On the way back to the dorms, Caelan found himself under relentless assault—from words.
"Oh, my rising legend, sir," Veynar said solemnly, clasping his hands together.
"Thank you for humbling us with your presence."
"Oh, great hero," Nerith added immediately, bowing low.
"Thank you for allowing us to walk beside you. It is a great honour for us lowly people."
"Guys, could you please stop?" Caelan said, half-smiling despite himself.
"You're exaggerating everything."
"Oh, watch it, my lord," Veynar continued. "There's a puddle on the floor—let this humble servant inspect it first."
"Sir, this way please," Nerith added, gesturing dramatically.
"My lord," Veynar grinned, rushing ahead, "allow this servant to open the door for you."
"Oi," Caelan snapped, finally losing patience.
"One more word and both of you are getting it."
"My lord, please do not be angered," Veynar said solemnly.
"Here—enter your abode."
The door swung open.
At the same moment, Caelan's fist met Veynar's head.
"OW—"
Inside the room stood two unfamiliar figures.
"Oh," Nerith said, straightening. "Looks like the other two have finally arrived."
"I'm Nerith."
"I'm Veynar," Veynar added, rubbing his head.
"...I'm Caelan."
"Nice to meet you three," said a man standing near the lockers—shirtless, massive, and built like a fortress both literally and figuratively.
"I am Thoryn Durvryn Korveth."
"And I'm Draven Drask Thorrien," the other added, pushing himself up from the bed.
He was tall. Broad. Solid.
Draven stepped closer to Caelan, looking down just slightly.
"Hey," he said casually, giving a thumbs-up. "Let's work out sometime."
He winked.
"Huh...?"
All three spoke in perfect unison.
"You really attract some weird characters, Caelan," Veynar muttered.
"Idiot," Nerith replied immediately. "That includes us too."
"T-hi—" Veynar stuck out his tongue, saluting badly.
Caelan sighed, shaking his head.
Then he looked back at Draven.
"Uhm... yeah. Sure," Caelan replied.
Draven finished pulling on his uniform and stretched once.
"Alright, see you all later. I'm off to get lunch—protein comes first after training."
With that, he headed out.
Thoryn, now fully dressed, turned to the three of them.
"I'll see you later as well. And Caelan—"
He paused, looking at him properly.
"You did well in training. I can tell you've lived a disciplined life."
Then he glanced at Veynar and Nerith. "You two weren't bad either."
A small nod followed.
"Let's get along. Later."
The door closed behind him.
The room fell quiet again.
The three of them looked at one another.
"...They don't seem bad," Veynar said at last, breaking the silence.
"Yeah," Nerith agreed. "Could've been a lot worse."
Caelan nodded. "Let's take a bath, then head out to eat."
They moved toward the bathing area at the back of the room, changed, grabbed their towels, and stepped into the bath.
Warm water enveloped them instantly.
The bath was spacious—large enough to comfortably fit five or six people—and the heat seeped deep into their tired muscles.
"You were right, Nerith," Veynar said, sinking back with a satisfied sigh.
"This academy really doesn't cut corners on anything."
"No kidding," Nerith replied, stretching his arms along the edge of the bath. "If they keep this up, I might actually start respecting nobles."
"That's dangerous talk," Veynar said seriously. "Careful, you'll lose your reputation."
Caelan let out a small laugh, relaxing into the warmth.
Veynar cracked one eye open and glanced at him.
"You're way too calm for someone who got fought over by four instructors today."
"I told you to stop exaggerating," Caelan said.
"Oh?" Nerith leaned closer, grinning. "So it is normal for instructors to chase each other with weapons over a 'failed awakener'?"
Caelan splashed water at him. "Drop it."
Veynar laughed, then squinted at Caelan again.
"Still... you sure you're not hiding something else? First the drills, then Master Rynar, then suddenly you've got four co-masters."
"I'm not hiding anything," Caelan said quickly. "If anything, I'm the most confused one here."
"Mm," Nerith hummed. "That's exactly what someone hiding something would say."
Caelan sighed and leaned his head back.
