Chapter 5: The Slave of Class A
The Academy of Origin was built like a fortress — part sanctuary, part crucible. Pillars of marble and crystal shimmered with active runes, humming softly in the wind. Mana-rich air flowed like invisible rivers through its towers and gardens, amplifying every breath Kael took. For someone born on a poor island filled with Nulls and broken hopes, it felt like stepping into another world.
But the weight of expectation didn't vanish — it only grew heavier.
Kael adjusted the academy-issued uniform, his cloak pulled low. He kept his mana suppressed just like Elira had taught him. No wind manipulation. No sparks. Nothing that would draw eyes to the truth.
He'd already been tested. Already shocked the examiners.
Superior-Class Wind — hidden.
High-Class Water — accepted.
Advanced-Class Lightning — dormant.
And yet, they only recorded the Water. The scan had been manipulated, likely by design — someone wanted to suppress who he really was. Maybe the system itself. Maybe someone watching.
They placed him in Class C, the mid-tier among the Initiates. Not prestigious like Class A, but not bottom-of-the-barrel either. The kind of place where people expected solid growth, but no miracles.
That suited him just fine.
"Class C Initiates, line up!" barked Instructor Ryven, a burly man with metal-threaded skin and a voice like cracking stone. "Formation test begins in ten minutes. You will be evaluated, compared, and sorted accordingly."
Kael stood near the edge of the group, arms folded. His body still wasn't fully recovered, but the mana here was doing its work. Every day, his sync rate increased by a sliver.
Current Sync: 47%
Stage: Initiate
Condition: Stable, Slow Ascent
The other students around him chatted, laughed, or whispered insults. One boy threw him a sideways glance — probably sensing weakness.
"Island rat," someone muttered. "Bet he can barely shoot a water stream."
Kael ignored it.
The storm that would one day drown nations didn't flinch at drizzle.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the campus, all activity stopped as a new arrival stepped into the Class A courtyard.
Chained at the wrists. Barefoot. No escort.
His presence silenced the elite trainees.
He was tall for his age, but gaunt, as if something inside him had eaten away everything soft. His eyes were a pale gray, almost white, like fog rolling over a battlefield.
The scan had labeled him as a Darkness and Curse dual-affinity.
His control was sharp. Almost unnatural. No flickering, no overflow. Perfect silence surrounded his movements.
No one spoke to him. No one dared.
He had no name — just a number and a brand on the back of his neck: the mark of House Vareon, a once-noble bloodline infamous for breeding "curse bearers" and selling them to factions as weapons.
He wasn't here to study. He was here to serve. To fight. To kill.
But unlike other enslaved talents, he had been placed in Class A.
Because someone in the Academy saw his potential and wanted him close.
Not as a student.
As a weapon.
Back in Class C, the formation test had begun.
Kael moved through the exercises — simple spell formations, mana control drills, and basic elemental manipulations. His performance was sharp but unremarkable on the surface.
Deliberately.
Water stream. Air push. Controlled. Modest.
He watched others show off — fire users burning targets into ash, earth-shapers summoning thick walls of stone, lightning casters crackling with unstable pride.
None of them hid anything. They didn't have to.
He did.
But that didn't stop whispers.
"That's the kid who knocked out a monitor crystal during testing."
"I heard the machine fried."
"Then why is he in Class C?"
The instructors knew. Someone above them knew. But the decision had already been made.
That evening, as Kael walked back toward his assigned dormitory, he paused on a bridge that overlooked the central training ground.
And saw him — the boy from earlier.
He was on the battlefield, chained at the wrists, facing three combat instructors. Even from a distance, Kael could feel it — the oppression in the air.
Darkness rolled around the slave like living oil, distorting the light and making his body seem to flicker in and out of view. The Curse energy bled from his skin in waves, bending gravity slightly around him.
They attacked. He dodged.
They pressed. He disappeared into shadow.
No wasted movement. No flair. Just pure, precise violence.
When one of the instructors struck him in the chest with a mana-blade, the boy didn't flinch. Didn't fall. He simply whispered a word Kael couldn't hear — and the man screamed as black veins erupted across his arms.
The duel was ended.
The boy returned to stillness.
The instructors said nothing.
Kael's eyes narrowed. He wasn't sure why he lingered. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was recognition.
That boy… wasn't ordinary.
Like him, he didn't belong in this place.
He would later learn his codename was Zero-Black.
Later, he would call him something else:
The Shadow.
In that moment, under the starlit sky of the Academy, two broken weapons passed each other in silence.
Unaware that, one day, they would become the storm and the darkness that consumed the world.