The silence of Lord Malakai's corridor was absolute. Kael stood there, trembling not from cold, but from a deep, soul-level violation. The phantom pain of the dragon scale's rejection still echoed in his marrow. The scent of ozone and scorched destiny clung to his uniform. And beneath it all, a new, terrifying awareness: something ancient within him had been poked, and it was now awake and watching.
He walked back to Silver Streams Dormitory in a daze. The vibrant morning life of the academy students laughing, spells fizzling in practice yards, the distant clang of the forge felt like a painting he was no longer part of.
He found Dominic already in their room, meticulously cleaning a minor abrasion on his knuckle with a damp cloth. His light brown eyes flicked up, missing nothing.
"You look like you tried to arm wrestle a mana reactor and lost," Dominic said, his voice dry. "Malakai?"
Kael just nodded, sinking onto his bed. He wanted to tell him everything the scale, the scream, the unmaking, the command to lie. But Malakai's final, honey coated threat lingered. Proprietary.
"It was… intensive," Kael settled on, the understatement bitter on his tongue.
Dominic didn't press. He simply tossed a small, wrapped bundle onto Kael's lap. "Nutrition bar from the mess. Tastes like chalk and regret, but it'll stop the shakes."
The simple act of kindness almost undid him. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it. We have the mentorship assembly in an hour. Try not to look like a haunted corpse when they call your name."
The Grand Atrium was filled with a tense buzz. The entire first year cohort stood in ranks, still bearing the invisible bruises of Brys's dawn drill. On the dais, Headmaster Morn was a distant, regal presence, but Commander Brys dominated the space, his Archmage aura a tangible weight.
One by one, names were called. The air shifted from anticipation to a strange, shared pride as paths were set.
"Justin Valore. Sword Magic is an art of precision and honor. Instructor Vance will guide your edge." The severe woman with blade straight posture gave a curt nod.
"Ellora Campbell. The Spirit Summoner's path is one of negotiation. Instructor Morn will illuminate the unseen." The wizened man with far seeing eyes smiled gently.
"Dominic Vale. Earth and Reinforcement. Strength must be intelligent to be eternal. Instructor Boros will teach you to be an unbreakable foundation." The mountain of a man with granite skin clenched a fist in solid approval.
"Daniel Frost Bane. Shadows are a different kind of presence. Instructor Shade will help you listen to the silence." A figure woven from twilight itself inclined its head.
"Sophia Vlad Skynyrd. Thunder is the herald of dominion. You require discipline to match its fury. Instructor Voltan will channel your storm." The man with crackling purple hair assessed her with a spark of recognition.
"Sora Aster Valeric. Flame and Space. A volatile duality. The Keeper of the Astral Archives, Lady Evander, has offered her guidance." A collective, reverent gasp. Sora looked stunned, then hopeful, stepping toward the ethereal woman who seemed to carry the calm of the void.
Then came the silence.
"Kael Osborn."
The faculty on the dais masters of fire, water, wind, earth, lightning glanced at one another. A subtle, professional unease rippled through them. Who could teach the unteachable? Who would risk their reputation on an anomaly?
The silence stretched, becoming heavy, isolating.
Then, a voice like grinding stones from the very back.
"I'll take him."
All heads turned. Gareth Stoneheart stepped forward. He wore scarred training gear, not robes. His face was weathered, his eyes the patient, unyielding depth of mountains. Instructor Boros, the earth mage, actually took a half-step back.
"The boy's power is in his body as much as his veins," Gareth stated, his voice filling the atrium without effort. "He doesn't need an elemental theorist. He needs an anvil. He needs to learn what his power is made of before he tries to unravel the world with it. I will teach him that."
Before the murmurs could rise, another voice cut through, sharp and clear as a diamond.
"An anvil is useless without a blueprint, Gareth."
Lyra Proxima stepped forward. Her hair was a cascade of auburn streaked with silver, her hazel eyes shifting from green to gold with intelligent fury. She radiated controlled, multi-layered power.
"The boy is an Omni-Elemental Conduit," she said, addressing the dais. "His power is conceptual. He needs to understand the symphony of elements before he learns to silence the notes. His mind must be forged as rigorously as his body. I will teach him that."
"Your teaching nearly got the last one evaporated," Gareth grunted, not looking at her.
"And your 'teaching' left the one before that with the emotional range of a rock and chronic joint fractures," she fired back, a statement of fact.
Headmaster Morn observed, a rare, faint smile touching his lips. He saw the perfect, brutal solution.
"It seems the Primordial Sovereign requires a dual approach," his voice, calm and profound, settled over the crowd. "A foundation of unyielding fortitude… and a guide through the labyrinth of limitless potential. Instructor Gareth Stoneheart, Instructor Lyra Proxima. You will jointly mentor Kael Osborn. Coordinate your methods. Do not break our most enigmatic student… beyond repair."
The look of sheer, unified horror that flashed across the faces of the entire student body from Sophia to Corvin was the purest form of pity Kael had ever seen.
Stoneheart and Proxima? The Monster and the Mad Scientist? The poor bastard…
The two instructors turned their gazes on him. Gareth's was the weight of a continent. Lyra's was the piercing focus of a master surgeon.
In that moment, Kael understood. His life was no longer his own. He was now a battlefield in a war between two titanic wills.
Brys would break his body.
Lisa would dissect his magic.
Malakai would experiment on his soul.
Gareth would forge him into an unbreakable weapon.
Lyra would teach that weapon to think.
And through it all, he had to hide a dragon's whisper in his heart, the ghost of a scale on his palm, and the terrifying, beautiful truth that he could unmake the foundations of the world.
As the assembly dissolved, his alliance clustered around him, a buffer against the staring crowd.
"Stoneheart and Proxima?" Justin said, his hand firm on Kael's shoulder. "I don't know whether to congratulate you or offer my condolences."
Ellora looked genuinely worried. "I heard a student under Instructor Proxima once turned himself into a sentient cloud of singing light for a week."
Daniel simply met Kael's eyes and gave a slight, grim nod of solidarity. 'We are both weapons being sharpened in the dark,' it said.
Dominic, ever pragmatic, summed it up. "Well. At least you won't be bored."
Kael looked at his friends, then back at the retreating forms of his two new mentors. The fear was a cold stone in his gut. But beneath it, kindled by their presence, was a fragile, defiant spark.
He had survived the dawn. He had survived the scalpel. He had survived the shadow.
Now, the real forging began.