Two years had slipped by like shadows fleeing the dawn, a blur of reluctant adaptation and simmering resentment. Kael Draven, now eighteen, had been unceremoniously uprooted from the familiar quarters of Alerion's elite and dispatched to Nexus—the sprawling capital pulsing at the heart of the realm. Nexus was a marvel of sorcery and steel: towers spiraled into clouds, bridges of solidified light arced over rivers of ethereal mana, and streets thrummed with floating carriages and rune-enchanted vendors. At the city's core stood the Academy of Sorcery, or A.S.—not merely a school, but a crucible where legends were forged. Masters of sorcery, mighty mages, and indomitable warriors had walked these halls; even the Sorcerer King himself had once honed his power here. For parents across Alerion, sending a child to the A.S. was a declaration: a ticket to awakening, prestige, and a life that could never be ignored. That was the cycle: awaken, excel, ascend.
But the A.S. enforced ironclad policies. Admission was reserved for the awakened—those who had unlocked their mana cores and tapped the System's lattice. No exceptions. No mercy. Yet Roderick Draven's influence as a Second Circle lord had bent the rules, securing Kael's spot with strings pulled in shadowed council chambers. High hopes rode on this: the academy would spark his long-dormant awakening and sculpt him into a Draven worthy of the clan's legacy. If Kael ever ignited his core, that is. At eighteen, with no flicker of mana, desperation might have been natural—but Kael felt only indifference, numb to the "weak" label his father hurled. Why chase a spark that refuses to burn?
Now, thrust into the realm's most elite crucible, he wondered how he'd survive. How do I cope among prodigies? he mused, staring out the tinted window of the levitating carriage as it glided to a halt before the academy gates.
Guards in ebony plates etched with vigilant runes flanked the entrance, eyes sharp as blades. One nodded, swinging open the carriage door with a hydraulic hiss. Kael stepped out. The crisp Nexus air hit him like a spell, laced with the ozone tang of ambient mana and the distant roar of training fields. Before him, the A.S. towered—an architectural symphony of power and elegance. Massive spires of crystalline stone pierced the sky, surfaces alive with shifting glyphs that glowed from sapphire to crimson, warding against curses and amplifying the mana coursing within. Arched gateways of forged ether led to courtyards lit by floating orbs, illuminating luminous flora whose vines whispered secrets to the wind. Towers branched like a living tree, each level alive with echoes of spells, duels, and lectures. At its pinnacle, a colossal dome of translucent force shimmered, rumored to house the core artifact: the nexus where the System converged, birthing awakenings in the worthy. The aura pressed on the unawakened, Kael included, a silent warning: You don't belong… yet.
He hefted his duffel bag, heavy with his father's countless letters—scrolls sealed with the Draven crest, filled with strict advice on discipline, alliances, and seizing opportunities to awaken. His mother's letters were softer, warm encouragement; Baron's lighter, joking about contraband tech. Alone, Kael trudged through the gates. Vast corridors of polished obsidian veined with glowing runes awaited, echoing with chatter and the distant crackle of spells. Portraits of alumni lined the walls, eyes following him as though judging.
A bizarre sight snagged his attention near a grated drain. A lanky kid, sleeves rolled up, plunged his hands into murky water, muttering curses. Kael froze, brow furrowing. What in the voids is this idiot doing? Noble-born by his fine robes, yet groveling in filth like a street urchin.
"Hey," Kael called, voice sharp. "What the hell are you doing? That's disgusting."
The kid jerked back, nearly toppling. Hands dripping, he wiped them on his pants, smiling sheepishly. Golden hair framed a sweet, innocent face, wide-eyed and almost too naive for the cutthroat A.S.
"Oh! Sorry, didn't see you. I'm looking for my pet sugar glider. Slipped away during check-in."
Kael blinked. "Sugar glider? Fancy name for a rat?"
The kid laughed, light and infectious. "Nah, it's a flying squirrel. Glides like a mini wind spell. Name's Whisk. Keeps me company. You new too?"
Kael considered walking away. The enthusiasm grated. "Yeah. Fresher. Look, good luck. I have orientation."
"Wait up!" the kid jogged to catch him. "Finnley Voss—call me Finn. Minor nobles from the fringe districts. You?"
Kael sighed. Light, breezy, like a fleeting spell. "Kael Draven."
Finn's eyes widened. "Draven? Lord Roderick's son? Already awakened, right? Me? Just sparked last year—basic wind."
They walked the field, Finn chattering: dorms with training arenas, mana-infused feasts, duels, tech-fusion spells. Kael's patience frayed. "Look, Finn, dial it down."
Finn grinned. "Nervous habit. First time away. You seem chill."
The field spread wide, rune-marked grass under twin suns, hundreds of students sparking casual magic. Whispers: "Emberleaf heir—fire prodigy." "Void Warden kids—battle-hardened."
Trumpet fanfare. Teachers and masters lined the podium. Principal Eldric Thorne, silver-haired and towering, adjusted spectacles amplifying his gaze.
"Welcome, aspiring sorcerers," his voice boomed. "This ground birthed kings, warriors, and mages. Here, you will study, forge discipline, and harness the System's gifts. One day, you will serve as guardians—upholding awakening, excellence, and legacy."
Applause thundered. Kael glanced at his chrono-rune. Boring platitudes.
Thorne concluded: "Welcome home—to power, to purpose!"
Five dorms: Starforge (elemental), Moonspire (illusion), Emberleaf (combat), Thundercrest (strategy), Crystalhaven (healing). Students sorted by affinity and lineage. Kael, unawakened but flagged by his father, landed in Starforge.
The dorm was a fortress of steel. Dorm master Garrick Ironfist, grizzled and imposing, scanned freshmen like a sentinel.
"Starforge isn't a nursery! Curfew moonrise. Dawn drills, lectures, spars. Fail, and you're out. No crossing dorms, no duels without writ. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!"
Kael's room: three roommates. Finn tackled him in a bear hug. "Roomies!"
Kael shoved him off. "Personal space."
Other two: dark-haired, calm—Oliver Quillbright. Glasses, meticulous—Aeron Vale.
Oliver: "Fire affinity. Clan-trained. Here to dominate."
Aeron: "Arcane theory. Books over brawn."
Finn: "Wind! Kael, your spark?"
Kael paused. "None. Yet."
Silence. Finn clapped his shoulder. "It'll come. A.S. magic, right?"
Night fell. Kael climbed to the roof, staring at twin moons mocking his void. He activated Etherlink, projecting holographic faces: Elara and Baron.
"Mom, Baron," he murmured.
"Kael!" Baron beamed. "Settling in?"
"Yeah. Annoying ones. Miss you guys."
Elara: "Proud. Behave—awaken strong."
Unseen, Roderick observed. A rare smile cracked his facade.
In the academy's depths, the core artifact whispered: Awaken… or fall. Kael's system prompt flickered. Choice looming—power, or peril.