Keith woke the next morning to the dull ache of overused muscles. Even turning over in bed was a chore. He stared at the ceiling for a moment, letting his thoughts drift before sitting up slowly. The training had only just begun, and already he felt like he'd been hit by a carriage.
The others didn't seem to be struggling as much. When he entered the dining hall, Ethan was already halfway through a plate of eggs and toast, chatting animatedly with a few of the other boys. Keith quietly grabbed his own food and sat at a nearby table, alone.
He picked at his breakfast, his appetite weak. Though he had barely slept the night before, his mind wouldn't stop racing. Everyone was talking about awakening. It was all anyone cared about.
Even last night, when he lay in bed, Keith could hear the murmurs from the boys' rooms: who showed signs of early Essentia stirring, who might awaken first, whose family had ties to old bloodlines. Some boys glowed with potential; some pretended they did.
But Keith… felt nothing.
Not a tingle. Not a flicker.
Just… emptiness.
After breakfast, the groups gathered again on the main field for physical training. Today, they were drilled harder. Sprinting, agility trials, and weapon control. Keith kept up the best he could, but his arms felt like lead and his legs wobbled with each step. By the time they were given a water break, he was on the verge of collapse.
"You alright?" Ethan asked, handing him a flask.
Keith nodded, panting. "Yeah… just tired."
"You're not the only one," Ethan grinned, wiping sweat off his brow. "Though I swear, that Mira girl has demon blood. She's not even breathing hard."
Keith looked toward Mira—a dark-haired girl from their group who always kept to herself. She moved with grace and speed, eyes sharp and cold. She wasn't the only one who stood out. Aria, too, showed incredible control with her blade, and Damon seemed like he'd been lifting logs his whole life.
Keith couldn't help but feel small among them.
Later that day, they attended their first theoretical lecture—a class on demonology held in an underground stone hall lined with books and enchanted lanterns. The instructor was an old man with thin silver spectacles and a voice like gravel.
"Demons," he began, "are not merely beasts of instinct. They are creatures of corrupted Essentia, formed from chaos and desire. They have ranks, just as we do. From lowly Huskborn to the dreaded Abyssal Sovereigns."
He tapped a large, illustrated chart pinned to the board behind him.
"Our power system has nine levels. So do theirs. This is not coincidence—it is a balance. A war of evolution."
Keith studied the chart quietly. The demon silhouettes grew larger and more grotesque the higher they went. His mind flashed back to that night—the creature that tore through his home. Hulking, blood-soaked, fangs dripping. It had to be a high-tier demon. But which one?
As the class continued, something stirred inside him—not power, but curiosity. There was so much he didn't know. So much he needed to understand.
After class, Instructor Kael called Keith aside.
"You're holding back," she said plainly.
Keith looked down, unsure how to respond.
"It's not just about awakening, Keith. It's about intent. Purpose. You carry something heavy. Use it."
He met her eyes and, for the first time, saw a trace of empathy behind the strictness.
"I don't know if I can awaken," he admitted quietly.
Kael didn't flinch. "You're still breathing, aren't you?"
He blinked.
"Then you haven't failed yet."
She walked away, leaving him in silence.
That night, Keith stood in the courtyard under the stars. The moon cast long shadows on the stones, and the cold breeze cut through his uniform. He looked up, wondering if his parents had ever seen this sky from here.
He still hadn't cried again since that first night.
The pain hadn't faded—it had simply sunk deeper, carved into his chest where no one could see.
One by one, the lights in the hostels dimmed. A few other students lingered outside—some meditating, some training, others just watching the stars like him.
Keith sat alone, legs crossed, hands resting on his knees. He closed his eyes.
Please, he thought. If there's anything in me… show me.
But the only response was the sound of the wind.