The bell tower chimed four times-early morning, just before the first class.
Faint mist clung to the stone paths between the dormitories. The academy grounds were calm, eerily so. Birds hadn't begun their chorus yet, and the early risers walked with a forced routine. Cassian stood at the edge of the courtyard, watching the horizon where the sky bled from midnight blue into a pale orange.
He liked this hour.
Before the spell drills. Before the superiority of nobles echoed off the marble halls. Before, people remembered he was powerless.
He sat on a bench beneath a frostleaf tree, one leg tucked over the other, scribbling in a leather-bound journal. His handwriting was neat, almost obsessively so. Today's notes were about defensive runes-specifically, their flaws.
"All barrier-type glyphs are time-anchored. If you delay or desync the casting cadence even slightly, the field destabilizes."
He'd tested it himself in simulation chambers. Theory was one thing. Application was another.
The only other person awake this early was Saria.
She emerged quietly from the dorm archway, hair tied back, her robe half-buttoned and a book hugged to her chest. Cassian didn't look up—he didn't need to.
"You're three minutes later than usual," he said with a smirk.
She rolled her eyes. "And you're three years late to grow a sense of humor."
"Fair."
She sat beside him without asking. She never asked.
They watched the mist drift for a moment.
"Exam week's coming," she said finally.
He nodded. "Halros is going to focus on glyph weaving. I overheard him saying he'll disqualify anyone who relies on premade runes."
She made a face. "Half the nobles won't pass, then."
Cassian shrugged. "Not our problem."
Saria looked at him. "Are you nervous?"
"About what?"
"You've always done well in theory, Cassian. But this year… it's all practical."
He hesitated. She wasn't wrong. Theory was safe. Contained. Practical exams were where his lack of magic was most obvious.
"I've been preparing," he said.
She tilted her head. "Preparing how?"
He didn't answer.
Because how do you explain what you don't understand yourself?
Later that morning, Professor Halros entered the Grand Lecture Hall wearing his usual mismatched coat and carrying a staff that pulsed faintly with imbued script. His golem arm clinked as he walked, and all conversation in the room ceased.
"Before we begin," he said, voice low but commanding, "a few words on what's to come."
He tapped the floor with the staff once. The air shimmered. A projection bloomed in the center of the room-a sequence of runic patterns, glyph chains, and barrier matrices.
"This is the level of work expected from you. Year Two is the filter between hobbyists and true mages. If you lack discipline, you will fail. If you cheat, you will be erased from this academy. Am I understood?"
"Yes, Professor," came the chorus.
Cassian's eyes darted over every glyph. He could already see the cracks-runes with conflicting functions, glyphs layered out of sequence.
He raised a hand. "Professor, isn't the stabilizer rune on the third layer inverted?"
Halros turned to the image. A beat passed.
A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Well spotted, Cassian. I was hoping someone would notice."
Reyn, seated behind Cassian, let out a long sigh.
"Teacher's pet," he muttered.
Cassian ignored it.
But later, as the class filtered out, Reyn shouldered past him. "You think your little tricks impress anyone?"
Cassian didn't look up. "It's not a trick to understand what you can't cast."
Reyn's smile was all teeth. "Keep talking like that, and one day someone's going to make you bleed for it."
The evening air was heavier than usual. Clouds hung low, and thunder rolled in the distance.
Cassian walked the upper corridors alone, letting his thoughts drift. He often wandered after lectures, avoiding the loud common rooms and the mocking whispers. Tonight, something felt off. He couldn't place it-only that the quiet was too deep.
That's when he heard the scream.
Short. High. Real.
He ran.
By the time he reached the central courtyard, others were arriving-students in nightclothes, instructors, and even a few guards. Saria was already there, eyes wide.
In the center of the stone square lay a body.
Male. First-year student. Pale. Eyes open.
No blood. No wounds.
Only a symbol burned into his chest.
Cassian stopped breathing.
It was the Thorn Spiral.
Exactly like the one that sometimes burned on his wrist.
A silence fell over the crowd. Whispers began. Magic. Curse. Assassination.
Professor Halros arrived, pushing through the crowd.
"No one move!" he barked. "Guards, secure the area. Students, return to your dormitories. Now."
Saria grabbed Cassian's arm, pulling him away.
But not before he saw Reyn watching him from across the courtyard.
And not before he saw the hatred in his eyes.
That night, Cassian lay awake.
The Spiral haunted him.
It wasn't just a mark. It was part of him. His bloodline. His curse.
But he hadn't done it. He hadn't.
And yet… someone had used his symbol.
Someone who wanted the world to see it.