Chapter 25
The Academy's grand auditorium buzzed with voices and magical illumination as the cultural symposium got underway. Delegations from various realms had gathered. It was a rare, prestigious event meant to foster understanding between magical cultures.
Kelan sat toward the side of the hall with a few other senior apprentices, serving as ushers and assistants. He felt both excitement and nervousness. This was his first time seeing so many dignitaries in one place, and the air was thick with authority and arcane talent. At the front of the hall, on a raised dais, Headmistress Celindra moderated a panel discussion between an Imperial minister and a visiting mage from the eastern steppes.
The Imperial minister, Lord Marshal Oren, was a stout man with a neatly trimmed gray beard, representing the Empire's Council on Magical Affairs. Opposite him sat Master Zujan, a tall, robed mage with coppery skin and elaborate braids, hailing from the Xanshari Consortium—a coalition of city-states known for elemental magic.
Between them on the dais burned a gentle blue magefire lantern, symbolizing unity of magic. But unity was strained.
"Master Zujan's demonstration was enlightening," Minister Oren said carefully. "In our Empire, however, conjuring spirits is heavily regulated for safety."
Master Zujan's smile thinned. "Safety is paramount in Xanshari as well, Minister. We do not summon spirits recklessly. It sounds as if you suggest otherwise—"
"I implied no disrespect," Oren broke in, maintaining a thin smile. "I only meant our cultural approaches differ."
Master Zujan inclined his head. "In Xanshari, we find fear often comes from lack of understanding, Minister. We accept our ancestors' spirits as natural. We are not 'unsafe' for doing so."
A few in the audience gasped at the pointed remark. The minister's cheeks darkened.
Headmistress Celindra stepped forward smoothly, hands raised. "Gentlemen—"
Before she could diffuse the brewing tension, Kelan rose from his seat at the side and stepped toward the dais. His heart pounded; he wasn't even sure what he'd say, only that he had to try something. He gave a respectful bow. "Pardon the interruption, honored sirs," he said, voice clear in the hushed hall.
All eyes turned to him. Kelan's mouth went dry, but he continued. "My name is Kelan, an apprentice here. I had the privilege of observing Master Zujan's spirit conjuration up close while assisting behind the scenes."
Minister Oren arched an eyebrow, surprised by the interjection. Master Zujan looked at Kelan curiously, likely wondering where this was going. Headmistress Celindra gave him a slight nod to proceed.
Kelan mustered a polite smile. "I just wanted to remark on how the demonstration exemplified both the diversity and commonality of magical practice. Master Zujan's ancestral spirit share a similar intent: to seek wisdom and guidance from beyond the present."
He glanced at Minister Oren. "Lord Oren, you spoke of regulation and safety. I think you would be interested to know that Master Zujan took great care in his summoning circle's construction. I noticed it included containment runes nearly identical to those used in Imperial summonings. In essence, both our cultures enforce responsibility in magic – we just do it through different means."
Kelan then turned toward Master Zujan. "And Master, I was struck by how respectfully you introduced your ancestor spirit—much as we, in the Empire, open our symposium by lighting a candle for those who came before us. Different method, same reverence."
Master Zujan's stern posture softened; he gave a small nod of acknowledgment.
A gentle silence fell. Many heads in the audience bobbed in agreement. Kelan could see tension easing from the shoulders of those on stage. Some of the Imperial guards even relaxed their stances.
Headmistress Celindra seized the moment with a light laugh. "Well said, Apprentice Kelan. Truly, we are all here to learn from one another's perspectives."
She looked to the two dignitaries. "Perhaps Lord Oren and Master Zujan find they have more in common after all. Both of your cultures revere lineage greatly—be it through family lines or institutional tradition."
Master Zujan offered the minister a more genuine smile. "The young man has a point. Responsibility, indeed, is what my people emphasize. We simply trust each mage to uphold it, where you have formal structures. Neither is wrong—just different."
Minister Oren nodded slowly. "And we too honor our forebears—if not by summoning their spirits, then by preserving their words." He shot Kelan a grateful glance. "Perhaps our caution sometimes makes us quick to judge what we don't practice ourselves. I meant no insult, Master Zujan."
The foreign mage inclined his head graciously. "And I took none, good Minister." (That polite fib earned a few chuckles.)
Polite applause spread through the hall, led by Celindra. The crisis was over. Kelan exhaled, realizing how tense he'd been. He slipped back to his seat, face warm but heart light. Sera, who had returned and seen the exchange from the back, beamed at him.
During the break after the panel, as attendees mingled over refreshments, Minister Oren approached Kelan. The Imperial official offered a handshake, which Kelan took respectfully.
"Young man," Oren said, "you have a diplomat's tongue. Thank you for your intervention. We old dogs sometimes bark at each other out of habit. A fresh perspective works wonders."
Kelan dipped his head. "I'm glad I could help, Minister. I've been studying different magical traditions... it's fascinating how much overlap there is."
Master Zujan joined them, a cup of spiced tea in hand. "Kelan, is it? I must thank you as well. You did not have to step in, but you showed understanding of my culture beyond what I expected from an apprentice."
Kelan flushed with pride. "I read about Xanshari customs last year when a delegation visited," he said. "And Master Dahan taught us comparative ritual theory. I just connected the dots."
Zujan chuckled. "Those who can connect dots between worlds are rare. The Empire and our Consortium could use more bridges like you."
They moved on to converse with others, and Sera bounced up to Kelan's side, nearly spilling a pastry in her excitement. "Word of your little speech is spreading. You might have a future as an ambassador!"
Kelan rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I only said what seemed obvious."
Sera shot him a knowing look. "Obvious to you. The rest were at a loss until you spoke up." She nudged him. "I'm proud of you."
He smiled, feeling a glow of satisfaction. "It makes me think—so many conflicts are just misunderstandings. If bridging a small gap can stop an argument, bridging bigger gaps might stop wars."
Sera studied him. "That sounded suspiciously like prophecy-level thinking."
He nodded. "I can't help but connect it. Power might win battles, but understanding prevents them. Maybe part of fulfilling that prophecy is helping people see eye to eye."
Sera linked her arm through his. "And you're already doing it. Magic and politics, heart and mind—it's all connected."