"I just don't want things to change."
The teasing faded slightly.
Veynar looked at him for a moment, then waved a hand dismissively.
"Relax. You're still the same Caelan."
Nerith nodded. "Yeah. Still awkward. Still dense."
Caelan frowned. "Hey."
They all laughed.
Veynar splashed water lazily.
"Besides, if you do turn into some legendary monster later, we can just say we knew you before you were famous."
"Exactly," Nerith added smugly. "We'll sell your embarrassing stories."
Caelan groaned. "I regret befriending you two."
"Too late," Veynar said cheerfully. "You're stuck with us now."
The warm water rippled softly as their laughter echoed through the room.
For the first time since coming to Tartarus Academy, Caelan felt it clearly—
Not pressure.
Not expectation.
Just... comfort.
After the bath, the three headed toward the cafeteria.
"I'm so hungry," Veynar complained, practically bouncing as he walked. "I just want to eat as fast as possible—come on, hurry up!"
"Relax," Nerith said, rolling his shoulders. "We've still got time before class. And we're basically there."
The moment they stepped inside the cafeteria—
Silence.
Conversations died mid-sentence. Trays paused in mid-air. Heads turned.
Every eye followed them.
As they moved toward the serving line, the whispers began—low, sharp, and impossible to ignore.
"Hey... it's him. The attention seeker."
"I heard he failed his awakening, so now he's performing to get the instructors' favour."
"They say he's a disgrace to noble lineages everywhere."
Nerith's jaw tightened.
"Just ignore them, Caelan," he said quietly. Then, after a beat, "Though I really want to find whoever started those rumours and beat them into the ground."
"Yeah," Veynar added, forcing a grin. "Don't listen to idiots who can't even run five laps."
Caelan smiled.
It was practiced.
Controlled.
"Yeah," he said lightly. "Got it. Let's just grab food and sit somewhere."
The whispers didn't stop. If anything, they grew bolder—wilder, more exaggerated with each retelling.
They sat down with their trays near the edge of the hall.
Nerith and Veynar ate slower than usual.
They could tell.
Caelan was eating normally. Breathing normally. Smiling normally.
Too normally.
Caelan knew they could see through it.
But he said nothing.
And for now, they let the silence speak for him.
They had barely finished eating when the space around their table shifted.
Not silence this time—
pressure.
Five figures stopped just short of their table.
Caelan looked up.
At the front stood a tall, broad-shouldered noble with dark hair pulled back tight, his presence heavy in a way that demanded attention without asking for it. His uniform fit too well, worn like armour rather than cloth. His gaze locked onto Caelan immediately.
A slow, humourless smile formed.
"Well," he said, voice carrying just enough to draw nearby ears.
"Look if it isn't the worthless noble himself."
A few sharp laughs followed.
"The great Caelan," the man continued mockingly. "Failed awakening. Grand performance. Instructors tripping over themselves."
He stepped closer.
"Kaelen Drask Drakhar," he said, placing a fist to his chest in mock formality. "Remember the name. You'll be hearing it a lot."
Behind him—
To his right stood a woman with immaculate posture, hands folded calmly behind her back. Her eyes were sharp, measuring, already cataloguing weaknesses. She said nothing, but her gaze briefly swept over Nerith and Veynar like items being evaluated—and dismissed.
"Hm," she murmured. "So this is the group."
To Kaelen's left lounged a sea-folk noble, his webbed fingers resting lightly at his side, expression pleasant—too pleasant. His eyes flicked between students nearby, already tracking reactions, whispers, alliances.
"What a shame," he said smoothly. "So much attention for someone so... unstable. I hope the academy survives the disappointment."
A massive stonekin loomed just behind them, arms crossed like slabs of carved granite. He didn't laugh. He didn't speak. He simply stared—his gaze settling briefly on Thoryn's empty seat, then back to Caelan.
The message was simple.
Strength will be tested.
Above them, boots landed lightly on a nearby bench.
A skyborn girl crouched there, wings half-unfurled, smirking down at the table.
"Ooo," she said brightly. "So this is him? You don't look like much from up here."
