Morning came without ceremony.
No trumpets. No visions. Just the academy bell ringing through stone corridors, steady and indifferent.
Aerin rose before it finished echoing.
Routine had become his anchor.
Since the awakening ceremony, his days followed a strict pattern—classes, training, study, rest. He measured time not by hours, but by exertion. By how much his body and mind could be pushed before they demanded recovery.
He washed, dressed, and left his dormitory quietly.
The corridors were already alive with movement. Groups of students walked together now, alliances forming naturally after the ceremony. Elemental wielders gravitated toward one another. Weapon specialists compared notes. Dual-wielders, fewer in number, remained scattered.
Aerin walked alone.
Not because he couldn't join them—but because solitude let him listen.
To his breathing.
To the rhythm of his steps.
To the faint, unfamiliar pulse of mana beneath his skin.
The first class was Foundations of Mana Control.
Professor Halverin, thin and perpetually tired-looking, stood before a chalkboard filled with diagrams of mana channels and core flow patterns.
"Awakening," he began, "is not power. It is access."
He tapped the board.
"Most of you are already trying to force your mana. That is why you will fail."
Several students stiffened.
"Mana is not muscle," Halverin continued. "It is closer to breath. You do not command it—you align with it."
He paused, eyes scanning the room.
"Close your eyes."
The class obeyed.
Aerin did as well.
"Feel where your mana gathers," Halverin said. "Do not move it. Do not shape it. Simply observe."
At first, there was only silence.
Then Aerin felt it.
A slow circulation. Gentle. Almost shy.
It flowed through him like a hidden current, threading through veins and bone, gathering faintly near his chest.
But there was something else.
A deeper stillness.
A sealed depth beneath the surface—immense, silent, unmoving.
Aerin did not touch it.
He pulled back immediately.
Halverin's voice cut through the quiet.
"Good," the professor said softly. "If you felt nothing, that is fine. If you felt too much—open your eyes."
A few students did so quickly, breathing hard.
Aerin opened his eyes calmly.
Halverin noticed.
Again.
Midday brought weapons practice.
Instructor Vael wasted no time.
"Forms," she said. "One thousand repetitions. Incorrect form resets the count."
Groans spread through the hall.
Aerin did not complain.
He counted.
Not aloud.
Each swing was measured. Each step deliberate. His muscles burned steadily, not explosively.
Vael observed from a distance.
When the session ended, she approached him.
"You're improving faster than you should," she said.
Aerin wiped sweat from his brow. "I practice."
"That's not enough," Vael replied. "Talent accelerates. Discipline sustains. You have both—but you hide one."
Aerin met her gaze.
"Is that a problem?"
Vael studied him for a long moment.
"No," she said finally. "It's a warning."
That evening, Aerin visited the academy archive.
It wasn't forbidden—just neglected.
Rows of shelves held texts few students bothered with: regional histories, expedition records, failed research notes.
He gravitated toward the oldest section.
Ruins of pre-Imperial civilizations.
Fragmented maps.
Translated inscriptions filled with gaps and speculation.
One name appeared repeatedly.
Vallorae.
An ancient term. Possibly a region. Possibly a concept.
The scholars were unsure.
Aerin copied the references carefully.
The word resonated strangely—like a memory brushing against the edge of his thoughts.
He closed the book and exhaled.
Night settled over the academy.
Back in his room, Aerin sat on his bed, muscles aching pleasantly.
He closed his eyes.
This time, he did not search for mana.
Instead, he listened.
Deep within, the sealed presence remained unchanged.
Three rhythms.
Three silences.
Waiting.
Aerin opened his eyes slowly.
Routine had begun to shape him.
But beyond routine, beyond awakening—
Something ancient was aligning itself with his path.
And it was only a matter of time before the academy's quiet days came to an end.