As evening fell and the symposium concluded with a toast to cooperation, Kelan had earned numerous nods of respect and a public commendation from the Headmistress. Master Dahan caught him on the way out and said quietly, "Well done, Kelan," which from him was high praise.
By evening, the tension had fully evaporated. Minister Oren and Master Zujan even shared a friendly anecdote over drinks, their earlier conflict forgotten.
As the symposium concluded, Headmistress Celindra made a point to thank all who helped (and gave Kelan a proud nod). Master Dahan squeezed Kelan's shoulder as he passed and murmured, "Well done."
Walking across the courtyard at dusk, Kelan breathed in the cool air. Lamps glowed along the paths and laughter echoed from departing guests. Sera strolled beside him, arm tucked through his.
"So many conflicts come down to understanding, or the lack of it," Kelan reflected. "I think if I'm ever to stop worse disasters, like the prophecy warns, it won't be just with power. It'll be with understanding too."
Sera smiled. "And you've shown you have plenty of that."
Kelan smiled back. Today he had learned that being a mage wasn't only about spells—it was also about people. And with friends and mentors by his side, he felt more ready than ever to face whatever challenges the future would bring.
Chapter 26
Kelan tugged his cloak tighter against the morning breeze as he made his way through the bustling marketplace of Solvan City. The Academy had sent him on a quick errand beyond its walls – a welcome break before the afternoon's practical exams. In his satchel he carried a package of specialized crystal foci, freshly purchased from an enchanter's stall. These crystals would be used for the exam's central apparatus, a magical obelisk that would measure each student's channeling ability.
He paused by a bakery stand when a commotion erupted nearby. A burly thief snatched an elderly woman's purse and sprinted through the crowd. Kelan acted without thinking – a gentle telekinetic push sent a stack of crates toppling into the thief's path. The man tripped and went sprawling, the purse flying from his hand. Kelan calmly retrieved it and returned it to the breathless woman.
"Thank you, young man," she gasped, eyes shining with gratitude.
Kelan just smiled and slipped away into the crowd as city guards took the thief into custody. He didn't need any recognition; the woman's relieved smile was more than enough.
By afternoon, the third-year apprentices gathered in the Academy's open-air atrium for their practical exam. At the center stood a tall black obelisk etched with runes, fitted with the focus crystals Kelan had delivered.
Students took turns channeling magic into the obelisk, which glowed to reflect their power. Sera's turn produced a steady mid-level glow, showcasing her control. Cassian, by contrast, poured an excessive torrent of energy into the pillar. The runes blazed under his onslaught until an ominous crack and flicker of a focus crystal signaled the obelisk was under strain. A murmur of unease rippled through the audience.
When Kelan's name was called, he stepped up and steadied himself. At Master Dahan's signal, Kelan closed his eyes briefly to center himself, then sent a steady silvery stream of telekinetic energy into the obelisk's apex. The runes brightened to near the top of the scale as he carefully increased the flow. Kelan felt in control – the obelisk drank in his power smoothly and the crowd murmured in awe at the strength and stability of his output.
Suddenly, the obelisk emitted a loud crack. Fracture lines raced across its apex and it began to tip with a groan. One of the base crystals popped free and skittered away. The massive pillar, easily a thousand pounds of stone, was collapsing toward a group of students—including Sera and Cassian.
Time seemed to slow. Kelan reacted on pure instinct. He flung out one hand and seized the falling obelisk with his mind. Every ounce of telekinetic strength he possessed surged forward. The pillar shuddered to a halt, suspended at an angle just feet above the ground. Kelan stood trembling, one hand raised as if physically upholding the stone.
Gasps and cries fell silent. For a heartbeat, Kelan wasn't sure he could hold it—the weight was tremendous, pressing against his mind. His vision blurred at the edges.
Then Master Arion thrust out his own hand, adding his power to Kelan's. The crushing weight eased.
"Easy now," Arion said calmly.
Together, they gently lowered the fractured pillar the remaining distance. It thudded onto the courtyard flagstones, sending up a puff of dust. A collective cheer of relief went up.
Kelan's arm dropped to his side. He swayed, dizzy with exertion. Master Arion was at his elbow in an instant to steady him.
There was a beat of stunned silence, then a surge of cheers when everyone realized the danger had passed. Kelan lowered his trembling hand, heart pounding, and caught Master Arion's reassuring nod.
Sera raced to Kelan and threw her arms around him. "By all the stars, Kelan! Are you alright?" she cried.
He managed a shaky grin. "I'm okay. Just a bit drained."
Cassian approached, rubbing a scrape on his arm from diving away. His face was pale, eyes wide with what might have been gratitude. "You saved us," he said, almost grudgingly.
Kelan nodded, still catching his breath. "I'm glad you're alright."
The examiners were already tending to the mess and urgently discussing what had gone wrong. Headmistress Celindra had arrived, overseeing the situation with a stern, pale face that softened when she saw all the students unharmed.
Master Dahan stepped forward. "We are deeply sorry for this incident. Rest assured, we will find and fix the cause. In the meantime, I think we can agree one student went above and beyond expectations."
All eyes turned to Kelan. He flushed as applause and cheers erupted. Even the instructors joined in the applause.
When the clapping died down and students began dispersing, Cassian lingered behind. He approached Kelan slowly. For a tense moment, neither spoke.
Finally, Cassian cleared his throat. "Thank you," he muttered, eyes cast down. Then he looked up and met Kelan's gaze directly. "Really. Thank you."
Kelan gave a small, sincere smile and extended his hand. Cassian grasped it in a firm shake. In that brief moment, a silent understanding passed between them. "Anytime," Kelan said.
That evening, Kelan and Sera sat together on a bench in the quiet courtyard, watching the first stars blink into view. The Academy grounds were peaceful again.
"You were amazing today," Sera said softly. "You've become the kind of mage who steps up when it counts."
Kelan squeezed her hand gently, drawing strength from her presence. "I couldn't have done any of this without my friends and teachers," he replied. "I'm just grateful everyone's safe."
Sera leaned her head against his shoulder. "Whatever comes next, we'll handle it."
Kelan looked up at the night sky, the prophecy's uncertain future on his mind but no longer filling him with fear. He had found courage, wisdom, and a sense of purpose – and he wouldn't face the future alone.
"Together," he agreed quietly.
