The wheels of the merchant's cart creaked over the dirt path, worn from years of travelers and time. Aeris Varn sat at the edge, cloak pulled close, eyes scanning the vast plains as they neared the walls of Virelion, the capital of the Kingdom of Elaris.
The city rose like a mirage out of the land — stone towers etched with golden veins, flags of deep violet and silver fluttering in the wind. And in its heart, spiraling up like a pillar toward the sky, stood the Academia Arcanum, the greatest learning hall of the kingdom, reserved for scholars, warriors, and wielders of power alike.
Aeris stood in awe at the base of the academy's gate — towering blacksteel doors etched with ancient runes that pulsed faintly as if responding to his presence. He felt the sigil on his hand grow warm beneath his glove. Was it excitement? Or was it something else stirring?
He had come with a letter from the high magistrate of Olyn, passed through discreet hands once his strange abilities began to manifest more openly. Orla's words still echoed in his mind.
"The world will try to label you, Aeris. Mage. Warrior. Outcast. But your path isn't theirs to name. Let Kaelion guide you."
The academy guards inspected his papers and, after a moment's pause — perhaps sensing the power coiled beneath his calm exterior — waved him through. Aeris stepped across the threshold.
The air shimmered faintly.
It felt like the boundary of something immense.
Inside, the academy was a world unto itself. Towering libraries. Combat arenas rimmed with runes. Botanical gardens glowing with strange light. Students in robes and armor walked with purpose, some channeling magic in casual conversation, others dueling with staff and sword.
Aeris couldn't help but feel out of place.
He was guided to a room — small but warm — with a simple bed, desk, and a circular window that looked out over the city.
That night, as he sat by the window, the sigil on his hand pulsed again. He held the stone he had carried from Olyn — now dull, silent, but never truly dead. He remembered the flames, Kaelion's voice, and the burning sky.
That was when the shadows stirred.
He turned sharply.
A figure stood at the far corner of his room, cloaked in dusk, as if the light itself refused to touch them.
"You walk a path that burns," the figure said, voice layered like Kaelion's — but colder, older, bound to the ground by memory.
Aeris tensed. "Who are you?"
The figure stepped forward, their cloak parting just enough to reveal a mask of dark glass etched with the same sigil that burned on Aeris's hand.
"I am the Ashbound," the figure said. "One of the last that remembers Kaelion not as myth — but as flame."
Aeris's breath caught. "You know him?"
"I served him before the gods fell silent," they replied. "Before the world forgot what humans could become."
Aeris's mind reeled. "Why are you here?"
The figure moved closer. "Because you were not supposed to awaken. The Order bound Kaelion's name in silence. They feared what he represented. You are the first in centuries to bear his mark openly."
"Then why me?"
"Because Kaelion never chose blindly. He chose those who teetered between despair and greatness — those who could rise beyond themselves."
A moment of silence passed between them.
Then the Ashbound said, "There are others like you, buried in history. Some alive. Some lost. The academy will test you, mold you, perhaps even break you. But your fire must remain yours."
Before Aeris could ask more, the shadows around the figure coiled like serpents. Their final words echoed as they vanished:
"Find the Ember Vaults. Before the gods do."
Aeris stood frozen.
The Ember Vaults?
He didn't know what they were, but the fire in his veins told him this: something ancient was stirring again, and it wasn't just Kaelion's return.
The capital would not be the end of his journey.
It was the spark before the blaze.
Aeris swallowed hard. For so long, the world had seemed small — just the forge, the village, the whispers of dreams. Now, everything was stretching outward. The sigil on his hand still burned faintly beneath his gloves, a quiet reminder of what he carried within him.
Beside him, a gruff voice broke his thoughts.
"You sure you're ready for this, lad?" said Grun, the traveling blacksmith who had offered him passage. "That place isn't just scrolls and spells. It tests your bones and your will."
Aeris nodded. "I don't know if I'm ready. But I have to go. There's something… waiting for me there."
Grun grunted. "You've got the look of someone fate's taken a liking to. Or maybe it's the other way around."
