The marble towers of Aetherline Academy pierced through the morning mist, rising like a forest of glass and stone, their mirrored surfaces catching the pale sun and scattering it across the sprawling city below. From a distance, they were breathtaking—symbols of brilliance, of destiny, of the promise that anyone who entered through those gates would ascend beyond the ordinary.
Students whispered that the Academy was the closest thing to heaven a mortal could stand inside without burning alive.
Erevan Kael stood at the base of those towers, staring upward, and felt nothing but the familiar knot in his stomach. The grandeur, the shimmering banners, the silver inlaid stone—all of it felt like mockery carved into marble. Each gate whispered the same silent judgment every time he walked through.
Not for you.
The courtyard was already alive with noise. Dozens of students crossed the polished white flagstones, their embroidered robes swishing in graceful arcs, familiars and contracted spirits gliding at their sides in radiant displays of strength. Some spirits flickered like flames given shape, others drifted like translucent phantoms, and others strutted with animal forms that looked far too noble for the mortal world.
The very air shimmered with mana, as though the entire Academy breathed in a rhythm larger than any of its students.
And then there was Erevan.
He walked alone. No spirit shadowing his steps. No noble crest stitched onto his plain, worn robes. No aura of promise lighting his grey-green eyes.
He kept his gaze low, but he didn't need to look up to feel the weight of stares sliding across him—some pitying, some disdainful, others simply amused.
A voice cut through the chatter, smooth and mocking.
"Still unbound?"
Erevan did not have to turn his head. He knew that voice.
Cassian Valt approached with the kind of confidence that came from a life without failure. His golden hair gleamed in the sunlight as though polished for the occasion, his white-and-silver robes stitched with his family crest—a stylized sunburst that seemed to glow with pride. Every step was measured, casual, yet undeniably commanding.
Behind Cassian trailed two spirits: a sleek feline with wings folded neatly against its back, eyes molten gold, and a wraith-like figure whose form of shadow and silk moved with unnatural grace. Both spirits radiated power, their presence stable, undeniable.
Cassian spread his arms as if to embrace the whole courtyard. His smile gleamed too sharp, too perfect.
"Kael, I half-expected you to have finally managed a summoning over the break. Or was that too ambitious of me?"
Erevan's jaw tightened. His pulse thundered in his ears. He kept walking, willing his feet forward, because if he opened his mouth, anger would spill out—and Cassian thrived on anger.
But Cassian wasn't finished. He never was.
He gestured lazily to his companions, his voice loud enough to carry across the courtyard. "Don't ignore me, Kael. The System has branded you a permanent Unbound. You should at least learn to accept your station with dignity. Unless, of course, you enjoy being the Academy's charity case?"
A ripple of laughter followed. Other students slowed their steps, turning to watch the spectacle. The courtyard, already alive with chatter, now pulsed with expectation.
Erevan's stride faltered—just for an instant. His ears burned. His hands twitched at his sides, aching to clench, aching to strike, aching to do something other than endure.
Keep walking. Don't give him what he wants. Don't give them more to laugh at.
But humiliation clung like smoke.
Another voice cut through, sharp and cool.
"Enough, Valt. Even your arrogance grows stale when repeated every morning."
The crowd shifted, a murmur passing through it.
Aria Lys stood at the edge of the onlookers, her violet eyes steady, her expression carved from ice. Her black hair, streaked with silver as though dipped in starlight, framed her pale face. Where Cassian's robes screamed flamboyant wealth, Aria's were understated, marked only by the ancient crest of House Lys—older than most kingdoms, a reminder of lineage so deep it did not need to flaunt itself.
Cassian's perfect smile didn't waver. He turned toward her with the charm of a man used to every word bending in his favor.
"Simply providing amusement, Lady Lys. Surely you don't begrudge me that?"
Aria brushed past him without hesitation, her voice flat as stone. "I can."
For the briefest heartbeat, her gaze lingered on Erevan. Not pity. Not mockery. Simply acknowledgment. Then she disappeared into the Academy hall, leaving the echo of her words in her wake.
The crowd dispersed, the ripple of laughter fading into whispers and sidelong glances.
Cassian's smile thinned, sharp as a blade. He leaned close enough for his words to fall like a sting.
"Careful, Kael. Don't mistake her silence for defense. She doesn't think you worth the effort of cruelty."
Erevan said nothing. His throat was too tight to risk words. He walked on, each step heavier, his chest hollow.
By the time lectures ended that day, humiliation had carved itself deeper into his skin.
Every demonstration that demanded a contracted spirit left him standing alone, awkward on the edges of the circle while instructors looked anywhere but at him. Every lecture on mana resonance, affinity, or spiritual rank was another reminder of what he lacked. Every group exercise left him without a partner, as always.
By evening, the Academy's halls rang with celebration. Dozens of students had succeeded in their first contracts. Spirits of flame and water and air shimmered through dormitory corridors, laughter and applause echoing in their wake.
Erevan climbed the stairs in silence. Each cheer he passed pressed harder against his ribs, until his chest felt carved hollow.
At the far end of the dormitory hall waited his room: small, shadowed, and quiet. The sort of room given to students without crests, without lineage, without promise.