Her eyes flicked to Veynar. "Try not to fall behind, feather-boy."
Veynar's jaw tightened.
Nerith leaned forward, teeth bared slightly. "Got something you want to say properly, or are you just here to flap your mouths?"
Kaelen chuckled.
"I'm here to set expectations," he said. "This academy rewards strength. Discipline. Honour."
His gaze sharpened.
"You don't have any of that. You have tricks. Attention."
He leaned in just enough that only Caelan would hear the edge in his voice.
"So don't get confused. You're not my equal."
For a moment, the table was very still.
Then Caelan stood.
Not aggressively.
Not defensively.
He met Kaelen's gaze calmly.
"I didn't ask for attention," Caelan said. "And I'm not competing with you."
Kaelen laughed—loud, sharp.
"Oh, you are," he said. "You just don't know it yet."
He straightened, turning away.
"Come on," Kaelen ordered. The group followed immediately—Liora already speaking quietly to Voryn, the stonekin falling in step, the skyborn girl launching upward with a sharp gust of wind.
As they left, her voice drifted back down.
"Try not to break before weapons class, legend."
Whispers resumed—louder now.
Veynar exhaled through his nose. "Yeah. I don't like them."
Nerith leaned forward, knuckles white. "They picked the wrong table."
Caelan remained seated.
Calm on the surface.
Then—
Heavy footsteps approached.
Not hurried.
Not aggressive.
Measured.
A massive shadow fell across the table.
Thoryn Durvryn Korveth stood there, arms crossed, stone-like gaze fixed in the direction Kaelen's group had gone. His presence alone drew attention—conversations nearby died mid-sentence.
He spoke without raising his voice.
"Those rumours," Thoryn said, "are wrong."
Caelan looked up, startled.
So did Nerith and Veynar.
Thoryn glanced down at them briefly.
"I watched the drills," he continued. "No awakening. No tricks. Just discipline and endurance."
His eyes hardened.
"That isn't disgrace. That's training."
Several nearby students exchanged looks.
A noble at another table scoffed—then went quiet when Thoryn's gaze shifted.
"You don't outperform trained lineages by accident," Thoryn added. "Anyone saying otherwise is lying—or afraid."
Silence.
Then—
A chair scraped loudly across the floor.
From another section of the cafeteria, Draven Drask Thorrien stood.
Broad shoulders. Easy confidence. No hurry.
He walked over, stopping beside Thoryn.
"I was going to ignore it," Draven said casually. "But it's getting annoying."
He looked around the room, then down at Caelan.
"Everyone saw the runs," he said. "The lifts. The terrain course."
His tone sharpened slightly.
"Anyone saying Caelan's performance was 'attention-seeking' should explain why they couldn't keep up."
A few students looked away.
Draven smirked.
"Also," he added, glancing toward the nobles' section, "noble blood doesn't make you strong. It just gives you excuses when you lose."
A ripple moved through the room.
At the far end, Kaelen's group had slowed.
Liora's eyes narrowed.
Voryn's pleasant smile thinned.
Drak shifted his weight—but didn't move forward.
Sylira hovered above, wings twitching, watching carefully.
Kaelen turned slightly.
"...This is turning," he muttered.
Thoryn took one step forward—not toward them, but into the space between rumour and target.
"If there's a problem," he said evenly, "say it directly."
No one answered.
Draven folded his arms.
"Thought so."
The opposing group exchanged brief glances.
Kaelen clicked his tongue softly. "Not worth it," he said at last. "Let them enjoy today."
They turned and left—this time without laughter.
When they were gone, the cafeteria slowly resumed its noise.
Caelan stared at Thoryn, then Draven.
"...You didn't have to do that."
Thoryn shrugged. "Yes. I did."
Draven grinned. "We don't like lazy lies."
Nerith blinked. "Did—did we just get backed by two walking fortresses?"
Veynar stared between them, then at Caelan.
"...You really attract some ridiculous people."
Caelan laughed quietly—genuinely this time.
Something had shifted.
Not power.
Standing.
