The wind howled across the marble towers of Eldoria Magic Academy, carrying with it the scent of cold steel and burning mana. Inside the dueling hall, dozens of students stood in rows, their robes fluttering as the instructors prepared the final test of the day. At the far end, half-hidden in the shadows, stood Arin Velstra — the boy everyone called mana-less.
"Next!" Professor Liora's voice cracked like a whip. "Arin Velstra, step forward." A few snickers followed him as Arin walked to the center of the platform, his heartbeat louder than the crowd's whispers. His palms were sweaty. His mana felt like a dying ember. Professor Liora raised an eyebrow. "Your task: cast a basic flame rune and strike the target dummy. Do not embarrass us again." Arin nodded. He crouched slightly, breathing in… focusing. He drew the rune in the air with his fingers — shaky, unsure — and summoned his will.
Nothing.
A sputter. A faint glow… then it fizzled out.
Laughter filled the whole hall. "Still trash after three years!" someone jeered.
"Maybe he's allergic to magic," another snorted. Arin stared at his trembling hand. No matter how hard he tried, his mana refused to obey him — like it belonged to someone else. Professor Liora sighed, turning her back. "Useless. Dismissed." Arin clenched his fist, holding back the sting in his eyes as he left the hall, the jeers echoing behind him.
Back in the dorms, he slumped onto his bed. The window beside him rattled in the storm. Arin pulled out a worn, leather-bound journal — the only thing his father had left behind before vanishing years ago. He flipped to a bookmarked page. A blood-stained symbol stared back at him — unlike any rune he'd ever seen. "The legacy flows only through the heir. When the time comes, the blood will awaken." He touched the symbol. A faint pulse of warmth tickled his skin.
Suddenly, the room turned cold. His vision blurred. The mark on the page glowed faint red, and for a split second, he heard a voice — deep, ancient.
"Velstra blood… still alive?". He gasped and shut the book. What… was that?
The next morning, he dragged himself to class. The whispers were worse than usual. But something felt… so different.
In Rune Theory, he looked at the instructor's blackboard and for the first time… he understood. Patterns, lines, and flows of mana made sense like they never had before.
In Spellcasting, he traced a flame rune during practice — and it flared alive in his palm. Not weak. Not fizzling.
A perfect flame.
"W-What the hell…?" Even the instructor blinked, confused. "That… that was textbook execution."
Arin's fingers trembled. That wasn't normal. Something had changed.
That night, he opened his father's journal again. This time, he wasn't afraid.
He turned to the back cover. A hidden flap revealed a folded letter — yellow with age, sealed with an unknown sigil.
He opened it and it read...
"Arin — if you're reading this, they haven't found you yet. But they will. You are the last of our line. The Velstra blood is not cursed… it is feared. Your magic was never gone — it was sealed. They will come for you when it awakens. Be ready."
A knock on the window startled him. He turned sharply and there was a man in black robes stood outside on the third floor window — floating.
His eyes glowed red.