Chapter 1 – Part 7S
(The Spark Before the Descent)
The courtyard gradually emptied as afternoon shadows stretched across the stone tiles, long and sharp like the marks of some great claw. Students filed out in clusters—nobles wrapped in silken robes of deep indigo, scarlet, and emerald, their emblems glittering in the light; commoners in plainer garb, moving in pairs, whispering in low voices about the "forge-born glow" they had witnessed that morning.
But Jofyn Vale lingered. He sat quietly at the edge of the fountain, the cool spray dampening his sleeves, eyes fixed on the water rippling with orange light from the setting sun. His hands twitched unconsciously, as though still weaving glyph-threads in the air.
The robe hovered lazily at his side, folded arms etched from light and shadow. "You know," it drawled, "sitting here like some brooding statue isn't going to win you any favors. You've already shaken the hornet's nest. Half the courtyard stares at you like you're either a miracle or a mistake."
"I don't care about their stares," Jofyn muttered, though his gaze flicked briefly toward the noble groups across the courtyard. Cynric Drayven, tall and sharp-jawed, leaned against the archway with his entourage, laughter low and measured. But his eyes—those storm-grey eyes—kept flicking toward Jofyn, cold and calculating.
Beside Cynric stood Liora Kaelith, the silver-haired noble girl whose calm poise made others instinctively give her space. She, too, was watching—not with Cynric's disdain, but with an unreadable curiosity, her fingers brushing the hilt of the short wand at her belt.
The robe whispered in Jofyn's ear, voice sly. "Two nobles watching you for entirely different reasons. One wants you crushed underfoot, the other… well, I can't read her yet. But she sees something. And I'd wager she won't look away soon."
Jofyn lowered his eyes, exhaling. "Doesn't matter. They're nobles. I'm not. Different worlds."
"Ah, the commoner's favorite refrain." The robe laughed softly. "You'd be surprised how thin that line becomes when power tilts the board."
Before Jofyn could reply, a shadow fell across the fountain.
"Vale."
The voice was low, commanding, and it belonged to Master Orin, the professor who had acknowledged his shard earlier. The older mage's dark robes swept the ground as he approached, staff clinking softly with each step. His presence silenced the lingering whispers around the courtyard.
"Tomorrow," Orin said, eyes narrowing slightly as they locked on Jofyn's, "a lower-rank expedition will leave for the Ashen Hollow Dungeon. First-year teams are permitted to observe… and, in some cases, participate."
Jofyn straightened. "Participate?"
Orin gave a curt nod. "Yes. You've shown control. You need pressure now, real trial by Core and blood. Consider it an opportunity to test yourself beyond these walls." His gaze lingered, almost weighing Jofyn's resolve. "Report to the east hall at dawn. Be prepared."
With that, the professor turned, robes whispering against stone, leaving no room for negotiation.
The robe cackled softly as soon as Orin was out of earshot. "Oh-ho, Vale. Dungeon expedition already? Didn't think your little trick with the shard would ripple this far."
Jofyn's pulse quickened. He had heard stories of Ashen Hollow—dark caverns beneath the academy's valley, filled with relic-beasts, unstable mana zones, and shards pulsing with untamed resonance. Students who entered unprepared often crawled back injured—or didn't crawl back at all.
Across the courtyard, Cynric smirked as if he had overheard. His entourage chuckled darkly, already plotting. Liora, however, didn't move. She simply turned her gaze away, though Jofyn caught the faintest flicker of interest in her eyes before she did.
The robe floated closer, voice dropping into something softer than mockery. "So. Tomorrow you step into the Hollow. Not for recognition, not for their approval… but to see whether that fragile Forge Core of yours can truly endure the weight of the world pressing against it."
Jofyn clenched his fists. "Then I'll endure."
And as the courtyard emptied fully, the fountain's ripples glowed faintly under the dying sun, as though the world itself was waiting for dawn.
---