Kael woke to silence.
Not the peaceful kind—no birds, no wind, no distant hum of the city—but a heavy, unnatural stillness that pressed against his ears. His eyes snapped open, and for a heartbeat he didn't recognize where he was.
Stone ceiling. Cracked. Ancient.
He sucked in a sharp breath and pain flared across his chest.
Memories rushed back all at once—the bleeding sky, the falling stars, the blade of black glass, the voice that had called him heir. Kael pushed himself upright with a hiss, fingers trembling as he pressed a hand to his sternum.
No wound.
No scar.
Yet beneath his skin, something moved.
He could feel it now, unmistakably real—a slow, burning pulse that didn't match his heartbeat. Power. Dense and heavy, like molten metal waiting to be shaped.
Kael swallowed.
"So I'm not dead," he muttered.
"You are not," a voice replied. "Though several outcomes strongly suggested you should be."
Kael turned sharply.
Master Orin sat cross-legged near the far wall, staff resting across his knees. His blind eyes were closed, his expression calm in that infuriating, all-knowing way Kael remembered from childhood lessons.
"You dragged me here?" Kael asked.
"I carried you," Orin corrected. "Dragging would have been… unwise."
Kael scoffed and swung his legs over the side of the stone slab. The moment his feet touched the ground, the air shifted. Dust lifted. The torches along the chamber walls flickered violently.
Orin's brows rose.
"Stand still," the old man said quietly.
Kael froze.
The pressure eased, torches settling back into steady flame.
"What was that?" Kael asked.
Orin did not answer immediately. Instead, he tapped his staff once against the floor.
The sound echoed far longer than it should have.
"You are leaking," Orin said at last.
"…Leaking?"
"Power," Orin clarified. "Raw. Untamed. You are not channeling it—you are existing with it."
Kael stared at his hands. They looked the same. Calloused. Scarred from labor. Unremarkable.
"I was Unbound," he said. "I don't even have a clan mark."
Orin nodded. "You still do not."
"Then what am I?"
The old man's mouth tightened.
"A problem."
Kael barked a short laugh. "That's comforting."
"This is not humor," Orin said. "The Starborn were not a clan. They were a calamity. When they walked, empires fell. When they fought, the sky remembered."
Kael's jaw clenched. "I didn't ask for this."
"No," Orin agreed softly. "But the world did."
Kael stood again, more carefully this time. He focused—without knowing why—and the pressure receded, the air calming around him.
Orin tilted his head.
"You are already learning," he murmured.
Kael ignored the comment. "If this power is so dangerous, then why tell me anything at all? Why not kill me now and save everyone the trouble?"
Silence stretched.
Orin exhaled slowly. "Because you didn't awaken like the others."
Kael frowned. "Others?"
"The previous Starborn," Orin said. "They awakened screaming. Consumed by power. You resisted."
"I almost died."
"Yes," Orin said. "And yet you did not surrender."
Kael didn't like the weight in that statement.
"What happens now?" he asked.
Orin rose to his feet, joints cracking. "Now, you will be tested."
The chamber door groaned open, revealing torchlit stairs spiraling upward.
"Tested by who?"
"By the world," Orin said. "And by those who believe power belongs only to bloodlines."
They emerged into daylight—and chaos.
The Hill of Broken Stone was gone.
In its place stood a crater ringed by fractured earth, scorched black and threaded with faintly glowing runes. Eldwyn's western watchtower lay half-collapsed in the distance. Soldiers stood frozen in shock, weapons half-drawn.
The moment Kael stepped into view, eyes snapped toward him.
Whispers exploded.
"That's him—"
"Unbound, I swear—"
"No clan mark—how—"
A noble stepped forward, robes trimmed in silver thread, a crest of the Ironvale Clan pinned to his chest. His mana flared openly, oppressive and sharp.
"You," the noble barked. "Kneel."
Kael blinked. "What?"
"You stand accused of forbidden sorcery," the noble said. "By clan authority, you will—"
The man stopped mid-sentence.
Not because Kael moved.
Because the air bent.
Kael felt it again—that deep, molten pulse inside his chest. Annoyance flickered through him, brief and dangerous.
He exhaled.
The noble's mana collapsed.
Not dispersed.
Crushed.
The man dropped to one knee with a strangled gasp, face pale as his power folded in on itself like paper in a fist. His guards staggered backward, some falling outright.
Silence slammed down harder than any shout.
Kael stared at his own hand.
"I didn't…" he whispered.
Orin's voice was calm behind him. "You did not attack him."
Kael looked back.
"You denied him."
The noble struggled, fury burning in his eyes. "Monster," he spat.
Kael met his gaze.
"I was told to kneel," Kael said quietly. "I don't kneel anymore."
The pressure lifted.
The noble collapsed fully, unconscious.
Fear spread like wildfire.
Kael turned away, heart pounding—not from guilt, but from realization.
This power responded to intent.
Not rage. Not spells.
Decision.
Orin placed a hand on his shoulder. "You cannot remain here."
"I figured."
"The clans will hunt you," Orin continued. "Some to kill you. Others to claim you."
Kael looked toward the city walls, toward a life that already felt distant.
"Where do I go?"
Orin smiled grimly.
"To the one place that turns monsters into weapons," he said. "And kings into survivors."
Kael exhaled.
"An academy," he guessed.
Orin's grip tightened.
"The Blackspire Ascension Academy."
Kael felt the power inside him stir—eager.
"Good," he said. "Let them test me."