Under the steadfast light of the stars, Kelan allowed himself a hopeful smile. His mind had awakened to its power and responsibility, and he was ready to forge ahead on the path that lay before him.
Got it! I'll write an exciting bridging chapter—Chapter 26a—to fix the continuity gap. It will include the accident with the obelisk that leads to Kelan being unconscious and explains how he ends up in the infirmary at the start of Chapter 27.
I'll get started on that now and will share the full narrative shortly.
Chapter 26a
Kelan's heart thundered in his chest as the obelisk groaned above him. Cracks spiderwebbed across the stone surface, raining dust and pebbles onto the courtyard floor. In the dim twilight, the towering monolith swayed ominously, its bulk teetering. It's coming down. The realization flashed through Kelan's mind like lightning. And directly beneath that collapsing pillar of stone stood Sera, wide-eyed and frozen in fear.
Kelan hurled himself forward. His boots slipped on loose gravel, but he caught his balance and threw out both hands toward the swaying obelisk. A raw shout tore from his throat as he gathered every ounce of magic within him. He could feel his wellspring of power surge, hot and rushing. With a desperate thrust of will, Kelan sent that energy hurtling outwards. Invisible force slammed into the obelisk with a thunderous crack, halting its fall for one precarious moment.
Stone met magic in a vicious contest. The obelisk's weight drove down like a falling mountain. Kelan's arcane push shuddered under the strain, a barely visible shimmer of blue-white light bracing the monolith. For an instant, everything hung in balance. Kelan's teeth clenched; his arms locked rigid as if he physically held the obelisk aloft with just his hands. A tortured scream of effort escaped between his gritted teeth.
Around him, the courtyard was chaos. Dirt and shattered stone fragments filled the air in a choking haze. Through the swirling dust, Kelan caught a glimpse of Sera scrambling backwards on the ground, coughing and eyes watering. Cassian lunged to Sera's side, dragging her away. Kelan's gaze flicked toward them. Relief flickered in his chest to see Cassian getting Sera away, but it was short-lived. A booming crack snapped his attention back overhead.
A new fracture split down the length of the obelisk with a deafening crack. The immense stone lurched again, pressing harder against Kelan's tenuous magical hold. He braced his feet, digging into the ground. Pain shot through his knees, but he did not yield. If he faltered now, even for an instant, the obelisk would crush everything beneath it—Sera, Cassian, Master Arion, and anyone else in the courtyard. He could not let that happen.
"Kelan, get out of there!" Master Arion's voice cut through the roar of grinding stone and whipping winds of magic. The older mage's tone was sharp with panic—a tone Kelan had never heard from his mentor before. From the corner of his eye, Kelan glimpsed Master Arion a few paces back, one arm raised as a glowing sigil spun between his fingers. The Master was erecting containment barriers around the area to catch the falling debris. Flickering orange light from the spell revealed Arion's face, etched with horror as he watched his student attempt the impossible. "Let it go! You'll be killed!"
Kelan heard him, but the words seemed distant, muffled by the blood pounding in his ears. Killed? If I run, we all might die, he thought. Sweat dripped into his eyes; he blinked it away, refusing to break focus. Not an option. The pressure bearing down on him was immense. His magical barrier was buckling—he felt it in the tremor of the energy coursing out of him. It was like holding back an avalanche with bare hands. Every muscle in his body was taut, quivering on the verge of collapse.
A sudden motion: Sera had torn free from Cassian's grasp and stumbled forward. "Kelan!" she screamed, voice cracking. She took a step as if to run to him. Her face was streaked with dust and terror, one arm reaching out helplessly. Cassian grabbed her, struggling to hold her back. Sera struggled against Cassian, desperate to reach Kelan, but he held her firm and pulled her away from the falling debris.
Through the swirling maelstrom of grit and panic, Kelan locked eyes with Sera for the briefest of moments. Her emerald-green eyes were lit with fear for him. In them he also saw something else: trust. She believed he could do this; she was terrified, but she believed in him to save them. That single look sent a surge of determination through Kelan's veins. He would not let her down. He forced a reassuring smile to his lips—thin and strained, but there—before another violent tremor in the obelisk shattered the moment.
The obelisk jolted downward another few inches, the earth under Kelan's feet splintering from the impact. Kelan gasped as his magical barrier bent dangerously. A lance of agony shot through his skull, and the bright aura of power around his hands flickered. He nearly buckled. A horrified cry rang out—Sera's voice as she saw him falter. Kelan growled and dug deeper.
Somewhere in the recesses of his mind, he remembered Master Zujan's stern lectures on magical limits: "Every mage has a breaking point, Kelan. Push past it, and you risk your mind, your body—your very soul." That breaking point was here, and beyond it, the lives of those he cared about hung in the balance.
Another inch lost—stone grinding on stone. The obelisk was winning. Panic ignited in Kelan's chest. No. I need more… More power, more strength—anything to keep that obelisk up a little longer. Master Zujan's warnings clashed with the raw reality before him, nearly drowned out by Sera's sobbing plea: "Please, Kelan…!"
He made his choice in an instant. Teeth bared in a snarl of exertion, Kelan ripped open the floodgates of his power. He reached deeper into himself than he ever had, to the well of energy that lay beyond the usual boundaries of his training. It was as if he tore down an internal dam—suddenly, raw magic roared through his body with wild, uncontrollable fury.
Kelan screamed. The sound was raw and unearthly, ripped from his very soul. The surge of power was both exhilarating and excruciating. His veins were aflame, every nerve burning with arcane fire. The shimmering aura around him flared from blue to white-hot, blazing against the dusk. Cracks of light danced over his forearms and up to his chest as if the magic inside was splintering him. Pain lanced through his mind and body, threatening to tear him apart from the inside.
But the obelisk stopped. For one miraculous moment, Kelan's wild outpouring of magic held the massive pillar steady. The stone hovered, groaning in protest against the unseen force halting its collapse. Kelan's vision blurred with tears and pain, but he could just make out Cassian dragging Sera clear of the fall zone, both of them now behind Master Arion's barrier. They were safe—they were safe. The thought was a balm on Kelan's fraying consciousness. A strained, delirious laugh bubbled in his throat.
"Kelan, that's enough!" Master Arion's voice, hoarse with worry, somehow pierced the haze. Kelan's head snapped toward the sound, and the courtyard spun around him. His knees trembled. He'd done it—Sera and the others were safe. All that remained was to set the obelisk down and end this nightmare.
