The towering white stone of the Imperial Academy loomed like a divine fortress, glittering with enchantments and pride. Sprawling gardens framed the walkways, and statues of legendary heroes lined the grand entrance, all exuding power, grace, and history.
Kael walked between them like a shadow that didn't belong.
His boots were worn thin at the soles. His cloak was patched and stained with traces of dried monster blood. His hair was tangled, uncut. His nails were chipped from carving bone and stone, and the skin beneath his clothes bore old scars and fresh calluses.
He stuck out like filth on a silk tapestry.
The other students—new enrollees in crisp uniforms tailored to their house colors—stared as he passed. Some whispered. Some sneered outright.
"Gods, what trash hole did he crawl out of?"
"He doesn't even smell like mana…"
"Is he a servant that got lost?"
"No, look—he's holding the admission seal."
Kael kept walking.
Their words didn't reach him—not really. He'd heard worse from a drunk mother at age four. He'd been whipped by slavers, bitten by beasts, and mocked by smugglers. A few prissy nobles choking on their perfumes weren't worth a blink.
He paused at a bulletin board. Student lists. Building designations. Dorm numbers.
His finger traced the paper slowly, eyes sharp, reading names he didn't care about—until one line stilled him:
"Kael – Male Dormitory Hall B, Room 17"
Without missing a beat, he headed toward the dormitories. The buildings were smaller than the main tower but still grand. Clean-cut stone and enchanted glass, with the academy's crest—twin wings and a sword—engraved at the entrances.
Inside, the hallway was quiet. The doors were evenly spaced, and soft light floated down from glowing runes on the ceiling.
Kael found Room 17.
He knocked once—out of habit more than courtesy—then opened the door.
A boy was already inside.
Not just any boy.
He had silver hair, tied loosely behind his neck. His eyes were sapphire-clear, his expression serene. He sat near the window, reading a book, dressed in the academy's uniform… embroidered in gold.
Kael recognized him immediately.
The Crown Prince.
The one every noble fawned over. The prodigy of magic. The future ruler of the empire.
The prince didn't look up.
Kael stepped in silently, closing the door behind him. He didn't bow. Didn't greet. Simply dropped his travel bag beside the empty bed and began undoing his cloak.
The room smelled faintly of scented oils. There was a second bed, a shared desk, two wardrobes, a private washroom. Luxurious by common standards. Strange for Kael.
Still, he moved like he belonged.
The prince finally glanced up. Their eyes met.
Black met blue.
A second passed.
Then the prince returned to his book, saying nothing.
Kael nodded inwardly. Good. Not a fool.
He moved into the washroom, stripped, and stepped into the stone bath. Warm water flowed automatically as he twisted the rune-dial—technology foreign to him but simple enough to use.
The water stung against old wounds and caked dirt, but he washed in silence.
When he stepped out twenty minutes later, dressed in the standard black-and-grey uniform, his reflection in the polished glass startled even himself.
He no longer looked like a wild beast.
His hair, now clean and falling loosely across his forehead, was jet black and faintly gleaming. His eyes, equally dark, were calm and unreadable. The roughness of his features gave way to structure—sharp jaw, quiet lips, firm shoulders.
Not handsome like the crown prince. But not ugly.
Above average. Forgettable.
Exactly how he wanted to be.
The prince glanced at him again. This time, a sliver of interest flickered in those cold royal eyes.
"You're the aura user," he said simply. "The one who shattered the testing crystal."
Kael said nothing.
The prince closed his book and stood.
"I'm Lucien Thorne, Crown Prince of the Empire," he said—not with pride, but obligation. "You're Kael?"
Kael nodded once.
Lucien studied him, arms folded behind his back. "I don't care about bloodlines. The Academy forbids discrimination among students. Whatever arrangement the staff made, I won't question it."
Kael's voice, when it came, was low and even.
"I'm not here to be your friend."
"Good," Lucien replied without pause. "Neither am I."
They stared at each other again. Neither blinked. No hostility. No pretense. Just two young men from entirely different worlds, forced into the same space.