And the academy had noticed.
After they finished eating, the group headed back to their dorms together.
Thoryn and Draven walked alongside Caelan, Nerith, and Veynar.
Back in the room, some sat on their beds while others prepared their things for the upcoming cultivation class. The atmosphere was calmer—settled.
Caelan hesitated, then spoke.
"Thoryn. Draven."
Both looked up.
"...Why did you defend me back there?"
Thoryn answered immediately. "Didn't I already say why?"
Caelan shook his head. "I know what you said. That's not what I'm asking."
He glanced at Nerith and Veynar.
"They've been with me since the start. I understand why they'd stand up for me."
Then he looked back at the two towering men.
"But I only just met you. Being good in training shouldn't be enough reason to step into that kind of situation."
Draven stopped adjusting his uniform and turned fully toward him.
"My family values strength," he said plainly. "Not titles. Not rumours. Strength earned through work."
He met Caelan's eyes.
"I can tell what kind of person someone is by how they train—and how they fight. You don't fake that."
Thoryn nodded once.
"And nobles from certain places," he added calmly, "think their blood makes them superior."
His gaze shifted briefly, distant.
"But you stand beside two commoners, and you don't command them. They don't follow you out of fear or flattery."
He looked at Nerith and Veynar, then back at Caelan.
"They follow you because they want to. You joke. You argue. You treat each other as equals."
That earned a faint smile from Thoryn.
"That tells me everything I need to know."
He paused.
"I want to get to know all of you better. We're roommates—but more than that, your character's worth it."
Then, deadpan:
"And this muscle-brain seems to agree."
Draven blinked. "Huh?"
Then his eyes lit up.
"Wait—you want to fight?"
He cracked his knuckles eagerly.
"When I saw you, I already wanted to test you. If you're inviting me, I won't refuse."
He pointed at Caelan. "Besides. I found him first. He's my partner."
"PFFFT—"
Caelan choked.
Nerith clutched his chest dramatically. "You're cheating on me already? How could you, Caelan?"
"Shut up!" Caelan snapped, face red. "And you—Draven—stop saying things like that!"
Veynar burst out laughing.
"What's misleading?" Draven asked genuinely. "We'll train together. I want to spar with you. If that's not a partner—"
"TRAINING BUDDY!" Caelan shouted. "THE WORD IS TRAINING BUDDY!"
Nerith and Veynar completely lost it.
"OI—THAT'S IT, BOTH OF YOU ARE DONE!" Caelan lunged.
"RUN!" Veynar yelled as both tried—and failed—to escape.
Thoryn watched calmly, barely holding back his laughter.
"See?" he said. "Muscle head."
Caelan finally stopped, breathing hard.
Nerith grinned at him.
"...You're smiling, you know."
Caelan froze.
Then slowly, he realised it was true.
For the first time in a long while—
He was.
The group of five headed toward their cultivation theory class.
The moment they stepped inside, the room fell quiet.
Whispers died mid-sentence. Heads turned.
Without comment, Caelan and the others moved to the back and sat together.
A second later—
Bang!
The door flew open.
"Alright, settle down!"
A woman strode in like a storm she'd forgotten to contain.
"I'm Professor Irene Erynd Calverin."
Her long black hair was tied poorly, several strands refusing to cooperate. Her robe was neat in theory, chaotic in execution. Her black eyes were sharp—awake in a way that suggested she slept less than she should.
"I handle all cultivation theory," she said, sweeping her gaze across the room. "That's why they threw me at first-years."
A pause.
"You'll have specialists later. Lots of them."
Then, with a grin:
"But what's the point of mastering one path if you ruin it by copying the wrong materials from another?"
That earned a few uneasy looks.
"Elemental manuals in beast bodies. Beast cores fed to concept-aligned idiots." She sighed. "I've seen it all."
She turned, snapping her fingers.
"Quiet. Let's begin."
The room stilled instantly.
"First things first."
She wrote three words on the board.
Element. Beast. Concept.
"Element-aligned cultivators draw quantity from Axiom."
She underlined quantity.
