The medallion was burning a hole against his skin.
Caelen twisted it between his fingers as he followed the procession of students up the mountain path, the Academy looming above them like a stone sentinel. His legs ached. His lungs burned. But he refused to be the one who slowed down, even though the others were already whispering behind his back.
"That's him, right?"
"Affinity Unknown."
"Should've stayed home."
He ignored them. Focused on the steady rhythm of his boots crunching against the gravel.
The ember pulsed against his chest, faint but persistent. Every few heartbeats, it seemed to… tug. As if it was connected to something deeper inside him. Something he didn't understand.
Ahead, the Academy gates yawned open, twin slabs of dark iron inlaid with shimmering glyphs. Towering statues flanked them: a robed mage cradling a fireball in one hand, a swordsman wreathed in lightning in the other.
Magic and might.
Two things Caelen severely lacked at the moment.
As they crossed the threshold, a wave of cold washed over him. Not the chill of the high-altitude air—but something older. A presence, vast and silent, like an ancient eye blinking open and marking each of them.
The Academy had seen him.
And it was not impressed.
Inside, the courtyard bustled with activity. First-year students stood in loose groups, clutching satchels and whispering nervously. Banners representing the four elemental houses snapped in the brisk wind—crimson, azure, emerald, and gold.
At the center stood the Archmagister: a woman with iron-gray hair and robes blacker than midnight. She carried herself with the poise of someone who could, if pressed, flatten mountains with a thought.
When she spoke, her voice cracked like a whip across the courtyard.
"Welcome, Initiates."
Silence fell instantly.
"You stand at the threshold of greatness," she said. "Some of you will rise to command the forces of the world. Others will… not."
A ripple of unease traveled through the crowd.
"You will be sorted by your elemental affinity. You will train. You will be tested. Those who fail to meet our standards will be—" she paused, allowing the word to hang in the air like a noose, "—dismissed."
Dismissed. As if they were nothing more than clerks being fired from a dusty office.
The Archmagister gestured sharply. Instructors fanned out, barking names.
Caelen drifted toward the edge of the group, clutching his medallion tightly.
A familiar voice growled his name: "Caelen Dusk."
He turned. Sarn stood there, arms crossed, scowling.
"You're with me."
He led Caelen and a few others—a scrawny boy with wild hair, a girl with silver tattoos curling up her arms—toward a smaller building attached to the main hall.
Inside, the room was dim and circular, lit by a single crystal suspended from the ceiling. It cast a cold, clinical light over the stone floor, where four symbols were etched—Fire, Water, Earth, Air.
Sarn pointed at them.
"Stand."
They obeyed.
Caelen found himself facing the Air symbol, though it felt wrong somehow. The ember under his shirt pulsed sharply, almost in protest.
Sarn pulled out a thick ledger. "One by one. Place your hand on the symbol you feel most drawn to."
The wild-haired boy stepped forward, shaking. He pressed his hand to the Earth symbol—and the ground beneath his feet shuddered gently. A green glow enveloped him.
Sarn grunted approval and made a note.
Next, the silver-tattooed girl touched the Water symbol. A thin stream of mist rose up, wrapping around her arm.
Another note. Another grunt.
Then Caelen's turn.
He hesitated.
None of the symbols called to him. Not Fire, not Water, not Earth, not Air.
The ember was pulsing faster now, frantic.
"Well?" Sarn snapped. "Pick one, boy."
Caelen reached for the Air symbol, hoping, praying—
Nothing.
No shimmer. No mist. No quake.
Just… silence.
Sarn's face darkened. He scribbled something harder into his ledger.
"Affinity Unknown," he said flatly.
The words slammed into Caelen like a punch.
"Next."
Caelen stumbled back to the edge of the circle, his mind spinning.
Affinity Unknown.
It was official now.
Written down. Recorded.
He didn't even hear the rest of the students go through their sorting. He barely registered being herded out of the room, handed a scroll with his class schedule, and pointed toward the dormitories.
The Academy's sprawling labyrinth of corridors swallowed him whole.
His assigned room was at the very top of the North Tower—a narrow spire constantly buffeted by icy winds.
Figures.
He shoved open the heavy door.
Inside was a small cot, a chipped desk, and a narrow window offering a view of endless gray sky. A trunk sat at the foot of the bed, emblazoned with the Academy's seal.
Caelen dropped onto the cot, the mattress protesting with a creak.
He yanked the medallion out from under his shirt and glared at it.
"What are you?" he muttered.
The ember pulsed once, like a heartbeat answering.
Caelen closed his eyes.
He had seven days to prove he belonged here.
Seven days to uncover whatever secret the ember was hiding.
Or he would be dismissed.
Or worse.
That night, sleep didn't come easily.
The wind howled through the cracks in the tower.
The ember burned against his skin.
And in his dreams, he saw a door.
A massive door carved from black stone, standing alone in a void of swirling mist.
It pulsed with the same rhythm as the ember.
As he approached, something ancient stirred behind it.
Something that knew his name.
Something that had been waiting.
Waiting for him.