He closed the door behind him, and the world's joy dulled to a muffled hum.
For a long moment, Erevan stood in the center of the room, staring at the bare stone walls. His cot sagged against the corner. His desk bore a fresh crack in its wood. A single candle stub burned weakly, its flame trembling in the stale air.
His throat tightened. His fists trembled. His body wanted to collapse into the bed, to surrender to exhaustion. But instead, Erevan dragged himself toward the desk, pulled out parchment, chalk, and ink.
And began again.
Erevan knelt on the cold stone floor, chalk dust clinging to his fingertips.
The circle was small tonight, cramped and careful, the kind he had drawn hundreds of times before. He had long since memorized the runes, the invocations, the stabilizing sigils. His body moved through the motions automatically now, even as exhaustion dragged at his limbs.
The air smelled faintly of smoke from the guttering candle stub. The wax had bled down into hardened pools, thick and ugly against the cracked wood of the desk.
Erevan whispered the words, voice rough from disuse.
"By spirit and by will. By breath and by name. Let there be contract."
The lines of chalk glowed faintly. He held his breath. For a heartbeat, the air seemed to shimmer.
Then the glow stuttered, collapsed, and died.
Silence.
Failure. Again.
Erevan's shoulders sagged. He pressed his palms into the stone until the skin burned. His chest felt like it was caving in.
How many times has it been now? Ten thousand? More?
His throat ached with a laugh that never came. The System already knows. It loves to remind me every day. [Unbound]. [Unworthy]. [Unchosen].
He sat back hard on the floor, chalk scattering around him like broken bones. The candle flickered. His head dropped forward, hair falling into his eyes.
Why do I keep doing this?
He already knew the answer. Because if he stopped, there would be nothing left. Because if he let go, then Cassian would be right, the instructors would be right, the System would be right. And something in him—the stubborn, defiant piece of him that refused to die—would not allow that.
His gaze drifted toward the window. Beyond it, the towers of Aetherline shimmered faintly under the rising moon, majestic and unreachable. Shadows pooled thick in the corners of his room, heavy and suffocating.
He reached for the chalk again. His hand trembled, but his voice came steady, hoarse with exhaustion.
"One more. Just one more."
This time, he drew the lines wider, filling the floor. His strokes were uneven, jagged where his hands shook, but the circle was whole. He pressed the chalk until it snapped in his grip, grinding white dust into his raw fingertips.
He placed his hand at the center of the circle.
"By spirit and by will. By breath and by name. Let there be contract."
The runes flickered. They shivered faintly, light crawling along their edges like a spark trying to live.
Erevan leaned forward, every muscle tense, breath caught in his chest.
The glow collapsed.
Again.
His chest clenched. His throat filled with the taste of iron. He bowed his head, fingers fisting against the stone.
But this time, the air did not still.
The candle's flame stretched, bending long and thin until it quivered like a blade. Shadows rippled across the walls, sliding like liquid.
Erevan's head snapped up. His pulse hammered against his ribs.
The chalk lines pulsed faintly—then cracked.
Not fading. Not breaking. Cracking, like glass under pressure. Thin fractures split the circle, jagged and unnatural. From those cracks, darkness bled upward, slow at first, then faster, spiraling in coils that should not have existed.
Erevan's breath caught.
Heat pressed against his skin, sharp and blistering, only to vanish and leave his bones aching with cold. It was both. It was neither. It was wrong.
The shadows rose, thick and heavy, taking shape. A figure emerged, tall, indistinct, cloaked in rippling night. Eyes like twin embers burned in the void, fixed on him with weight so ancient it pressed into his marrow.
The System flickered across Erevan's vision in frantic bursts:
[ERROR: Unknown Entity]
[Contract Protocol Breach]
[Status: ANOMALY]
His knees threatened to give. He tried to speak, but only a rasp tore out of his throat.
The figure tilted its head. The voice that followed was low, resonant, like thunder rolling through bone.
"So. This is where I have been dragged?"
The words weren't sound. They were a vibration in his blood, in his lungs, in the very breath he tried to draw.
Erevan swallowed hard. His lips were dry, cracked. His name stuck in his throat, but he forced it out, a whisper.
"E… Erevan. Erevan Kael."
The ember eyes flared brighter. The shadow leaned closer. The heat deepened until his skin prickled, his breath burning as it left his chest.
"A trembling child dares to bind me?" The voice reverberated like laughter, cruel and ancient. "Hah. Very well, Erevan Kael. You have called, and I have answered. Whether you survive this bond… is no longer up to you."
The circle erupted.
Light without sound flared, devouring itself in silent fire. The lines of chalk hissed and burned away into nothing. Darkness folded inward, collapsing into him.
Agony tore through Erevan's chest, jagged and endless, like claws dragging across his soul. His scream ripped out raw and broken, filling the tiny room until his throat shredded. His vision blurred, sparks dancing across the edges of his sight.
The shadow's whisper wrapped around him, sinking deep into his bones.
The contract sealed.
And for the first time in his life, Erevan's Status window did not say [Unbound].
It said:
[ANOMALY].