The evening sun poured through the tall windows of the academy dormitory, casting long golden stripes across the polished floor. Outside, the grounds were quiet—students already winding down, their laughter and chatter fading into the gentle hum of the academy at dusk.
Inside, Elian lay on his bed, eyes half-closed, still feeling the lingering warmth from the surge of magic that had saved him yesterday. His wounds were completely gone, the marks of the failed simulation wiped away, yet exhaustion clung to every fiber of his body. The effort of surviving—and of the mysterious magic acting without his control—had drained him in ways he couldn't fully explain.
Beneath his shirt, he could feel the faint pulse of energy in his chest. It wasn't strong—most of it had been spent in the subconscious surge—but it was there, a subtle thrum, like a heartbeat waiting to be awakened.
What is this power… and why did it protect me? he thought, staring at the ceiling. He didn't know the answer yet, and it left him with a strange mixture of awe, curiosity, and unease.
He turned slightly, letting the soft bed sheets comfort him. Memories of the simulation flashed briefly: the monstrous forms, the broken machinery, the way the magical energy had flared and healed him at the exact moment danger struck.
It felt like someone was protecting me… but who?
He didn't think of parents—those were distant, hazy concepts. This was about the magic, and the mysterious warmth that had answered instinctively, almost as if it knew him better than he knew himself.
A small, fleeting shiver passed through him. His pulse raced—not with fear, but with excitement. He realized that this was only the beginning. There was something hidden inside him, and he would uncover it, step by step.
A soft tap at the door made him sit up, slightly startled.
"Elian?" Lyra's voice called. She stood in the doorway, silver hair catching the last rays of the sun. "You're awake… I wanted to see if you were okay."
Elian nodded slightly. "I'm fine. Just… tired."
She leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed, her usual confident attitude softened by genuine curiosity. "You're… not like the others," she said. "The way you… survived yesterday… and how your magic reacted… it's different. I've never seen anything like it."
Elian frowned slightly. He didn't know how to respond. How could he explain that the magic hadn't come from him consciously, that it was… part of someone else, part of something hidden? Instead, he only nodded, letting the moment pass in quiet understanding.
Lyra studied him for a moment longer, eyes flicking to the faint golden glow beneath his shirt. "There's something about you," she murmured, almost to herself. "Something I don't understand yet… but I want to."
Her gaze lingered, and Elian felt a strange warmth—not from the residual magic, but from the attention, the concern, the quiet curiosity in her eyes.
Alone again, Elian lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The academy's sounds—the soft shuffle of students, the distant clang of training weapons—were muted by the stillness in his mind.
There's something inside me, he thought. Something waiting… something I need to understand.
He flexed his fingers slightly, feeling the residual pulse of magic under his chest. It was faint, delicate, but unmistakable. A small, fluttering sensation, like wings brushing softly against his ribs.
For now, he couldn't wield it. For now, he could only rest, recover, and reflect. But he knew one thing: the moment to discover it consciously was coming soon.
As he drifted toward sleep, the last thing he felt was the quiet certainty that his life had changed forever. Somewhere, far beyond the academy walls, forces both divine and infernal stirred—sensing him, noticing him. And soon, he would have to face them.