He tried to rein in the torrent of magic, but it was like trying to seize a raging river with his bare hands. The power he had unleashed was no longer fully under his control. Kelan's own magic was now ravaging him, roaring in his ears, flooding his senses with white noise. He gritted his teeth and forced himself to focus on the obelisk one last time. Gently… just set it down…
With titanic effort, Kelan began to lower the obelisk, inch by inch, guiding it away from the most damaged area toward an open patch of ground. The stone monolith, easily dozens of tons, resisted even now, but it was moving under his direction, however sluggishly. Each centimeter it descended sent fresh waves of agony through Kelan's skull. He was dimly aware of warm blood trickling from one nostril, the copper tang filling his mouth as he gasped for breath. His arms shook uncontrollably, still raised toward the sky, fingers splayed and locked like claws.
Just a little more… just a moment longer…
A final surge of effort—Kelan poured every last dreg of will and magic he possessed into one desperate push. The obelisk shifted the final few feet toward the ground, now leaning away from the courtyard's center. It was almost done. Kelan could see the end, could imagine the obelisk thudding harmlessly to the earth.
Suddenly, a blinding pain exploded behind his eyes. The world lurched. Kelan's magic, stretched far beyond its limits, snapped. With a gut-wrenching sensation, he felt his hold on the obelisk vanish in an instant. The backlash of released energy slammed into him. It was as if a giant fist had seized his mind and squeezed. Kelan choked on a cry as his knees finally buckled. His legs gave out and he crumpled, only barely managing not to fall flat—he caught himself on one hand, the other still weakly raised toward the falling obelisk.
The great stone monolith, freed from Kelan's hold, began to drop once more. A collective scream rose from those watching. Kelan could only watch in hazy exhaustion and horror. I failed— the thought flickered, bitter and despairing. He was spent; his vision was going dark at the edges. There was no strength left to move, let alone re-establish the magical grip.
But even as darkness crept into Kelan's sight, a sudden burst of emerald light shot across the courtyard. It intercepted the obelisk in mid-air, enveloping the massive stone in a radiant green glow. The obelisk's deadly descent slowed, then halted altogether once more, mere yards above the ground. Kelan blinked, struggling to focus through his dimming vision. He recognized that verdant aura. Master Zujan.
Through the billowing dust, Master Zujan strode forward, one arm outstretched and eyes blazing with concentration. The head of the Academy had arrived, channeling his power to catch the obelisk where Kelan no longer could. The relief that washed through Kelan was so profound it was almost numbing. The disaster was averted—someone else had taken the burden. Sera is safe. Everyone… is safe.
Kelan exhaled a shuddering breath and finally let go. His raised arm fell limp to his side as he knelt there, swaying. The ground beneath him tilted crazily. He dimly saw Master Zujan gesture sharply; with a resounding crash, the obelisk was hurled aside onto empty flagstones, shattering into massive chunks. A fresh cloud of dust whooshed up, but Kelan barely noticed it. All sounds were fading, as if he were underwater.
He slumped forward, the last vestiges of strength fleeing his body, as the courtyard's flickering lights blurred together in his vision. Kelan dimly sensed figures rushing toward him—Sera calling his name, and Master Arion at his side with concern on his dirt-streaked face, lips moving in unheard words.
Cold numbness crept up through Kelan's limbs, replacing the searing pain with heavy emptiness. He pitched sideways, barely conscious. Before he could hit the ground, strong arms caught him from behind. Master Zujan's familiar scent of old incense and parchment filled Kelan's nose as the older mage lifted him effortlessly. Kelan's head lolled against Zujan's shoulder.
"Easy now, I've got you," came Master Zujan's deep, steady voice from above. Kelan felt himself being cradled, the world tilting as Zujan stood with him in his arms. Somewhere beyond, Sera sobbed in relief, and Cassian's voice babbled urgent words. Master Arion's hand briefly clasped Kelan's shoulder, the concern in his eyes the last thing Kelan saw.
Darkness pulled at the edges of Kelan's vision, soft and irresistible. He had nothing left to fight it with. It's over, he thought hazily. In the shelter of Master Zujan's arms, with Sera and the others safe, Kelan finally allowed the emptiness to take him. His eyes drifted shut even as he tried to speak—perhaps to apologize for the scare or to say he was glad they were safe—but no words came. He surrendered to the silence and the dark.
The last thing Kelan felt was the gentle rocking as Master Zujan carried him, and Sera's voice calling his name, before everything went black.
Chapter 27
Kelan awoke to dim lantern-light and the smell of herbal tinctures. He lay on a narrow cot in the Academy's infirmary, muscles trembling with weakness. For a moment he stared at the timbered ceiling, disoriented, until memory flooded back: the thunderous crack of the obelisk collapsing, dust and screams all around, and the surge of power that had burst from him in that desperate moment. He remembered raising his hands as instinct took over, and the impossible weight of stone halting in mid-air under the force he'd conjured. He had saved the other students—he could still see their pale faces behind the shimmering barrier of light he'd somehow woven—before darkness overtook him.
Now he was conscious again, every part of his body aching as if he'd been trampled. In the hushed stillness, a healer's soft footsteps crisscrossed the ward and the smell of crushed herbs lingered. Kelan tried to sit up and winced at the flare of pain across his bandaged ribs. He was not entirely unscathed, but he was alive—and so were the others. That thought alone was enough to ease the sting of his injuries.
He let out a long breath and closed his eyes. How did I do that? The question swirled in his tired mind. He hadn't uttered any incantation he knew, hadn't even thought—he'd simply acted, and the power answered. In the quiet, his mind drifted toward an old memory, one he rarely spoke of. In his childhood by the sea, there was a day when he had known a storm was coming long before any sign appeared in the sky. He had begged his father not to sail that morning, inexplicably certain danger was near. Some called it a lucky guess, but when a sudden gale struck hours later, his father's boat was one of the few still safe in harbor. A boy's intuition had saved a life.
Kelan's eyes opened slowly, the past receding like a tide. He had never understood how he sensed that storm, just as he did not fully understand what he had done beneath the obelisk. Perhaps the spark of this gift—this strange awareness—had always been inside him, quietly guiding him at moments of crisis.