And somehow, in that unspoken agreement of distance—they understood each other.
Kael turned away and sat on his bed, beginning to unpack.
He had made it.
Not to safety.
But to the center of the storm.
The afternoon sun filtered through the tall, arched windows of Dormitory Hall, casting golden slants of light across the stone floor.
Kael tightened the belt of his simple academy-issued uniform. The material was stiff from being new, but it clung to his wiry frame with an almost military neatness. It was the first decent clothing he'd worn in years. He adjusted the collar once, and then stepped toward the door, intending to explore the academy grounds before dusk.
Just as his fingers brushed the doorknob—
Knock, knock.
A pause.
Then a voice—soft, clear, and distinctly noble—floated through the wooden door.
"Lucien? It's me—Selene Virellia."
Kael didn't move, only tilted his head slightly.
From across the room, Lucien sighed in annoyance and closed his book with a firm snap.
"Tch."
He strode to the door with practiced grace and swung it open.
There stood a girl, tall and poised, with silver-blonde hair cascading in gentle waves down her back. Her eyes were the color of ice catching morning sun—pale blue and painfully sharp. Dressed in a noblewoman's traveling gown, subtly embroidered with the crest of House Virellia, she stood like someone used to being obeyed.
"Lucien," she said with a polite smile. "We need to talk."
"I figured." Lucien's voice was cold but not hostile. "Let's get this over with."
He stepped out and closed the door behind him with a soft thud.
Kael hadn't moved the entire time. He simply stood in the room, watching the exchange without emotion.
The door clicked softly behind Lucien Thorne, the Crown Prince, and his fiancée.
Kael stood in the silence of the shared room for another breath or two, unbothered. Selene Virellia. A name that might've meant something to someone who cared about noble bloodlines, arranged engagements, or political marriages.
But Kael wasn't that someone.
He stepped out into the corridor and began to walk.
The Imperial Academy was a kingdom in miniature.
Grand towers loomed overhead, some crowned with spires pulsing faintly with magical light. Cobblestone paths crisscrossed through lush gardens and wide open training fields. Students in tailored uniforms—most with embroidered crests on their sleeves—walked in groups, their voices laced with confidence and class pride.
Kael moved among them like a shadow. His uniform was plain. No house emblem. No jewelry. No shine to his boots.
Just black.
Just quiet.
Heads turned as he passed—some in curiosity, others in barely disguised contempt. A few laughed behind their hands, calling him a "street stray" under their breath. He ignored them all.
He walked until he found the Training Grounds, a wide open area divided into several sections.
One corner housed mana dueling circles, where young mages tested spells against each other, cloaked in shimmering barriers of arcane light. Another had wooden dummies and worn-out mats where martial artists—those without magic—threw punches, practiced forms, and sparred with wooden weapons.
Kael watched them briefly.
Their stances were crude. Movements unrefined. Footwork shallow. They swung fists and swords with effort, not instinct.
No aura.
They were merely fighting. Not cultivating.
No wonder mages laugh at them, Kael thought. At us.
But unlike them, he wasn't walking the martial path blind.
He had awakened aura.
A thing that required near-impossible mastery of the body, and trials by death that would kill most long before the threshold was reached.
He had done it.
Alone.
No master. No school. No bloodline.
A mutt from the gutter had done what even highborn warriors failed to achieve in a lifetime.
Kael moved on, leaving the sound of clumsy strikes behind.
He passed the Astral Spire, where magical glyphs hovered around floating orbs of mana.
The students there—robed in fine silks—paused to look at him with disdain, then lost interest.
A non-mage wasn't worth their breath.
Kael didn't slow down.
He made his way to the outer gardens, quieter and away from the more prestigious structures. The air smelled of fresh leaves and distant rain. A few students lounged on marble benches under flowering trees, laughing softly or reading.
He found a bench at the far edge, sat down, and closed his eyes.
For the first time since arriving, he let his senses drift.
And there it was. Deep in his bones. The hum of aura, like steel wrapped in thunder.
His gift.
His weapon.
His shield.
And no one here knew what he really was yet.
They would.
Eventually.