Chapter 68 — What We Leave Behind
The room they assigned me was simple.
Stone walls. One narrow window. A bed that looked like it had never forgiven anyone's spine. A desk scarred with old burn marks—probably from students who thought "just a little mana" was a good idea indoors.
I dropped my pack beside the bed and sat.
For a long moment, I didn't move.
The academy buzzed outside—voices, spells, footsteps echoing through corridors that felt older than most kingdoms. But in here, it was quiet.
Too quiet.
This was the first time in a long while I hadn't been surrounded by my crew.
No Selia stealing my food.
No Bran complaining about literally everything.
No Korran standing guard like the world might end if he blinked.
No Lysara pretending she wasn't watching everything.
Just me.
Kaelen.
I exhaled slowly and reached into my pocket.
The small object Lysara had given me before we parted rested against my fingers.
I hadn't looked at it yet.
Not because I was afraid.
Because… once I did, it would make the separation real.
I pulled it out.
A ring.
Simple at first glance—dark metal, smooth, unadorned. No glowing runes. No dramatic gemstone screaming artifact.
But the moment it touched open air, my senses tightened.
Not magic flooding out.
Magic contained.
Controlled.
"…Of course," I murmured. "You'd hate flashy."
I rolled it between my fingers. The metal was warm—not physically, but in that strange way mana sometimes felt when it was shaped by intent rather than power.
A knock interrupted me.
Sharp. Precise.
I slid the ring into my palm instinctively. "Come in."
The door opened just enough for a familiar massive shoulder to squeeze through.
Bran.
He looked deeply out of place in academy halls—too broad, too scarred, carrying a sack that smelled suspiciously like roasted meat.
"You left fast," he said, grumbling. "Thought you'd vanish if we blinked."
I snorted softly. "You blink?"
"Never on watch," he replied proudly, then paused. "Or cooking."
He shut the door behind him and tossed the sack onto the desk. "Selia said you'd forget to eat."
"She's not wrong."
"Of course she isn't. Annoying that way."
Bran's eyes drifted to my hands. To the ring.
His expression softened—just a little.
"So she gave it to you."
"You knew?" I asked.
"She made us all swear not to spoil it." He crossed his arms. "Nearly broke my wrist doing it."
I slid the ring on.
The fit was perfect.
The moment it settled, something shifted—not in the world, but in how I perceived it. Like a pocket opening just beside reality.
I focused.
The pack at my feet vanished.
Not disappeared.
Stored.
My breath caught despite myself.
"…Spatial," I murmured.
Bran grinned. "Told her it was overkill."
"You didn't," I said flatly.
"Alright, I didn't. Korran did. She ignored him."
I flexed my hand. The pack reappeared beside the bed with a soft thump.
No strain.
No mana backlash.
No instability.
"Low-tier spatial artifact," Bran continued, surprisingly serious now. "Bound to you. Limited capacity. No combat tricks. Just… convenience."
"Just?" I echoed.
He shrugged. "You're going somewhere expensive. Thought you might need pockets that don't scream mercenary."
I swallowed.
"…Thank her for me."
Bran scratched the back of his head. "You can do that yourself."
I blinked. "What?"
Another knock.
This time, lighter.
The door opened—and Selia leaned in, grin already loaded like a weapon.
"Miss me already?"
"Barely a minute," I said.
"Wow. I'm hurt." She stepped in, eyes immediately locking onto the ring. "Oh good. You put it on. Was worried you'd be dramatic and wait."
"I am dramatic," I replied. "Just selectively."
She laughed and flicked something at me.
I caught it.
Another ring.
This one thinner. Silver. Etched with faint runes that pulsed once when my fingers closed around it.
Selia's grin turned sharp. "That one's mine."
"…Should I be concerned?" I asked.
"Yes," Bran said immediately.
Selia ignored him. "It's a protective artifact. Not strong. Not fancy. Think of it like a stubborn friend who refuses to let you die once."
I raised an eyebrow. "Once?"
"It'll absorb one lethal strike," she said. "After that, it's scrap."
"That's—"
"—exactly why it's perfect," she cut in. "You won't rely on it."
I looked down at the ring.
Then at them.
"You didn't have to—"
"Yes, we did," Bran said firmly.
Selia crossed her arms. "You're walking into a place full of geniuses, nobles, and idiots with too much mana. We're not there to hit them for you."
"…I don't want to stand out," I said quietly.
Selia smirked. "Kid, you stood out the moment you survived Portscab."
I slipped the second ring on.
The mana signature was subtle. Defensive. Patient.
Like Korran.
As if summoned by thought, the door creaked again.
Korran didn't enter.
He just stood there, arms crossed, gaze steady.
"You have what you need?" he asked.
"Yes," I answered honestly.
He nodded once. "Good."
Then, after a pause: "Don't forget who you are while learning who you can become."
Lysara didn't come.
But when I checked my pocket later, there was something else there.
A folded strip of cloth.
Black.
Soft.
Unmarked.
A reminder.
Not of Shadeblade.
But of silence.
I lay back on the bed that night, staring at the ceiling.
Two rings on my hand.
A sword hidden.
Magic unhidden.
And a future wide enough to terrify me.
For the first time, I smiled without a mask.