A gentle cough drew Kelan's attention. An infirmary healer stood beside his cot, checking his pulse with cool fingers. "You gave us a scare," she said in a low, soothing tone. "You slept the whole night and most of today." Kelan's mouth was dry; he swallowed and managed a faint nod. The healer offered a spoonful of water and continued, "Master Zujan brought you here himself. He's been checking in often."
Master Zujan. The name cut through Kelan's haze. That the Academy's most revered instructor had been tending to him filled Kelan with a mix of gratitude and awe. "Thank you," he rasped softly, uncertain what else to say.
The healer smiled and patted his arm. "Rest. You're on the mend." She left to attend another patient, leaving Kelan alone once more in the dimming light.
Kelan let his head sink back into the pillow. News of his actions would be spreading through the Academy halls by now—the novice who had held back a falling obelisk with raw instinct. He exhaled, feeling both humbled and unsettled. Fate, it seemed, had a way of plucking him from quiet anonymity and throwing him into the center of events.
Staring at the ceiling's wooden beams, Kelan thought of the frightened classmates he had protected, and of his father far away on the coast, who once said Kelan had the eyes of an old soul. A faint determination kindled within him. If he carried a unique gift, he would not squander it. He would learn what it meant and how to control it—so that the next time fate tested him, he would be ready.
For now, exhaustion crept over him again, heavy and insistent. He allowed his eyes to close, the infirmary fading into soft darkness. This is only the beginning, he thought, just before sleep reclaimed him.
Chapter 28
A few days later at twilight, Master Zujan met Kelan in a secluded courtyard behind the Academy halls. The air was cool and still, carrying the faint fragrance of jasmine from the gardens. Kelan's heart thumped with nerves as he faced the elder mage. It was unheard of for an apprentice to receive one-on-one training from a Master, yet here he stood.
"I saw what you did at the obelisk," Zujan said quietly, his hands folded within the sleeves of his robe. In the orange glow of a single lantern, the Master's lined face appeared thoughtful. "Your magic was raw, instinctive... and remarkable. I believe you might benefit from a different kind of guidance." He motioned for Kelan to sit cross-legged on the flagstones.
Kelan obeyed, curiosity and anticipation stirring within him. Zujan continued, "We will try the Xanshari techniques—ancient exercises in perception and control that few now practice. They may help focus your gifts." Kelan nodded, determined.
Under the hush of dusk, Zujan began with a simple test. "Close your eyes," he instructed. "Tell me where the courtyard lanterns are, without looking." Kelan inhaled slowly and let the world fall dark. He could hear his heartbeat... and then, faintly, he felt them: points of warmth in the night. "Three lanterns," he whispered. "Two behind me to the left, and one just in front of us." Opening his eyes, he saw he was correct. Zujan's slight smile acknowledged the success.
So their secret lessons commenced. Each evening, Master and student convened in the quiet courtyard to delve into unorthodox practices. They meditated by candlelight until Kelan could sense the flicker of each flame with eyes closed. They practiced guiding energy with breath and will—making a fallen leaf stir without touching it, feeling the pulse of living things in the garden soil. The training was strenuous and strange, yet exhilarating. Kelan discovered a sharpened awareness blooming inside him. He could sometimes perceive a classmate approaching before he heard their footsteps, or sense the shifting moods in a room like subtle changes in the wind.
Zujan was patient but exacting. "Steady mind, steady magic," he often reminded Kelan. And Kelan strove to obey, taming the wild instinct that had saved lives into something he could call upon at will.
After a week of these twilight sessions, Kelan felt both exhausted and profoundly alive. One night, leaving the courtyard after Master Zujan had departed, he noticed a pair of fellow students lingering under the arches. They pretended to chat, but their eyes followed Kelan's every move. In their hushed whispers he caught his name. One boy's expression held open curiosity, but the other's was harder, edged with envy under furrowed brows.
Kelan lowered his gaze and slipped past them without a word. A knot of unease coiled in his stomach. It seemed his private training was no longer a complete secret. As he walked the dim corridor back to his quarters, he reminded himself of Zujan's teachings: remain calm, focus within. Yet he couldn't shake the feeling that the quiet respect he once had among peers was shifting into something else.
Still, Kelan clung to his resolve. Master Zujan believed in him, and he was learning to believe in himself. Whatever resentment brewed around him, he would not let it derail his path. Pulling his cloak tight, Kelan stepped into the candle-lit dormitory hall, determined to carry on and prove worthy of the faith placed in him.
Chapter 29
Kelan was halfway through a dark, empty colonnade when a sudden shove slammed him into a stone pillar. Stars burst across his vision. Before he could cry out, three figures emerged from the shadows and surrounded him. They were older students—he recognized their faces, contorted with malice.
"You should've stayed in your little village," one spat. In the faint torchlight, Kelan saw it was Jalen, a senior acolyte whose eyes now burned with envy and hate. "Think you're special? Master Zujan's pet?"
Kelan's heart pounded. "I-I never wanted—" he stammered, raising his hands in appeasement. But a fist caught his ribs, exploding pain through his chest and knocking the words from him. He doubled over with a gasp.
Another boy seized Kelan's collar and threw him to the ground. "We're teaching you a lesson," he growled. A boot drove hard into Kelan's side. He bit back a scream as agony flared through his body. They were really doing this—his fellow students were trying to hurt him, maybe even kill him.
"Please...stop," Kelan choked out, voice breaking. In the back of his mind, he couldn't fathom how quickly admiration had turned to hatred. He tried to crawl away, but a heavy weight pinned his shoulders. Through blurry eyes he saw a glint of metal—Jalen brandishing a short knife. Fear closed icy fingers around Kelan's heart.
"Should've died under that obelisk," Jalen hissed, kneeling over him. The blade pressed against Kelan's throat, not yet cutting but chillingly real. Kelan froze, tears of pain and betrayal mixing on his face. He could hardly breathe. This couldn't be happening.
A shout suddenly echoed down the corridor: "Hey! What's going on there?" It was a deep voice, an Academy sentry. The attackers jerked their heads up. In a heartbeat they scattered, footsteps pounding away into the night.
