Chapter 12 – Shadows and Storms
The academy dining hall buzzed with post-duel chatter, plates clattering and voices rising in scattered bursts. Shafts of morning sun filtered through the high crystal panes, catching the drifting trails of mana still left over from earlier matches. Steam curled up from stew pots and sizzling meats, the scent of spiced roots mingling with scorched mana residue—a strangely fitting reminder that this was no ordinary school.
Kael sat near the edge of the east wing, a plate of untouched food in front of him. He wasn't hungry. His ribs ached where Riven had landed that wind-powered strike, and his pride stung even more.
I had the control. I had the rhythm. I just… didn't let it loose.
Joran slid into the seat across from him, tray already half empty. The barrier boy was all scratches and scabs today, but his smile hadn't faded. "You're lucky the system has an impact threshold. Another few seconds, and your spine might've been part of the ring floor."
Kael gave him a dry look. "Thanks for the comfort."
Silence stretched for a few beats. The din around them faded as Joran leaned forward slightly, his tone shifting.
"You knew about him already, didn't you?"
Kael blinked. "About who?"
Joran jerked his head toward the far end of the dining hall.
There, seated alone at a corner table near the tall windows, was a student clad in simple black robes. No insignia. No house crest. Pale skin. Slender build. He didn't eat. Didn't look up. Just stared at the air with unnerving stillness—like a statue waiting to come alive.
A slight pressure lingered in the air around him. Not aura. Not intent. Just… presence.
"Zero Black," Joran murmured. "That's what they call him in Class A."
Kael nodded slowly. "I've heard the name. Didn't think I'd see him again this soon."
"He's real?" Joran asked. "Not just some Tower experiment rumor?"
"No he comes from house wraith, some say he's a slave that's why he doesn't bear a name," Kael said. "But he's been here since the start of term. No friends. No system updates publicly shared. But people talk."
Joran's eyes narrowed. "I heard he took down a Disciple-stage twin caster in three seconds. No hesitation. No mercy."
Kael nodded. "I've heard that too. Instructor Harn avoids mentioning him. But Class A… they treat him like a secret weapon."
Joran leaned back. "He gives me the chills."
Kael didn't respond. He understood the feeling. The boy sitting at that far table radiated a silence deeper than solitude—something honed, not chosen.
"Do you think he's… like us?" Joran asked quietly.
Kael's gaze drifted from Zero Black to his own hands. A memory of a crackle under his skin flashed in his mind—lightning, untamed, furious.
"No," Kael said finally. "He's not like us. He's something else."
Before Joran could press further, a sudden hush fell over the hall.
The ornate double doors leading into the dining wing opened with a creak of power-etched wood.
A tall woman stepped through—Instructor Vessra of Class A. Sleek robes of violet and obsidian framed her commanding presence, her hair bound with a silver pin shaped like a sigil of judgment. Her voice, when it rang out, cut through the hall like a sword of clarity.
"Attention."
Every head turned. Even Zero Black tilted his chin a fraction.
"The principal has returned."
A pulse went through the room like an echo of thunder. Kael sat straighter.
Principal Mavren Duskfall. A name whispered across the Academy with equal parts awe and fear. A Champion-stage cultivator. Light and lightning. Twin affinities. Stories said he'd fought a Seeker Lord to a draw in the Kreloth siege. Others claimed he once stopped an Ascendant's rampage with a single beam of light.
"He will address the upper classes tomorrow," Vessra continued. "But he has asked to observe the first year exam duels. I suggest you prepare accordingly."
Murmurs broke out instantly. Chairs scraped. Someone dropped a fork.
Joran's eyes widened. "The principal? Watching the final exam duels?"
Kael's pulse quickened. He could already feel it—the weight of being seen by someone at the Champion level. Someone who might… notice.
Vessra's eyes swept the room like twin beams of judgment. Then she turned and strode out without another word.
As the tension faded into chatter once more, Karn Veylan swaggered past Kael's table with a half-smirk. His steps slow, deliberate. He stopped, casting a mock-casual glance down at Kael's untouched plate.
"Heard you took a hit hard," Karn said. "From a Disciple? Should've used some of that river water you're so fond of. Might've helped you swim away from getting your ass handed to you."
Joran shot him a glare, but Kael didn't rise to it.
Karn leaned in slightly. "Then again… maybe you like being weak. Makes the surprises easier when someone like me takes you down later."
He turned, walking away with flames faintly trailing his heels.
Kael's jaw tightened. He focused on steadying his breath, pressing down the whisper of storm again rising under his skin.
"Don't," Joran said softly.
"I wasn't going to," Kael murmured. "Yet."
His eyes drifted once more toward the corner table.
Zero Black was gone.
Vanished.
Only a faint shadow lingered beneath the window where he'd sat—like a burn mark no one else had noticed.