A single droplet of rain cut through the thick night air before striking the slanted roof of the academy. It was quickly joined by another—then another—until the soft drizzle escalated into a rhythmic downpour, a cascade of silver needles pelting the tiled surface.
The sound spread, creeping across the vast rooftop and filling every crevice. Raindrops tapped unevenly against the wooden beams above, while slender streams of water traced the intricate carvings on the stone walls, pooling in the worn cracks of the pavement.
A gust of wind howled through the towering spires, winding its way through the academy's high-arched windows and rattling them in their frames. The old glass trembled, its reflections rippling like a disturbed lake. Beyond the glass, each bolt of lightning tore across the sky in jagged streaks, briefly revealing the darkened courtyard before shadows twisted and were swallowed once more by the storm's embrace.
Late into the night, long after the usual chatter had faded, the dormitory finally succumbed to quiet. The once-lively halls—filled with laughter and hurried footsteps—were now hushed, holding only the soft sounds of sleep: steady breathing, the occasional rustle of blankets, and the gentle creak of settling beds.
The enchanted lanterns' glow had dimmed, barely reaching the far corners of the room, their light casting soft, shifting shadows. Outside, the rain continued its steady tapping against the windows, and the wind whispered through tiny gaps, making the old glass shiver with each heavy gust.
The storm remained alive, restless, yet inside the world had slowed to a calm lull. Everything was wrapped in the stillness of sleep.
Well—almost everything.
Inside the dimly lit teacher's meeting room, anticipation hung as thick as the storm outside. Fleeting shadows danced across the wooden walls with each flicker of lightning, and the faint scent of parchment and ink mingled with the distant rumble of thunder.
At the long table in the center of the room, two figures sat in quiet vigil—Mr. Elden, the academy's senior instructor, and Vice Principal Oswald.
Elden's fingers drummed softly against the polished wood as his sharp eyes fixed on the door. A man of discipline and order, tonight he carried an undeniable undercurrent of unease; his rigid posture belied the tension coiled in his shoulders.
Across from him, Vice Principal Oswald sat in composed stillness, his hands neatly folded on the table. His lined face remained unreadable behind thin-rimmed glasses, yet the steady focus of his gaze on the door spoke of patient expectancy.
The rain drummed relentlessly against the windows while the wind murmured through the cracks. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, each second stretching the quiet between them. They were waiting—both aware that the news to come would be significant.
Oswald exhaled and leaned back slightly. "They're taking their time," he murmured, more to himself than to Oswald.
Mr Elden adjusted his glasses, his expression calm. "No need to be impatient," he replied evenly. "We'll know soon enough."
The room settled into a comfortable silence, the steady rhythm of the rain a constant companion. Whatever news was on its way, it would arrive in its own time.
Then, a faint ripple of mana stirred the air. Both Elden and Oswald sensed it immediately—the steady approach of the academy's teachers. Their energy signatures, distinct and familiar, moved with the weight of experience and control.
Elden's gaze flickered toward the door once more as he murmured, "They're here."
Oswald remained quiet, his fingers loosely interlocked, as the layered signatures drew nearer. The soft hum of mana filled the room, some currents steady and calm, others sharp and deliberate.
The footsteps outside slowed, pausing just before the entrance. The lingering aura pressed against the room like an unspoken promise. Then, the door handle turned—and the waiting was finally over.
The door creaked open. A gust of cold air swept into the room, carrying with it the scent of rain and the distant hum of fading thunder.
Stepping inside first was Ms. Thorne, her posture upright, the steady glow of mana woven subtly around her form. Her sharp, intelligent eyes scanned the room in an instant before she stepped aside, allowing Professor Eldrin to enter. He followed with a measured gait, his robes carrying the faint scent of old parchment and dried herbs, his presence as composed as ever.
Vice Principal Oswald straightened in his seat, his gaze meeting theirs as he gave a slight nod. "Welcome," he said, his tone calm but expectant. He was just about to continue when his words stalled—something had shifted.