Relief and anguish washed over Kelan in a dizzy wave. His attackers were gone, but every part of him throbbed. He tried to push himself up and collapsed back, chest heaving. The world around him blurred. As the sentry's hurried steps drew near, Kelan's vision tunneled. Hurt ran far deeper than the bruises and cuts; the betrayal itself was a wound he wasn't sure would ever fully heal.
The last thing he felt before darkness claimed him was a pair of strong arms lifting him, and a voice—shock and concern in its tone—saying his name.
Chapter 30
Kelan drifted in and out of feverish dreams before awareness slowly returned. He lay on a firm cot back in the infirmary, the sharp scent of herbal salves in the air. This time, unlike after the obelisk, his body screamed in pain. With each shallow breath, his ribs burned; bruises and lacerations made every movement agony. He kept his eyes closed at first, piecing together hazy memories: the ambush in the dark colonnade, fists and boots raining down, a knife at his throat. A tremor ran through him at the recollection.
He forced his eyes open, expecting to see the familiar dimly-lit ward. Instead, the ward was dim in the early light, yet Kelan saw threads of faint blue radiance dancing around him. They seemed to emanate from the living forms nearby, not from any lamp. Blinking in confusion, he realized the lights were not a hallucination—they were truly there. The healer attending a patient across the room glowed with a gentle aura outlining her form. He looked down at his own bandaged arm and gasped – beneath the wrappings, a subtle glow outlined the bones and the pulsing flow of blood in his veins.
Kelan's heart pounded. Was he hallucinating? He squeezed his eyes shut, but the uncanny sight remained when he looked again. As the healer moved, Kelan glimpsed the rhythmic thrum of her heartbeat deep in her chest. He pressed a trembling hand to his face, overwhelmed.
"What… is this?" he whispered to himself, voice shaky. He had trained to sense auras and life force under Zujan's guidance, but this was far beyond anything he'd experienced. It was as though some inner eye had snapped open within him, revealing the hidden architecture of living things. Every beat of his heart, every ragged inhale, painted a vivid picture in his mind.
Kelan pressed his hands over his face, chest heaving. Whatever this new sight was, it churned his stomach with equal parts awe and fear. He had peered into a hidden world and did not understand what he saw. As pain and exhaustion pressed down on him, Kelan squeezed his eyes shut, willing the strange visions to subside. In darkness behind his eyelids, he lay trembling and alone, uncertain whether this awakening was a gift or a curse.
Chapter 31
Master Zujan stayed by Kelan's side as the young man recovered, both of them grappling with the strangeness of what Kelan had described. In the soft morning light of the infirmary, Zujan's face was drawn in concern and fascination. After the healers had tended Kelan's injuries and left them alone, Zujan quietly began to test the boundaries of Kelan's newfound perception.
"Tell me, what do you see now?" Zujan asked gently. Kelan, propped against a mound of pillows, focused on the Master. Around Zujan's silhouette he could still discern a subtle glow, like pale gold mist clinging to his form. Kelan hesitated, then admitted, "I can see your... your aura, I think. It's bright, steady. And—" He blinked, eyes widening as he noticed something else. "Your left forearm… there's a faint dark line. Like a scar beneath the skin?"
Zujan drew in a breath. He slowly rolled up his sleeve. There, crossing his forearm, was a thin white scar from an old wound—precisely where Kelan had indicated, though it had been hidden from normal sight. The Master's eyes met Kelan's in astonishment. "Remarkable," he murmured. It was true then: Kelan was perceiving life at a depth beyond ordinary vision, seeing injuries and energies invisible to others.
Unsettled but intrigued, Zujan placed a hand on Kelan's brow, checking for fever. "How does it feel?" he asked.
"Overwhelming," Kelan confessed softly. The room still shimmered with layers of light and life, though less intensely than when he first woke. "I feel like I'm dreaming with my eyes open... I don't know how to stop seeing it."
Zujan nodded, sympathy in his gaze. "Close your eyes for a moment. Breathe as I taught you." Kelan did so, drawing in a slow breath and centering his thoughts. "Now imagine a dial turning down, dimming the lights you perceive," Zujan instructed in a calm voice. Kelan exhaled and willed the wild flood of sensations to quiet. To his relief, the pulsing glows behind his eyelids softened. When he opened his eyes again, the world looked closer to normal—though he could still sense the gentle thrum beneath the surface.
"Better?" Master Zujan asked. Kelan managed a faint smile. "Yes. It's not gone, but... more under control."
Zujan squeezed his shoulder. "Good. In time, you may learn to switch this sight on and off at will. For now, rest and recover." He stood, the lines on his forehead easing slightly. "I will consult the archives. There may be records of others with such gifts. If not..." He gave a thoughtful hum. "We will chart new territory together."
Kelan watched the Master's robes sweep out as he turned to go, gratitude welling up despite his fatigue. Zujan believed him—believed in him—and that made the burden of this strange power feel a little lighter.
Before leaving, Zujan glanced back. "I'll return this evening. Try not to worry, Kelan. We will find answers." His voice was reassuring, but beneath it lay a current of excitement that Kelan could sense even without his special sight. The Master was deeply intrigued.
As the door closed, Kelan sank against his pillows. He was battered and weary, but no longer alone in confronting this mystery. Whatever secrets his new ability held, he now had a guide to help him navigate them. And as unnerving as it was, a tiny spark of curiosity flickered within Kelan too. Who—or what—was he becoming?
Chapter 32
In the days that followed, Master Zujan and Kelan delved into the Academy's archives in search of an explanation for Kelan's unprecedented ability. The archives were a labyrinth of ancient knowledge—dusty shelves filled with leather-bound tomes and scrolls brittle with age. Still bandaged and sore, Kelan spent hours seated at a long wooden table under the watchful glow of enchanted lanterns, poring over whatever texts Zujan placed before him. Despite his aching body, he was driven by the need to understand.
They found only faint echoes of such gifts in myth and legend—a healer said to possess the "eyes of truth" to see illness hidden within, a blind oracle who could perceive the lifelight of all creatures. Yet these tales were fragmentary and half-forgotten, offering more questions than answers.