"Beast-aligned draw instinct."
Another line.
"And concept-aligned..."
She paused just long enough to make it uncomfortable.
"...draw meaning."
A ripple of murmurs spread.
She turned back to them.
"And before you ask—yes, that matters."
She tapped the board again and wrote a single word beneath them.
AXIOM
"What is Axiom?" she said aloud, answering herself. "It's the fundamental energy underlying all cultivation."
She glanced at the room.
"It exists because archetypes exist. Not the other way around."
A few students frowned. Others leaned forward.
"To advance," Irene continued, pacing now, "you need three things."
She held up three fingers.
"Sufficient raw Axiom accumulation."
"Proper archetypal crystal concentration."
"And a stable conceptual core."
She waved a hand dismissively.
"Don't panic. You don't need to understand those yet."
A collective sigh escaped the class.
"But you do need to understand this."
She turned and drew a simple outline of a human body.
"No fancy mysticism here. When you cultivate, you draw Axiom into your body and circulate it."
She drew arrows along the limbs and torso.
"You use your archetypal facet to sense Axiom and guide it. Think of it like opening the right door in the dark."
She tapped the centre of the chest.
"Everybody has a limit. A container."
She traced a circle.
"When that limit is full, forcing more in doesn't make you stronger."
Her chalk stopped.
"It makes you broken."
Silence.
"So you circulate. You stabilise. And when the container reaches capacity—"
She drew one final arrow upward.
"—you advance."
She stepped back.
"One last thing."
She pointed at the arrows.
"Circulation is always clockwise."
A pause.
"No exceptions. Anyone tells you otherwise, they're either lying..."
A sharp smile.
"...or trying to kill you."
Caelan stared at the diagram.
Something about it felt too clean.
As if the simplicity itself was hiding something deeper.
Professor Irene was just about to turn back to the board when she paused.
Her gaze lingered.
Not on the diagram.
On Caelan.
He hadn't said a word. Hadn't reacted like the others. No confusion. No relief.
Just... focus.
She tilted her head slightly.
"Ah. Almost forgot."
She turned back to the class.
"There is one more category some of you may fall into."
She wrote a fourth word on the board.
Weapon
A few students straightened.
"Those who awaken weapon-aligned facets don't draw from elements, beasts, or concepts directly," Irene said. "They cultivate through the weapon itself."
She tapped the word.
"In early stages, it's efficient. Very efficient."
A pause.
"But as you advance..."
Her chalk slowed.
"...progress becomes harder."
She turned.
"The weapon becomes a bottleneck. Refinement grows stricter. Advancement slows."
A few students nodded knowingly.
Caelan didn't.
Something clicked.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just wrong.
The logic didn't collapse—but it didn't hold either.
Harder later... because of the limitation?
No.
That wasn't resistance.
That was misdirection.
A laugh cut through the room.
"Heh."
Kaelen Drask leaned back in his seat, arms crossed.
"Well, that's reassuring," he said loudly. "At least weapon-aligned have a path."
Several of his group chuckled.
His eyes slid toward the back of the room.
"Unlike some people."
Liora smiled thinly.
Voryn's voice followed, smooth and amused.
"Right. No facet. No archetype. No alignment."
Sylira snorted from above, perched carelessly.
"How exactly does someone like that cultivate?"
More laughter.
Caelan felt the stares.
He didn't flinch.
Didn't lower his gaze.
Didn't speak.
Instead—
His certainty solidified.
They're wrong.
Not just about him.
About the weapon path.
About advancement.
About the limitation.
Professor Irene watched him closely now.
Not the nobles.
Not the laughter.
Caelan.
He wasn't defensive.
He wasn't confused.
He wasn't embarrassed.
He looked... thoughtful.
Interested.
Intrigued.
Her lips curled upward just slightly.
Now that's strange.
She rapped the board sharply.
"That's enough."
The laughter died instantly.
"Whether you have a facet or not," Irene continued calmly, "you're all sitting in this class for a reason."
Her eyes flicked back to Caelan.
"And cultivation has a habit of revealing truths when people are certain they don't exist."
