "You acted to protect your fellow students. You saved lives. But understand this: the more power you show, the more eyes will turn toward you. Not all of them will belong to allies. Some may sit in these very halls. Others in enemy courts."
Kael nodded.
"For now," Aeldric continued, "you will remain a student of the academy. But we must discuss how you will attend classes. You will train as usual."
Some of the tension in Kael's chest loosened.
"However," the headmaster added, "you will be monitored. For your safety… and for the safety of those around you."
Kael didn't argue. After last night, it seemed more like common sense than punishment.
Eiran stepped forward.
"I will oversee his advanced training personally," he said. "His control must grow to match his power."
Aeldric inclined his head.
"There is one more matter," he said.
He gestured. A messenger in royal colors stepped forward, unfurling a scroll marked with the king's seal.
"By decree of His Majesty, King Eryndor of Elyndria," the messenger read, voice carrying through the chamber, "the mage-warrior candidate Kael Varos is hereby summoned to the royal palace in three days' time, to be presented and questioned before the throne."
Kael stared.
"The king… wants to see me?"
Aeldric nodded gravely.
"You manifested King Presence, survived an assassination attempt, and fight beside a sacred beast," he said. "Of course he wishes to see you."
Eiran's eyes narrowed, just slightly.
"Be cautious," he said. "The king is no tyrant. But kings are always wary of what they cannot fully predict… or control."
Valdyros flicked his tail.
« And you, child, are the very definition of 'hard to control.' »
Kael sighed. "You two are terrible at making this feel less ominous."
⸻
III. Echoes of a Team
Later that afternoon, Kael ducked into the small common room near the Healers' Hall and found everyone there.
Ryven sprawled over a couch like he'd lost a fight with gravity. Korran sat straight-backed in a chair, hands folded calmly. Nira leaned over a low table, rearranging cups into neat patterns. Lyria sat propped with her arm in a sling, tired but very much alive. Serin stood at the window, arms crossed, gaze turned outward over the training fields.
Valdyros strutted in ahead of Kael like he owned the place.
Ryven sat up. "Hey! Storm boy lives!"
Korran nodded. "You look better. Less… dangerously crackling."
"Still broody, though," Ryven added.
Kael snorted. "Nice to see you too."
Nira hurried over. "Are you okay? They didn't expel you or… or lock you in some dungeon, did they?"
"Not yet," Kael said. "They just want to 'monitor' me. And the king wants to meet in three days."
Ryven's eyes widened. "Oh, just a casual chat with the most powerful man in the kingdom."
Lyria patted the space beside her. "Sit."
He did.
For a moment no one spoke.
Then Korran said, simply, "We survived. Against eight professional killers. That is… no small thing."
Ryven pointed a thumb at Kael. "Yeah. It means this guy is terrifying."
"At least eight levels of terrifying," Nira mumbled, though there was no malice in it—only awe.
Kael rubbed his neck. "I got sloppy. If Lyria hadn't—"
"Stop." Lyria's voice cut through, sharp but soft. "We all walked into that fight knowing it was serious. I chose to push you. That was my decision."
Serin finally turned from the window.
"You are powerful, Kael Varos," he said, words formal but honest. "More than any of us. But power without discipline is like a sword without a hilt—eventually, it cuts the one who wields it."
Ryven let out a low whistle. "That's annoyingly wise."
"He's right," Korran said. "We can't afford another night like that. Not unprepared."
Nira nodded. "Next time, we plan. We move together. No one gets isolated."
Kael looked around at them.
Serin, proud and precise, but here anyway. Ryven, reckless and loud and loyal. Korran, solid as stone. Nira, gentle but unshaken. Lyria, close enough that their shoulders brushed.
He remembered the Architect's vision.
Silhouettes of allies standing beside him in the storm.
"You all know," Kael said slowly, "that last night wasn't random. They came for me. They'll come again."
"They will," Korran agreed.
Ryven smirked. "Good. I need a rematch."
Lyria's eyes softened. "So what do we do?"
Kael inhaled.
"Now?" he said. "Now we get stronger. Together. We train harder. We stop keeping secrets when it could get someone killed. We don't let anyone fight alone."
Valdyros snorted.
« At last. Some clarity. »
Lyria smiled.
"Then it's settled," she said. "We're a team."
Ryven grabbed his cup of water and raised it. "To not dying."
Nira lifted hers. "To protecting each other."
Korran raised his. "To honor and discipline."
Serin hesitated, then picked up a cup as well. "To improvement," he added quietly.
Lyria raised hers. "To being ready."
Kael took the last one.
"For whatever's coming."
They drank.
Somewhere beyond the walls, fate shifted weight from one side of the scale to the other.