Late one evening, Zujan gently unrolled a particularly ancient scroll bound with a faded blue ribbon. His hands trembled ever so slightly as he smoothed the parchment on the table. "This one… I recall this from my youth. A prophecy recorded by the early monks of Xanshar," he said quietly. Kelan leaned forward, winced at a pain in his side, and forced himself to focus. Together they scanned the spidery ink. It was written in an archaic dialect, but Zujan translated softly, his finger trailing along the lines:
"Born of water and tempered by storm, the Awakened Mind shall arise.With eyes unclouded, he shall see the threads of life's design.Great power, twinned of healing and harm, dwells within his grasp.In his choice lies the dawn or the dusk of all."
The words hung in the air between them. Kelan felt a chill ripple over his skin. Born of water and tempered by storm—he thought at once of the fishing village by the sea, of that childhood tempest he had foreseen. The scroll's prophecy seemed to describe his life and power with uncanny precision. See the threads of life's design... healing and harm twinned together... a choice that could usher in dawn or dusk. It was as though someone had written down the secret of his soul long before he was born.
"This is…" Kelan's voice quavered, and he swallowed hard. "This is about me." Saying it aloud felt daunting and surreal.
Zujan's face was grave but calm. "It certainly aligns with what we know of you," he said. "Perhaps too well to be coincidence." He tapped the parchment gently. "This prophecy has been in the archives for generations. Many thought it merely metaphorical. None imagined it would manifest in our time."
Kelan sat back, struggling to process the enormity of it. A mixture of fear and awe coursed through him. The prophecy foretold not just his abilities, but the dual nature of them—the capacity for both incredible healing and terrible destruction. The very thought made his stomach churn. He shuddered to think what might have happened if he had unleashed his power in anger during the ambush; the thought of using this gift to harm, even to save himself, left him cold.
Zujan placed a reassuring hand on Kelan's shoulder. "Prophecies can be guides, but they do not dictate our choices, Kelan," he said softly. "This tells us the potential of your gift, not its destiny. The choices will still be yours."
Kelan nodded numbly, grateful for the Master's steady presence. His mind swirled with images: his mother's smile, the stormy sea, the falling obelisk, the bruised faces of the students who attacked him. Somehow, he was entwined with an ancient fate he hadn't asked for.
As the lantern light flickered over rows of silent books, Kelan exhaled a shaky breath. The ancient scroll before him offered both guidance and warning. Armed with this knowledge came a heavy responsibility. He would have to tread carefully now—every use of his power carried weight. In the quiet of the archives, with midnight approaching, Kelan and Master Zujan shared a solemn understanding. The path ahead was clearer, and far more perilous, than ever before.
Chapter 33
Over the next week, an uneasy tension settled over the Academy. The students who had attacked Kelan were dealt with swiftly by the Masters. Jalen and his cohorts received severe punishments, and their friends whispered furiously in the courtyards. Wherever Kelan went, hushed conversations seemed to trail after him like ghosts.
In the dining hall, he often found himself sitting alone at the end of a bench. Conversation hushed when he approached. A few students looked at him with curiosity or pity, but others glared as if he were to blame. He caught whispers—"teacher's pet," "cursed boy"—that made his stomach twist. Kelan tried to ignore the murmurs, but every furtive glance and cold shoulder cut deep. The Academy, once a place of wonder and hope for him, now felt fractured.
Inside Kelan, emotions warred relentlessly. By night, in the solitude of his small dormitory chamber, he would replay the ambush in his mind and feel a surge of anger at Jalen and the others. How could they betray a fellow student so brutally? That anger would soon twist into grief—grief for the loss of trust, for the friendships that never got a chance to form, for the simple, ordinary life at the Academy that was now lost to him. And beneath it all lay a heavy sense of responsibility. He couldn't shake the thought that, in a way, his own talents had sparked all this animosity. If he hadn't drawn Master Zujan's attention, if he hadn't been so "special," perhaps none of it would have happened.
On one particularly cold evening, Kelan sought refuge in the quiet of the Academy gardens. Winter was approaching, and the bare branches clawed at a slate-grey sky. Kelan pulled his cloak tight and sat on a low stone wall, staring at the empty flowerbeds. A part of him yearned for the salty breeze of home, the familiar embrace of the sea. He closed his eyes and let his mind drift.
In his reverie, he was a child again standing on the moonlit beach of his village. The night was calm, the waves glowing with phosphorescent plankton. Little Kelan dug his toes into damp sand, his mother's laughter echoing nearby. Her gentle voice carried over the surf: "Remember who you are, Kelan. Use your gifts kindly, my son." The words echoed like a soothing mantra. He felt a warm hand on his shoulder (whether memory or imagination, he could not tell) and a swell of comfort in his chest.
A gust of frigid wind snapped Kelan back to the present. He opened his eyes to find the garden empty and silent, twilight settled around him. His cheeks were wet with tears he hadn't realized were falling. Wiping his face quickly, Kelan stood. The ache of loneliness and resentment was still there, but the dream-memory of his mother's voice had brought a measure of peace. Use your gifts kindly, she had said.
Kelan inhaled the cold air and let it out in a long plume. He couldn't change how others felt about him, but he could decide how he responded. Grief and anger threatened to harden his heart, but he clung to the promise he'd made to himself and to the values instilled in him since childhood. He would endure this trial with as much grace as he could muster. In time, he hoped, he might even prove to those who despised him that he was not their enemy.
Squaring his shoulders, Kelan left the dark garden and headed back inside. The halls were dim and nearly deserted at this hour. His footsteps echoed softly, a lonely sound, but his resolve was quietly growing stronger. Whatever fate the prophecy had woven for him, whatever others thought of him now, he would strive to meet it without bitterness. One step at a time, he would carry his burden and remain true to himself.
Chapter 34
A pale dawn broke over the Academy, the sun's first rays glinting on the frost-silvered paths. Kelan walked slowly among the barren winter shrubs, his breath fogging in the chill. He often sought the garden at sunrise for a moment of calm; the revelations of the prophecy had left him sleepless and anxious, and the crisp air helped clear his mind.
As he passed under a leafless oak, Kelan's attention was drawn by a small, pitiful chirp. On the ground by the roots lay a little sparrow, one wing splayed at an awkward angle. It must have fallen from the branches, its wing likely broken in the fall. The bird's dark eye rolled in panic as it flapped helplessly in a circle of flattened grass.
Kneeling slowly, Kelan extended his hand. The sparrow trembled but was too weak to flee. A pang of empathy struck Kelan's heart. He remembered how it felt to be broken and afraid, lying hurt with no way to escape pain. "Easy there," he whispered, voice gentle as he could make it.