The room went quiet.
Kaelen frowned.
Caelan leaned back in his chair.
And for the first time—
Someone in authority was no longer looking at him like a failure.
But like a question.
Professor Irene clapped her hands once.
"Enough theory. Cultivation isn't learned by listening," she said lightly. "It's learned by circulating."
A faint ripple passed through the class.
"Sit straight. Feet flat. Spine aligned," Irene instructed as she paced slowly between the rows. "Close your eyes."
The room obeyed.
"Use your awakened facet to sense Axiom," she continued. "Not force. Not grab. Just... acknowledge it."
A hush fell.
A few breaths later, faint reactions appeared.
Some students inhaled sharply as thin wisps of light gathered around them.
Others shuddered as instinctive pulses rippled through their bodies.
A couple of nobles even smirked as their Axiom responded eagerly.
Irene nodded, unfazed.
"Good. That's normal."
She stopped near the back row.
"Circulate it clockwise," she said, tapping the board. "Down the core, through the limbs, back to the heart."
More reactions followed.
Heat. Pressure. A subtle glow.
Then—
Nothing.
Caelan sat perfectly still.
No pulse.
No shimmer.
No reaction at all.
A few students opened one eye.
Whispers spread quickly.
"...He's not circulating anything."
"Of course not."
"Didn't he fail his awakening?"
Kaelen Drask leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, a slow grin spreading across his face.
"Tch. No facet, no archetype, no Axiom," he said loudly. "How exactly is he supposed to cultivate?"
A few of his group chuckled.
"Maybe he plans to imagine it," Liora added coolly.
Soft laughter rippled through the room.
Nerith clenched his fists.
Veynar bristled.
But Caelan frowned—not in shame.
In confusion.
That's strange, he thought.
He could feel something.
It wasn't flowing into him.
It was... moving around him.
Like water refusing to be poured into a cracked cup.
Professor Irene raised a hand.
Silence snapped back instantly.
She was staring at Caelan.
Not with disappointment.
With curiosity.
"Hm..."
She walked closer, eyes sharp.
"You followed the circulation exactly," she said. "Breathing steady. Posture correct."
She tilted her head slightly.
"But your Axiom didn't respond."
The class waited.
"That," Irene said slowly, "shouldn't happen."
Kaelen scoffed. "Professor, isn't it obvious? He has nothing to circulate."
Irene didn't look at him.
"Wrong," she replied calmly.
Her gaze never left Caelan.
"Having nothing feels different from having something that refuses to move."
The room went quiet again.
Caelan's eyes widened slightly.
Irene smiled faintly—just for a moment.
"Class dismissed for today," she said. "Tomorrow, we'll discuss why circulation fails."
Her eyes lingered on Caelan one last time.
"And why some paths," she added softly, "aren't meant to begin the same way."
After the classroom emptied, Caelan was halfway out the door when—
"Caelan Drask Korthal."
He froze.
Professor Irene was still standing by the board, erasing nothing.
"Stay a moment."
The door shut behind the last student.
The silence felt heavier than the laughter earlier.
"You didn't circulate," Irene said plainly.
Caelan lowered his head. "Yes, Professor."
"But you did sense something," she continued.
He looked up sharply.
Irene studied him like a puzzle she hadn't decided whether to solve.
"Most failures feel empty," she said. "You didn't."
She tapped the chalk against the board once.
"It's like trying to pour water into a container that refuses to define its shape."
Caelan's breath caught.
"I... don't understand."
Irene smiled faintly.
"Good," she said. "Neither do I."
She turned back to the board.
"For now, follow the curriculum. Don't force circulation. Don't imitate others."
She paused, then added:
"And don't let anyone convince you that lack of response means lack of potential."
Caelan bowed deeply. "Thank you, Professor."
As he turned to leave, Irene spoke one last time—quiet enough that only he could hear.
"Some cultivators walk paths."
Some don't."
Professor Irene left the classroom last, wiping the chalk dust from her hands.
The students' voices faded down the hall, but her thoughts didn't follow them.