⸻
IV. In the Undercity
Far below Elyndria's lantern-lit streets, the undercity thrummed with a different kind of life—whispers, footsteps, the clink of coin and contraband.
In a chamber lit by cold blue flames, Malek Voren stood over a table strewn with maps, sealed letters, and black crystals humming with captured Source.
He wore no mask here.
Dark hair cut close. Sharp features hollowed by old grief. Red eyes burning with calculated fury.
Three masked people knelt before him.
"The Whisperblades failed," one said. "The boy survived. Our operatives were crushed by his presence alone."
"Good," Malek replied.
They glanced up, startled.
"Good…?" another echoed.
"The test was not to kill him," Malek said, voice level. "A dead boy is of no use to me."
He tapped a finger on Elyndria's mark on the map.
"Now we know," he continued. "He can manifest power beyond most kings, and he throws himself between danger and others without hesitation. He is exactly what I require."
One of the masked people hesitated. "And the operatives who died, my lord?"
Malek's gaze slid to him, cold and unblinking.
"They served their purpose," he said. "Tools break. We replace them."
He moved his hand from Elyndria to another mark on the map—SOLIS.
"Auren Solis," Malek murmured. "False god-king, butcher of my blood, devourer of nations. He sits on a stolen throne, wearing stolen divinity."
His fingers curled into a fist.
"Kael Varos is a blade the world does not yet understand," Malek said. "We will not destroy him. We will shape him. Turn his power against the false king. And if Elyndria stands in the way…"
His eyes hardened.
"Then Elyndria will learn how a kingdom bleeds."
⸻
V. The King of Elyndria
High above, in a palace of white stone and blue banners, King Eryndor of Elyndria stood by a tall arched window, the academy report in his hands.
Sunlight spilled across the parchment.
An advisor finished reading aloud.
"Triple-gate resonance," the advisor said. "Partial manifestation of King Presence. Sacred beast bond. Assassins infiltrated academy grounds and self-immolated under a curse. Multiple students saved."
Silence followed.
Eryndor stared at the parchment a moment longer, then spoke.
"A child with three attuned Sources and Kings Presence," he said quietly. "Not the sort of rumor I can afford to ignore."
"No, Your Majesty," the advisor replied. "Some are already calling him… touched by the Architect."
The king frowned slightly.
"Superstition," he said. But there was a crease in his brow that didn't smooth.
Another counselor stepped forward.
"He could prove a threat, my king. Or a tremendous asset. We must determine which."
Eryndor sighed, the sound heavy with the weight of a crown.
"Send word confirming the appointment," he said. "Three days from now, Kael Varos will stand in my hall. I will look into his eyes myself."
He turned back to the window, gazing out over the city.
"If the shadows have begun to move around this boy," the king murmured, "then we cannot afford to be blind."
⸻
VI. The Balcony and the Wind
That night, Kael stood alone on the Arclight Tower balcony.
The city glittered beyond the academy walls, a sea of lanterns and murmured life. Above, stars glittered cold and distant. The wind tasted faintly of rain.
Valdyros perched on the stone railing beside him, tail curled neatly around his claws.
"Three days," Kael said quietly. "I meet the king."
« Worried? » Valdyros asked.
"A little," Kael admitted. "He could see me as a weapon. Or as a problem. Or both."
« He is a king, » Valdyros said. « He will see you as something to use… and something to fear. The balance between those will decide much. »
Kael huffed a humorless laugh. "You are truly gifted at making things sound worse."
Valdyros's gaze softened, just a fraction.
« You are not alone, child, » he said. « You have a circle now. That is more than most chosen ever receive. »
Kael pictured their faces.
Ryven's wild grin. Korran's steady calm. Nira's quiet bravery. Serin's proud, conflicted eyes. Lyria's hand wrapping around his, warm and certain.
"The Architect showed me something like that," Kael said. "In a dream. Said I'd need people I trust."
« The Architect is insufferably accurate, » Valdyros muttered. « It grows tedious. »
A faint spark flickered along Kael's fingertips—habit, not anger.
Valdyros watched it carefully.
« You are not ready, » the dragon said. « Not yet. But you are… beginning. The storm circles you whether you wish it or not. And you… »
He tilted his head.
« You are its heart. »
Kael curled his hand into a fist, extinguishing the sparks.
"Then I'll make sure," he said softly, "that this storm protects the people I care about. Not destroys them."
The wind rose, swirling gently around them in a cool, invisible embrace.
Below, academy lamps burned on, blissfully unaware of how much had changed in a single night.
In the palace, a king prepared to meet a boy the world was beginning to whisper about. In the undercity, an outlaw lord rewrote his plans around that same name. And somewhere far above, wrapped in light beyond mortal sight, the Prime Architect watched the board with quiet, inexorable patience—
as the echoes of the first storm faded…
…and the next one began to gather.