A third figure entered.
Kaelan.
The lantern light barely caught in his dark, tailored coat, the sharp edges of its fine fabric blending into the dimly lit room. His steps were deliberate, almost too smooth, the silence of his approach unsettling in a way that was difficult to name. He did not rush, nor did he hesitate.
His cold eyes swept across the room, unreadable—deep as an abyss, yet harboring something just beneath the surface. A quiet knowledge. A whisper of amusement. A presence too composed, too measured.
And then, just barely—a smile.
Not one of warmth, nor arrogance. A thing so faint it was nearly imperceptible, yet present enough to unnerve.
Elden felt it first. That absence.
Kaelan's mana was missing.
Not suppressed. Not hidden. Gone.
An unnatural void where there should have been something—a presence, a pulse, a signature. And yet, despite this absence, despite the empty space where his mana should have been felt, Kaelan stood before them without lack. Without fragility.
As though he had no need for it at all.
A breath of silence settled over the room.
Then, softly, Kaelan spoke.
"…Interesting."
Elden's fingers stilled against the table, his gaze narrowing ever so slightly. Oswald, though composed, made the smallest adjustment to his glasses—a habitual motion, but one that betrayed the slightest shift in his focus.
Ms. Thorne remained unreadable, though the sharpness in her posture spoke volumes. Professor Eldrin, ever the scholar, observed in silence, his usual detached curiosity dimmed by something more calculating.
The room, already heavy with expectation, seemed to grow denser in the moments following Kaelan's words. The storm outside raged on, lightning flashing against the windowpanes, casting long, fractured shadows across the polished wood.
Kaelan, unbothered, took another step forward, his movements fluid—controlled. His presence was like a blade kept in its sheath: unseen, yet undeniably sharp. The void where his mana should have been lingered, a silent anomaly in a room filled with seasoned figures who had spent their lives attuned to such things.
Elden, ever the pragmatic one, was the first to break the silence.
Elden's fingers curled against the table as the silence stretched. His sharp eyes flickered toward Oswald, then back to the figure standing before him. His jaw tightened slightly before he spoke.
"Mr Kaelan," he said, his voice even, though there was an unmistakable edge of restraint beneath it. "We weren't informed you would be attending this meeting."
The tension in the room thickened—not a reaction of surprise, but of adjustment. A shift. Kaelan's presence was not just unexpected; it unsettled the very order of the room.
Vice Principal Oswald adjusted his glasses, his sharp gaze unreadable behind the thin lenses. He had remained composed throughout, but now, there was something more calculating in his stillness.
Ms. Thorne stood rigid, her expression carefully neutral, yet her fingers twitched slightly at her sides before she clasped them behind her back.
Professor Eldrin, usually the first to engage in analysis, had yet to speak. His usual scholarly detachment was still there, but there was a rare hesitation in the way his gaze lingered on Kaelan, as if recalibrating his understanding of the man standing before them.
Kaelan met Elden's gaze, his unreadable expression betraying nothing. He didn't blink, didn't shift.
Then, just barely, that faint smile again.
"I wasn't aware I needed an invitation," he said smoothly, his tone carrying no arrogance—just a quiet, unsettling certainty.
Elden's fingers tapped once against the table, a slow, measured movement. "That isn't what I meant."
Kaelan tilted his head slightly, his dark pupils catching the dim lanternlight. "No," he mused. "I suppose it isn't."
His mana—still absent, still gone—left a void in the room that the others could not ignore. No one spoke of it outright, yet it loomed over them like an unspoken truth.
Kaelan let the silence settle, letting the weight of his presence press down on the room like an unseen force. The absence of his mana was unnatural, yet he stood there—unshaken, unbothered, and wholly in control.
Elden, ever the first to speak, leaned forward slightly, his gaze unwavering. "Then tell me, Mr. Kaelan," he said, voice calm but firm, "why are you here?"
A reasonable question. The only question, really.
The others did not voice it, but it hung in the air like a blade, poised and waiting.