Instinctively, his strange sight came to the fore. The little creature became suffused in Kelan's vision with a soft glow. Beneath its rumpled feathers and quivering breast, he perceived the fragile lattice of its bones—and a clear fracture in the left wing. It was like looking at a finely etched sketch over reality. Kelan swallowed. Perhaps… perhaps he could help.
Cradling the sparrow in his palm, he closed his eyes and summoned the calm focus Master Zujan had taught him. In his mind he pictured the bird's broken bone knitting together, whole and strong. Tentatively, he guided a thread of warmth from within himself, channeling it through his fingertips into the tiny body.
The sparrow chirped in alarm and struggled, but Kelan held it firm yet tender. "Shh, I'm trying to help," he murmured. He felt the energy flow—gentle, careful. Under his inner gaze, the tiny bones began to align. Kelan's heart leapt—it was working. He encouraged more of his healing intent into the sparrow, willing vitality into its small form. The bird grew still, its eyes closing as if soothed by an invisible balm.
Emboldened, Kelan increased the flow of power just a little more. In that instant, the sparrow's eyes snapped open and its body convulsed. A sharp cry burst from its beak—a sound of pain. Kelan jolted, yanking his hand back in alarm. The flow of energy snapped away. What had he done? For a terrifying second, the sparrow lay limp and motionless, and Kelan's stomach plunged in horror at the thought that he might have killed it by pushing too far.
Then the sparrow blinked and shuddered, a flutter of life returning. Carefully, Kelan bent down and set the bird upright. It tottered unsteadily, but this time when it flapped its wings, both moved in natural unison. The sparrow lifted off the ground in a brief, clumsy hop and then took flight, skimming low over the garden before perching in a distant pine.
Relief crashed over Kelan, leaving him weak-kneed. He sank back onto his heels, heart pounding. In a matter of moments, he had brought the sparrow from the brink of death to life—and nearly swung it back toward death again. The duality of what he carried within him had never been more stark. His touch had mended what was broken, but a moment's imbalance had almost caused harm.
Kelan drew a slow, shaky breath. It was one thing to read prophecy by lamplight, and another to feel its truth firsthand in his trembling hands. Twinned of healing and harm, he thought, recalling the ancient words. The truth of his power stood revealed in the flutter of a sparrow's wing.
Kelan rose unsteadily to his feet as the sparrow darted away into the cold morning light. Gratitude and caution warred within him. He was grateful that he could give life, and now he fully knew he must take great care—lest he also deal death. Quietly, he whispered a thanks to whatever gentle force might be guiding him, and made a solemn promise to himself: I will be careful.
Chapter 35
That afternoon, Master Zujan invited Kelan to the quiet of his private study. The room was warm and dim, scented with parchment and a whisper of incense. Kelan sat across from his teacher on a low cushion, hands clasped tightly in his lap. Despite the warmth, he felt a chill of anticipation—he knew this conversation was important.
Zujan regarded him kindly. "I heard about the sparrow," he began softly. A flush crept up Kelan's neck. Of course Zujan would learn of it; perhaps a groundskeeper had seen, or maybe Zujan simply sensed Kelan's turbulent emotions afterward. Kelan gave a small nod, confirming it.
For a moment, the Master was silent. He took a sip of hot tea from a clay cup, then set it aside. "You understand now, don't you?" he said at length. "The nature of what you carry."
Kelan swallowed and met Zujan's gaze. "Yes, Master," he replied. "I do." He drew a slow breath, steadying himself as he had so many times in training. "I felt it—how easily my power can heal, and how easily it could harm. I nearly... I nearly killed that sparrow by accident, when all I wanted was to save it." His voice trembled with the memory, a mixture of pride in his success and horror at his near failure.
Zujan's eyes were gentle but serious. "Your gift is extraordinary, Kelan. Few in history have been able to see what you see, to do what you can do. But with such ability comes a great burden. The prophecy, the texts we read... they all speak of the duality in you." He leaned forward slightly. "You must choose, my boy, how you will walk this path. Power alone does not make a person good or evil—it is their choices that matter."
Kelan felt a weight in those words, as though the air itself grew denser. This was the crux of it—the choice that would shape his future. He closed his eyes for a moment. In the darkness, he saw the frightened students cowering beneath the obelisk, the rage-twisted faces of his attackers, the tiny sparrow's heartbeat fluttering under his fingers, and his mother's voice echoing: Use your gifts kindly. When he opened his eyes, they glistened with unshed tears, but his expression was calm and resolute.
"I choose to heal," he said quietly. "I want to use this power for good, to protect and to mend. Not to hurt." He paused, his jaw tightening with determination. "Even if I'm attacked again, even if… even if it would be easy to strike back, I don't want to become someone who uses this gift to cause pain. That's not who I am."
Master Zujan let out a breath that Kelan hadn't realized he'd been holding. A faint smile touched the corners of the old man's lips, and pride shone in his eyes. "Good," he said simply, but that one word carried the strength of a dozen commendations. Zujan reached over and placed a hand on Kelan's shoulder. "Your heart is true. As your teacher—and as someone who cares for you—I am relieved to hear your decision. Remember it in the trials to come."
"I will," Kelan promised, placing his own hand over Zujan's briefly. He felt a surge of warmth and conviction flow through him, as steady as his own heartbeat. The looming shadow of the prophecy felt less daunting now. Yes, his power was a double-edged blade, but he held the hilt, and he would choose how to wield it.
Outside the study's small window, the light of the setting sun broke through a cloud, sending a shaft of golden light across the floor. Kelan glanced at it and then back to his Master. "Thank you," he murmured. He meant for everything—for believing in him, for guiding him, for helping him find clarity.
Master Zujan inclined his head. "Our journey is only beginning, Kelan. But I have faith you will walk it with wisdom."
As Kelan stepped out of the study a few minutes later, he paused in the corridor. The sunbeam followed him out, illuminating motes of dust in the air. He felt, for the first time in ages, a quiet peace within himself. Though challenges surely awaited and not all at the Academy would accept him, Kelan knew the path he would walk. With steady steps, he headed toward the fading daylight, carrying both the promise of healing and the caution against harm in his awakening heart.