Caelan Drask Korthal.
She stopped walking.
Failed awakening.
No archetypal response.
No circulation.
And yet—
She exhaled, lips curling faintly.
"There really is only one person who would enjoy this," she muttered.
________
The door creaked open into a dim, gloomy chamber.
Books were everywhere.
Not shelves — territory.
Scrolls piled like nests. Chairs buried. Tables drowning. Some books lay open, others closed, others upside down as if abandoned mid-thought.
A man sat among it all, unmoving.
"Hey, Nerith," Irene called casually, stepping over a stack of records. "You should clean this room someday. It's getting worse."
A low voice answered without looking up.
"What do you want, Irene?"
Scholar Nerith's tone was deep, dry, and uninterested.
"I'm busy."
"You always are," she replied lightly. "I'll be quick."
He turned a page.
"I have a student," Irene said, leaning against a cluttered table. "A failed awakener."
"Then why are you here?" Nerith replied flatly. "Failures aren't rare. You send me prodigies, not disappointments."
She smiled.
"He has a Concept alignment."
The page stopped turning.
Silence stretched.
"That's impossible," Nerith said calmly. "Concept-aligned cultivators manifest, or they don't exist."
"He doesn't," Irene replied. "No manifestation. No facet. No circulation."
Nerith snorted softly and resumed reading.
"Then he's nothing."
"But," Irene continued, unfazed, "he also failed to absorb Axiom entirely."
This time, the book closed.
Slowly.
"That's not failure," Nerith said, eyes finally lifting. "That's absence."
Irene's smile widened just a little.
"He also outperformed awakened nobles in physical drills," she added. "Without enhancement."
Nerith stood.
Books shifted as he rose, eyes sharp now, no trace of boredom left.
"Say his name."
"Caelan Drask Korthal."
He frowned.
"...Drask?"
Irene nodded. "Yes. That Drask."
Nerith was silent for a long moment.
Then he laughed.
A quiet, delighted sound.
"So the records were wrong," he murmured. "Or incomplete."
He turned toward a wall of old tomes, already reaching for one.
"A container that doesn't accept Axiom," he said. "A Concept without a facet."
He glanced back at Irene.
"Bring me everything on him."
She raised a brow. "Everything?"
Nerith smiled — sharp, curious, dangerous.
"I was bored," he said. "Now I'm interested."
________
Caelan and the others left the cultivation hall together, their footsteps echoing faintly along the corridor.
After a moment, Nerith broke the silence.
"So," he said, glancing around, "how was it for you all?"
He grinned. "First time circulating Axiom. How'd it feel?"
"Not bad," Thoryn replied easily. "It went smoothly. Fast, too."
"Same here," Draven said. "Once I felt it respond, the rest followed."
Veynar nodded. "Mine was alright. Not fast, but I got there in the end."
Nerith shrugged. "Yeah. Same for me."
Their steps slowed.
One by one, they turned to look ahead.
Caelan had drifted a few paces in front of them, gaze unfocused, brow faintly furrowed.
"Caelan?" Nerith called.
"Huh?"
He blinked, pulled back into the moment.
"You good?" Thoryn asked.
"Ah... yeah." Caelan hesitated, then exhaled. "I was just thinking about when I tried to cultivate."
Veynar tilted his head. "How was it?"
Caelan frowned slightly, searching for the right words.
"I don't know," he said at last. "I did everything the same as you all. The breathing, the circulation. But... it felt different."
Draven's eyes sharpened. "Different how?"
Caelan slowed to a stop.
"It was like being submerged," he said quietly.
"Like water. Everywhere. All around me."
They exchanged looks.
"But no matter how I moved it," Caelan continued, voice low, "no matter how I circulated... it didn't respond."
He clenched his hand once, then relaxed it.
"It was there," he said. "Yet it wasn't mine to use."
For a moment, no one spoke.
The silence stretched.
Then Veynar scratched his cheek.
"...That's weird."
"Yeah," Nerith agreed slowly. "But not in a bad way."
Draven folded his arms, eyes narrowing—not with doubt, but focus.
