Dawn painted the Imperial Academy's towers gold, but Kael Veron had been awake for two hours already.
His footsteps echoed through empty corridors, the heavy bucket of water swaying in his calloused hand. The brown servant's uniform—coarse fabric that scratched his skin—was all that separated him from the hopeless dormant. At least he had a roof. At least he ate once a day.
At least he stood within walls where real magic happened.
"Pathetic," he murmured, dipping the cloth into water and scrubbing the Grand Hall's marble floor. "Seventeen years old and still cleaning up after people born better than you."
But it wasn't about that. It never was.
Kael lifted his eyes to the massive stained glass at the hall's peak—the depiction of the First Awakening, where legend said a common mortal touched the One and his soul radiated light for the first time. The birth of aura.
Every morning, he stared at that window. Every morning, he asked himself the same question: why not him?
The sun climbed high when the first students began arriving.
Kael kept his head down, scrubbing the entrance stairs. Brown uniform meant guaranteed invisibility. Nobody looked at servants. They were furniture that moved.
"My father said the Academy will reduce scholarship students this year," a female voice echoed above him. "Only those with Radiant Aura or higher will be permitted."
"There shouldn't even be scholarship students," another voice responded, masculine and arrogant. "If your aura isn't strong enough, you don't deserve to be here."
Kael didn't need to raise his eyes to know who it was. Darian Solcrest. Heir to Luminara's most powerful family, bearer of Radiant Aura since age fifteen. Perfectly arranged golden hair, impeccable noble uniform, the posture of someone who'd never doubted their own worth.
The group passed by Kael as if he were part of the stairs.
Invisible.
Always invisible.
The library was the only place where Kael felt alive.
Officially, servants weren't permitted entry. But the elderly librarian, Lady Hestia, pretended not to see him when he slipped through shadows after cleaning hours. Sometimes she even left books "forgotten" on specific tables. Books that spoke of philosophy. Of the One. Of Neoplatonism.
Of aura.
Today, there was a new one.
Kael picked up the volume with reverent care—worn leather cover, pages yellowed by time. The title was nearly illegible: Emanations of the First Intellect - Plotinus of Alexandria.
His heart accelerated.
He sat in a dark corner, opened the book, and began reading.
"The soul is not separate from the One, but an emanation. As light emanates from the sun without diminishing it, so aura emanates from the soul without exhausting it. Awakening is not gaining power—it is remembering what was always there."
The words burned in his mind.
Always there.
Kael closed his eyes, tried to do what the book described: search within himself for that spark, that connection to something greater. He breathed deeply. Concentrated. Searched.
Nothing.
As always.
He'd attempted the awakening ritual at sixteen, like every citizen of Luminara. Stood in the center of the Evaluation Circle while aura crystals measured his potential. All other teenagers had made the crystals glow—some faintly (Fragmented), others intensely (Radiant).
Kael's crystals remained dead.
Dormant.
No detectable aura.
No future.
"Hey, servant!"
The voice cut through his thoughts like a blade.
Kael opened his eyes. Three students blocked the library's only exit. Darian Solcrest in front, two lackeys behind.
"Reading is above your class," Darian said, cruel smile on his lips. "Or did you steal that book?"
Kael stood slowly, hiding the book behind his back. "Lady Hestia gave me permission—"
"Lady Hestia has no authority to give permission to the dormant." Darian advanced, hand extended. "Give me the book."
"No."
The word left before Kael could stop it.
Darian's smile widened. "No?"
The temperature around them dropped visibly. Kael saw with clarity—golden threads of light began dancing around Darian's body, like ethereal flames. Radiant Aura. Visible. Tangible. Real.
"You dare defy me?" Darian asked, voice low and dangerous. "A useless dormant who should be grateful to clean my filth?"
Kael swallowed hard but didn't retreat. "Knowledge doesn't belong to you. It belongs to all who seek—"
Darian's hand moved in a blur.
A simple push. But charged with aura.
Kael flew three meters backward and crashed against the bookshelf. Pain exploded in his spine. Books rained down on him. The ancient volume of Plotinus fell open beside his face.
"Learn your place, insect," Darian said, turning away. "Next time I won't be merciful."
The three left laughing.
Kael remained on the floor, breathing hard, ribs screaming. Blood trickled from his split lip. But what hurt most wasn't the pain.
It was the helplessness.
He reached for the fallen book with trembling fingers. A sentence on the open page caught his attention:
"The dormant soul is not without aura. It simply forgot how to see."
Kael stared at the words. Something stirred in his chest—not hope exactly, but something close. A stubborn refusal to accept his fate.
His fingers touched the page.
And for a brief, impossible instant, silver light flickered across his skin.
Kael blinked. The light was gone. Had he imagined it?
A voice echoed from the library's depths—Lady Hestia, though he couldn't see her: "Some awakenings take longer than others, child. But they are no less real."
Kael looked around. Empty. Had she really spoken?
He gathered the book, pushed himself to his feet, and limped toward the exit. His reflection in a window made him pause.
For a moment—just a moment—he thought he saw something in his gray-silver eyes. A flicker. A promise.
Something watching back.
That night, in the servants' cramped dormitory, Kael couldn't sleep.
He lay on his thin mattress, staring at the ceiling, the book hidden under his pillow. Around him, twenty other servants snored. All dormant. All invisible.
All except one.
"Kael?" A soft voice. Mira Thornwood, the only person who'd ever treated him like a person. She occupied the cot beside his. "You're hurt."
"I'm fine."
"Liar." She sat up, brown curls falling over her shoulders. Even in the dark, her green eyes were warm. "Darian again?"
He didn't answer.
Mira sighed. "One day you'll stand above them all. I know you will."
"How can you know that?" Kael whispered bitterly. "I'm dormant. I'll always be dormant."
"No." Mira's voice held absolute certainty. "I see something in you they can't. Something waiting."
Kael wanted to believe her. But seventeen years of nothing had taught him better.
Still, as sleep finally claimed him, he dreamed.
He dreamed of silver light and shadows dancing together. Of a voice calling his name from somewhere deep and ancient. Of two figures—a man radiating white brilliance, a woman cloaked in crystalline darkness—reaching toward him with desperate love.
And in the dream, they whispered: "Remember, our son. Remember who you are."
Kael woke gasping.
His hands glowed faintly silver in the moonlight.
This time, the light didn't fade.