The next morning, the Academy felt… different.
Not in a loud, dramatic way, but in the subtle shift of tone. The looks. The silence. The whispers that died as Ashen walked past. The rumors had grown teeth.
By the time he reached the sparring fields, most of the students had already gathered. Swords clashed. Spells burst. But when Ashen stepped into the circle for his training session, the crowd fell quiet.
Even the instructor raised an eyebrow.
"Partner?" he asked.
Ashen's answer came before he could speak.
"I'll spar with him," said a voice from the crowd.
A boy stepped forward—taller than Ashen, with short golden hair and eyes like a hawk. He wore a noble crest on his shoulder: a winged lion.
"Name?" the instructor asked.
"Cassian Drelvane," the boy replied. "Second son of House Drelvane."
Whispers rippled around the field.
Ashen didn't care. He nodded and stepped into the circle.
Cassian drew his blade slowly. "I want to see what the rumors are about."
Ashen raised his hands. The gauntlet pulsed faintly under his sleeve, but he didn't call on the flame.
Not yet.
---
The duel began fast.
Cassian was skilled—measured, elegant, aggressive without being reckless. His blade moved like wind on water, never pausing.
Ashen blocked. Dodged. Countered.
The spar lasted longer than any before. Minutes stretched, and the circle grew crowded. Even instructors stopped to watch.
Cassian smirked. "You're holding back."
Ashen didn't answer.
Cassian lunged, faster than before. His blade flashed silver. Ashen ducked—and his body moved on its own. A flicker of heat surged up his spine. His hand shot out, catching the blade with his gauntlet.
There was a crack.
The blade shattered at the core, broken by the heat pulsing through Ashen's hand.
Cassian stumbled back, staring in disbelief.
Silence.
Then the instructor stepped forward, eyes narrowed. "Both of you, dismissed."
---
Later that evening, Ashen walked alone through the courtyard, the stars above cold and distant.
He hated the attention. The rumors. The isolation.
But the gauntlet had stirred again. He could feel it.
Then, from behind a column, a figure stepped out. Hooded. Wrapped in dark gray robes.
"You don't know what you're carrying," the figure said quietly.
Ashen didn't flinch. "And you do?"
The figure chuckled. "No one truly knows. But I know this—if you don't learn to control it, it will consume you."
Ashen stepped forward. "Then teach me."
The figure paused.
"Meet me at the Hollow beneath the East Wing. Midnight. Come alone."
Then they vanished.
---
That night, Ashen slipped from his room and found the hidden staircase beneath the East Wing. It spiraled down into the stone, cold and unlit.
At the bottom, the Hollow opened into an underground chamber lit with blue flames.
The figure waited in the center.
"This is the real training," they said. "The Academy teaches control. I will teach you survival. I will teach you what it means to wield a flame that was never meant for mortals."
Ashen stepped into the circle.
"I'm ready."
---
Far away, the man with silver hair stood before a frozen lake. He touched the surface, and black fire spread across the ice.
"He's begun," he murmured.
Behind him, a massive creature stirred beneath the ice.