The next morning dawned without sunlight. At Arcanum, the concept of morning was marked not by the rising sun, but by the resonant pulse of the Academy's central obelisk—a low, thunderous chime that reverberated through stone and marrow alike.
Alex awoke in his narrow Veilshade bed, sweat clinging to his skin despite the cold. The dreams had returned. But this time, they had been less violent and more... vivid. Kaer Thalor hadn't spoken. Instead, he stood at the edge of a burning library, silently watching as ash fell like snow.
The mark on Alex's shoulder burned faintly, as though remembering something he hadn't.
He sat up, breathing hard.
A soft knock.
Nikki pushed open the door and stepped in, still in uniform, her hair damp from a cold rinse. "You alright?"
He nodded slowly. "Didn't sleep well."
"Same." Her tone was dry. "But we've got orientation. And you don't want to be late. Especially not after you lit up half the Trial Hall yesterday."
Alex gave a weak grin. "You saw that?"
"Everyone saw that. You're officially 'the new curse kid.'"
He groaned. "Perfect."
---
The students gathered in the Hall of Silence—a massive amphitheater carved into a hollowed cliff face, where voices fell still the moment one entered. Magic woven into the stone suppressed idle chatter, forcing discipline with silence.
Therion waited at the center. Today, he wore a simple black tunic marked with silver threads, and his eyes swept across the crowd like a storm searching for lightning.
"Welcome to the foundations of magic," he said without raising his voice.
"Today you begin understanding what power is. Not the fire you conjure. Not the spells you learn. But the price you pay."
He gestured. The floor rippled.
Rings of arcane script rose from the ground, forming luminous circles of various colors—white for theory, blue for elemental control, red for bloodline magic, and a dark, twisting violet for forbidden channels.
"You will learn the difference between technique and instinct. Between talent and hunger. And you will fail. Often."
He turned to the students. "Step forward when your name is called. Choose a path. The path will test you."
The names began.
One by one, students stepped into circles. Most were assigned to the white or blue rings. Some chose red—and more than one collapsed shortly after stepping into them, carried away by attendants.
Then the voice called: "Alex of Bramblehold."
Murmurs swept the crowd.
He stepped forward.
"Which circle?" Therion asked.
Alex's eyes drifted toward the red ring. The mark on his shoulder pulsed.
But his gut told him no.
"I choose the white," he said.
Therion's eyes sharpened. "Explain."
"I want to understand the rules... before I break them."
For a long moment, silence stretched. Then a low chuckle escaped Therion's throat.
"Interesting."
Alex stepped into the white circle.
---
Pain. Not sharp, but deep.
The moment his foot touched the glyphs, knowledge surged. Not words, but sensations. Equations made of flame. Language bound in geometry. The weave of magic—the true framework beneath spells.
He saw visions of ancient mages inscribing runes into skystone. He saw dragons bound by contract glyphs. He saw a storm woven into a spear.
He gasped and fell to one knee.
When it ended, he rose. Changed.
He could still barely cast a spell.
But now, he understood why.
Therion's voice echoed. "You are not yet strong. But you are asking the right questions."
---
Later that evening, Alex and Nikki returned to Veilshade Tower.
The other students had begun whispering. Some gave him space. Others, like the silver-haired girl in the far corner—whom Nikki called Rivena—looked at him with a sort of quiet hatred.
"She's Kaelen's cousin," Nikki said. "Blood of the House Varien. They don't like competition."
"I haven't even done anything yet."
"You breathed."
Alex chuckled bitterly. "Fair."
He pulled the journal he'd bought from the supply hall and began sketching the white circle's formation. Every rune. Every flow.
Magic wasn't just spells.
It was structure.
And if he could learn its shape... maybe he could bend it further than anyone else.
---
The final scene of the night was quiet.
Alex sat alone in the tower's observatory. The stars over Arcanum pulsed differently here—closer, brighter. As if watching him.
The mark flared once. Not in pain, but in recognition.
> "You chose patience over pride."
The voice was faint.
Kaer Thalor.
Alex whispered back, "You're still here?"
> "We are bound. Where you walk, I burn."
Alex closed his eyes.
Maybe he hadn't just inherited power.
Maybe he'd inherited a war.
---