By the time they reached the capital gates, the sun was high and the crowds thick. Aeris stepped off the cart and into a world of clamor and color. Merchants shouted prices, street performers danced with flame, and soldiers in obsidian armor marched past on patrol.
But his eyes kept drifting upward — to the tall domed spires of the academy, where the banners of the Seven Orders flew.
As he approached the marble steps of the Enrollment Hall, his heart pounded.
Inside, hundreds of others waited — some noble-born, others from distant provinces. Many had weapons at their sides or tomes strapped to their backs. Aeris felt the weight of their gazes. He was no noble. No trained spellblade or battle-monk.
Just a blacksmith's apprentice. Marked by a god no one remembered.
A voice called his name.
"Aeris Varn. Next for aptitude and soul attunement."
He stepped forward.
The test chamber was circular, stone walls lined with sigils and glowing crystals. In the center stood a pedestal with a crystal orb, pulsing with faint light.
The robed examiner, a woman with ink-black hair and amber eyes, gestured. "Place your hand on the orb. Let it read your essence."
Aeris hesitated, then pulled off his glove.
The moment his bare palm touched the orb, the room exploded with light.
The sigil on his hand blazed to life, the flame twisting through the crystal like living fire. The air roared, the runes on the walls igniting in a chain reaction. The examiner fell back, shielding her eyes.
The orb cracked.
Silence fell.
And then the orb spoke — not in the examiner's voice, but in a voice far older.
"Marked by the forgotten. Chosen by Kaelion. The flame awakens."
When the light faded, Aeris stood alone in the silence. The examiner rose slowly, staring at him with wide eyes.
"You… You shouldn't even exist."
Aeris clenched his fists. "I need to know what I am. That's why I'm here."
Hours later, Aeris stood before the high council of the academy. They debated in whispers, some fearful, others intrigued.
At last, an elder stepped forward — robed in silver and storm-gray, his voice steady.
"You are no ordinary candidate. Your presence disrupts the order. And yet… perhaps that is what this world needs. You will be allowed to enroll. But know this, Aeris Varn: you walk a path that no one can guide you on. You carry a spark of something… ancient."
Aeris nodded.
For the first time, he felt it. Not fear. Not confusion.
But purpose.
And somewhere, far away — beneath stars unseen by mortal eyes — Kaelion watched, and the flame of human potential burned brighter than ever before.
As Aeris left the chamber of the High Council, the doors echoing shut behind him, a cold voice halted his steps.
"You really don't look like much."
A boy leaned against one of the marble pillars, arms crossed. He was around Aeris's age but carried himself like nobility — posture sharp, eyes sharper. His uniform was already tailored in rich blue and gold — the colors of House Virenth, a high-born lineage known for its master duelists.
"I saw what happened in the test chamber," the boy continued. "You broke the orb. Impressive. Or reckless. Maybe both."
Aeris eyed him cautiously. "And you are?"
"Rael Virenth," he said with a smirk. "Top score in all martial disciplines. Heir to the Virenth legacy. And now, apparently, classmate to a fire-handed nobody from the edge of nowhere."
Aeris clenched his jaw but stayed silent.
Rael's smirk deepened. "I'll enjoy watching you fall."
That night, while most students settled into their assigned dormitories, Aeris wandered the upper courtyard of the academy — its towers glowing faintly under the twin moons.
Something stirred.
In the shadows beyond the archways, a figure stood cloaked in silver and black. Aeris stopped, sensing the gaze even before he saw it.
The figure stepped forward just enough for his eyes to reflect moonlight — ancient, almost inhuman.
"You wear Kaelion's mark," the figure whispered. "The world sleeps, child of potential, but not for long. Others will seek you. Some to mold you. Others to destroy you."
"Who are you?" Aeris asked.
But the figure had already vanished, melting into the night with not even the sound of footsteps left behind.
Aeris turned toward the stars, wind rustling his cloak.
A rival watches. A shadow whispers. The academy has opened its gates… but so has fate.