"When I circulated," he said, "it felt like drawing heat into my muscles. Resistance. Weight."
He looked at Caelan. "You're saying there was no resistance?"
Caelan shook his head. "None. It didn't push back. It didn't move either."
Thoryn stopped walking completely.
"That's not failure," he said firmly.
Everyone looked at him.
"Failure is emptiness," Thoryn continued. "Or rejection. What you're describing sounds like... containment."
"Containment?" Nerith echoed.
"Like standing in a river before you've learned how to swim," Thoryn said. "The water doesn't disappear just because you don't know how to move in it."
Veynar blinked.
"...Huh."
Draven let out a low chuckle. "So instead of not having Axiom—"
"He's drowning in it," Nerith finished.
Caelan opened his mouth. Closed it again.
"That's not comforting," he muttered.
Nerith grinned and threw an arm around his shoulders.
"Too bad. We're comforting you anyway."
Veynar nodded. "Yeah. Besides, if something really was wrong, Professor Irene would've dragged you out by the collar."
"Or Master Rynar would've tried to 'fix' you by hitting you," Draven added.
"...Fair point," Caelan admitted.
Thoryn looked at him again, expression calm but certain.
"Whatever path you're on," he said, "it's not one meant to start the same as ours."
Then, after a pause, he added:
"And paths like that... usually don't end small."
Caelan felt something settle in his chest.
Not answers.
But certainty.
Back in their dorm, the tension of the day finally bled away.
Boots were kicked off. Shirts were tossed over chairs. Someone—no one admitted who—claimed the window bed without asking.
Veynar collapsed face-first onto his mattress.
"I swear," he groaned into the pillow, "if tomorrow has another run, I'm rebelling."
"You lasted longer than I thought," Nerith replied, untying his boots. "I gave you three laps before you started crying."
"I did not cry."
"You absolutely did."
"I was sweating from my eyes."
Draven snorted from the far bed, already half-asleep. "Weak."
Veynar lifted his head. "Says the man who ate enough meat for four people."
"Protein," Draven muttered. "Necessary."
Thoryn sat on his bed, calmly wiping down his training gear. "You all complain too much."
"That's rich coming from the guy who didn't even breathe hard today," Nerith shot back.
Caelan sat on his own bed, leaning against the wall, listening.
For once, no whispers.
No stares.
No judgement.
Just noise.
"Hey," Veynar suddenly said, rolling onto his back and pointing. "Caelan hasn't said anything weirdly humble in at least five minutes."
"That is suspicious," Nerith agreed. "You planning something?"
Caelan blinked. "What?"
"See," Veynar continued. "Silent. Dangerous."
"I'm just tired," Caelan replied.
"Liar," Nerith said. "You're thinking again."
Caelan sighed. "...Maybe."
Veynar grinned and grabbed a pillow. "Thinking banned. First night rule."
Before Caelan could react, the pillow hit him square in the face.
There was a beat of silence.
Then Caelan grabbed the nearest pillow and hurled it back.
"Oi!" Veynar yelped as it hit him in the chest. "He's violent!"
"That's rich," Nerith laughed, dodging another pillow as chaos erupted.
Draven sat up just long enough to throw one with terrifying accuracy, knocking Nerith onto his bed.
Thoryn watched the scene for a moment... then calmly tossed a pillow of his own.
It hit Caelan.
"...You too?" Caelan said flatly.
Thoryn allowed himself a small smile. "Fair is fair."
Laughter filled the room.
By the time the fight died down, pillows were scattered everywhere, and Veynar lay sprawled on the floor, gasping dramatically.
"I have been defeated," he declared. "Remember me."
"No," Nerith said. "Sleep."
Lights dimmed.
One by one, breathing evened out.
Caelan lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.
His body ached.
His cultivation hadn't worked.
Tomorrow would be harder.
But as he listened to the quiet sounds of the room—soft breaths, a muttered complaint in sleep, the simple presence of others—something in his chest eased.
For the first time since arriving at Tartarus Academy...
He wasn't alone.
And for now—
That was enough.