Kaelan did not answer immediately. Instead, he took his time, his gaze sweeping over each of them, studying, measuring. There was no rush in his movements, no urgency in his expression. He simply observed, as though the question itself was of little consequence.
And then—finally—he spoke.
"The matter behind my presence," he said, his tone smooth, almost thoughtful, "is not for me to explain."
His words sent another ripple through the already tense atmosphere. Elden's expression didn't shift, but his fingers tightened just slightly against the table. Oswald, ever composed, adjusted his glasses with deliberate slowness, his sharp gaze piercing through the dimly lit room.
Professor Eldrin narrowed his eyes, the analytical gleam in them sharpening as if trying to piece together the puzzle Kaelan had just laid before them. Ms. Thorne, though silent, was watching with the intensity of a predator waiting for the slightest misstep.
Kaelan let them stew in their reactions for a moment longer before he took a single step forward.
"But," he continued, "in the interest of… cooperation, let us not waste time." His gaze lingered, steady, unwavering. "I will answer the one question that is on all of your minds."
Another bolt of lightning flashed outside, illuminating his face in stark contrast for the briefest moment. His smile remained—a ghost of a thing, unreadable, unsettling.
Then, in that calm, measured voice, he asked,
"Well?"
He spread his hands slightly, a gesture both inviting and taunting.
"Ask."
A murmur rippled through the gathered teachers, hushed but unmistakable. The tension, already thick, grew denser as whispered voices carried through the dimly lit room.
Professor Eldrin leaned slightly toward Ms. Thorne, his voice a low thread beneath the storm's restless song. "Did you notice it?"
Ms. Thorne didn't answer immediately, her sharp gaze flicking to Kaelan before shifting to the others. "Of course," she murmured, barely moving her lips.
Another voice, quieter still, joined in. "No mana signature… that's not suppression. It's something else entirely," one of the older instructors noted, concern lacing his tone.
The quiet exchange spread across the room, each teacher murmuring observations, unspoken questions, or simply letting their unease show in the brief glances they stole toward the Vice Principal and Elden.
Elden, seated with his fingers loosely interlocked, remained unreadable. He did not speak, did not react outwardly to the whispers threading through the air. But his sharp eyes—glinting behind the thin rims of his glasses—held a quiet, weighing calculation as he met the Vice Principal's gaze.
Oswald, leaning forward slightly, had his elbows resting on the polished table. His fingers had gone still, no longer tapping, no longer moving. A sign of his full focus. His gaze lingered on Kaelan, sharp and assessing, before shifting toward Elden in a fleeting, almost imperceptible glance.
For the briefest moment, something unspoken passed between them.
A question. A shared realization. A silent agreement.
And then—Kaelan moved.
Just a simple shift of weight, the faintest tilt of his head—but it was enough.
The murmuring died down. The air grew heavier, as if the very room itself had turned to listen.
And Kaelan, unbothered, unshaken, merely waited.
The weight of silence in the room deepened, settling like a thick fog over the gathered scholars. The murmurs between the teachers had faded, but their unspoken thoughts lingered in the air—sharp, expectant, waiting.
The storm outside had not relented. Rain lashed against the windows in restless waves, and the wind howled through unseen crevices, whispering secrets only the dark could understand. The old lanterns flickered, their glow casting long, shifting shadows against the wooden walls.
Vice Principal Oswald sat unmoving, his presence as steady as the foundation of the academy itself. He had watched, he had listened, and now—now the time for waiting had passed.
With a measured breath, he leaned forward. The motion was subtle, yet it carried the weight of authority, a quiet command that settled the last lingering murmurs into absolute stillness. His fingers, which had remained loosely interlocked, unraveled as he pressed his palms gently against the polished table.
And then, with the calm of a man who had spent his life in the presence of knowledge, Oswald spoke.
"Mr Kaelan."
His voice carried no accusation, no hostility—only certainty. A certainty that demanded truth.
