The roar of the waterfall faded into a low hum.
The boy sat motionless beneath the crashing water, eyes closed.
The cold bit into his skin—but his heart burned.
Then, without warning…
Tears began to fall.
They slid down his pale cheeks, vanishing into the flood as if they were never there.
But each drop carried the weight of a memory.
A shadow flickered behind his closed eyes.
An old man—
Hunched and frail.
Barely able to walk.
Steps slow, guided by a weathered cane.
A trembling hand reaching out to feed him.
That same voice—soft and steady—
Had once whispered the secrets of the world.
Letters. Numbers. Discipline.
Kindness.
The boy's breath trembled.
His fingers clenched around his bamboo stick.
His eyes snapped open.
SHRRK!
In a flash, he stood—gripping the stick like a blade.
The air around him warped, charged with silent energy.
He raised the bamboo, drawing a line through the sky.
The air cracked.
A soundless shockwave burst forth—
Scattering the mist like shattered glass.
Trees bowed.
The wind howled—then collapsed into stillness.
He stared at the space he had just torn through.
"…The memory… it really hurts."
He chuckled.
It started as a whisper.
Then louder.
And louder.
"Haha… Hahaha…"
But it wasn't joy.
It was the laughter of a soul stretched thin.
Hollow. Haunted.
Bleeding from wounds that would never heal.
Birds scattered from the trees.
The forest froze.
The boy lowered his bamboo stick.
The tears had stopped.
But the storm within him had only just begun.
The laughter faded.
And with it, his strength.
His knees bent slightly from exhaustion.
Turning back toward his hidden home, bamboo stick resting quietly in his grip,
He walked in silence.
Inside the small wooden hut, he opened an old cupboard.
Dust swirled in the air.
From within, he pulled out a folded envelope.
The seal was cracked with age.
His eyes narrowed at the words written across it:
"Recommendation Letter – Dawnspire Academy."
He stared at it for a long moment.
Then scoffed.
"…Academy? Do I really need to go there?"
The letter trembled slightly in his fingers—
Not from fear,
But from something else.
A feeling he couldn't name.
He packed what little he had.
A spare set of clothes.
A small pouch of dried herbs.
The bamboo stick.
And without looking back,
He walked out of the forest that had raised him—
—toward the city.
Caldrith.
The gates shimmered under the golden afternoon sun, teeming with people and energy.
A prosperous trade city, pulsing with life—
Merchants shouting.
Carriages rattling.
Magic lamps flickering in shop windows.
The boy, silent and unreadable, boarded a horse-drawn carriage.
Passengers glanced his way but said nothing.
There was something in his eyes—
Quiet.
Cold.
Distant.
When the carriage stopped before towering gates, two guards stepped forward.
They wore polished armor, swords at their sides.
"What's your business, boy?" one asked, voice low but firm.
The boy reached into his coat and pulled out the letter.
"Letter of recommendation."
The guards exchanged glances.
One nodded and stepped aside.
The other motioned.
"This way. The Headmaster's waiting."
Dawnspire Academy.
The largest and most prestigious institution on the continent.
It trained swordmasters, mages, strategists, and scientists.
It shaped heroes—
And monsters.
Those who walked its halls either rose to greatness…
Or were crushed beneath it.
As he followed the guard through the marble corridors,
The boy's expression didn't change.
He hadn't come to prove anything.
He came because the wind had stopped moving.
Because something was changing.
And because the memory of a broken old man still echoed behind his eyes.
The boy stepped into the Headmaster's chamber.
A vast room—quiet, dignified.
Sunlight filtered through stained-glass windows, painting the floor in gold and crimson.
At the center, seated behind a desk carved from ancient oak, was a man.
His presence was overwhelming.
Not because of his movements—
But because the air around him bent.
As if space itself feared to settle near him.
Long silver hair.
A robe like a quiet storm.
Eyes like deep violet galaxies.
He looked up.
"Your the one with theletters," he said, calm and unreadable.
The boy nodded, offering the letter.
The man scanned it briefly.
"I am Lazar Velnar," he said. "Headmaster of Dawnspire. Equal to the First King of Asteria… though that title means little now."
He stood.
The air rippled.
"I've reached the edge of power," Lazar continued.
"But I cannot step beyond.
I lack the comprehension to break through the next veil."
A faint chuckle escaped him.
"…Strength alone is not enough."
Then, gently—
"You may go."
The boy nodded once.
And left.
Outside the chamber, a knight approached Lazar.
"Headmaster Lazar, if I may… why did you allow that boy to enroll? The letter was valid, yes, but something about it felt too mysterious."
Lazar stepped toward the window, gazing out.
"His Aether… it's raw. Untamed. And old."
He paused.
"It doesn't belong to this era."
The knight blinked.
Said nothing.
Lazar's voice fell to a murmur.
"That boy… he truly interests me."
Then, to the knight—
"Return to your post.
That will be all."