The flickering lanterns caught in the Vice Principal's thin-rimmed glasses, obscuring his eyes for the briefest moment before the glow returned, sharp and unwavering.
"The mana surge," he continued, his words deliberate, measured. "We all felt it."
No one moved. No one even breathed too deeply.
"It was unlike anything recorded before." He let the words settle, his gaze steady. "Powerful. Uncontained—yet controlled. A force beyond simple classification."
The silence stretched.
Lightning cracked the sky outside, illuminating the room in a harsh, fleeting glow before shadows swallowed it once more.
Oswald did not avert his gaze.
"And it originated from the Principal's chambers." A statement, not a question. The truth hung between them, undeniable.
"Where you were."
The words echoed softly in the storm's wake. The tension in the room became something more—an anticipation that bordered on reverence. There was no doubt in their eyes now, only an unshaken respect for the unknown standing before them.
Oswald, ever composed, gave a slight tilt of his head—not in challenge, but in deference.
"We seek understanding," he said at last, his tone neither commanding nor pleading, but something in between. A request from one scholar to another.
"Tell us,Mr Kaelan."
His fingers tapped once against the table, the only sound breaking the hush.
"What happened?"
All eyes remained on Kaelan.
The storm outside raged, as if bearing witness. The lanterns burned low. The air itself felt charged, waiting—waiting for the only answer that mattered.
And Kaelan…
Kaelan merely smiled.
his movements deliberate, yet unhurried. The dim light caught the edge of his thin-rimmed glasses as he regarded Kaelan with quiet intensity.
For a long moment, Oswald said nothing. He simply observed—taking in every detail, every subtle shift in the atmosphere. The absence of mana. The unwavering presence. The unsettling ease with which Kaelan commanded the room.
Then, finally, he spoke.
"Mr. Kaelan," Oswald's voice was steady, devoid of unnecessary embellishment. "Your presence here is… unexpected."
A flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—passed through Kaelan's cold gaze, but it was gone too quickly to name. He did not interrupt, nor did he react beyond the faint, ghostly curve of his lips.
Oswald continued. "And yet, it seems you anticipated our curiosity." He paused, letting his words settle like a blade lowered, but not sheathed. "So tell me… should we take your presence as an answer—or as a question?"
The lanterns flickered.
The wind pressed against the windowpanes.
Kaelan did not smile, not truly, but there was a weight in his gaze—something unreadable, something vast.
"A question?" he murmured, as if tasting the word. His head tilted slightly, shadow cutting across the sharp contours of his face. "No, Vice Principal. My presence is neither."
He stepped forward—slow, unhurried, yet impossibly smooth.
"You ask why I am here." His voice was quiet, yet it carried. "You ask what it means."
His gaze swept across the gathered instructors—Elden, still and calculating; Thorne, sharp as ever; Eldrin, eyes glinting with scholar's curiosity; the others, poised yet uncertain.
"You look for an answer." Kaelan exhaled, a slow, deliberate thing. "But I wonder… would you recognize it if it stood before you?"
The silence was absolute.
No one moved.
The absence of his mana was no longer just a peculiarity. It was a statement.
A challenge.
And then, without breaking eye contact, Kaelan raised his hand—just slightly.
The air around him should have stirred, should have responded in some way. A flicker of magic. A ripple of intent.
There was nothing.
A void. A stillness too perfect to be natural.
Vice Principal Oswald's expression did not change, but his fingers pressed together, thoughtful.
Elden's lips parted slightly, as if to speak, but he hesitated.
Ms. Thorne's stance shifted just a fraction—a small, nearly imperceptible motion, yet one that betrayed the razor-edged awareness of a seasoned combatant sensing something… wrong.
And Kaelan, standing at the center of it all, simply let the weight of his presence—or rather, the absence of what should be there—settle upon the room.
Then, at last, he spoke again.
"Do not ask the wrong questions," he said softly.
And, in the dim glow of the lanterns, the storm raging beyond the windows, it was unclear whether his words were a warning—
Or a promise.