It's been a few weeks since I started learning elemental spells with Nareva. A few weeks after I found out my aura is… tainted.
Tainted White.
Just saying it in my head makes me feel like I'm holding a secret too sharp to swallow.
But surprisingly? I've started thinking more positively. I mean, I'm not Takuya anymore. So why would I be afraid of anything now?
Yeah, I'm just kidding. I'm still terrified.
Of someone finding out. Of everyone finding out.
Not just that I can use magic.
But that I shouldn't be able to.
That my aura isn't white or grey. That it's something denser. Broken. Wrong.
But at least now… I'm not alone with it.
Nareva's been helping. More than she knows. Even if she still thinks I'm just some prodigy noble kid with a few extra sparks rattling around. She doesn't know about the memories. The other life. The pieces of a boy from another world still buried under my skin like shrapnel.
And Calden?
He's still Calden.
Still barking orders like the war never ended. Still making me bleed from splinters and sweat and expectations I didn't ask for.
But somehow, he's grounding too.
A reminder that pain can shape more than just scars.
"Kaelen!"
The sharp snap of my name cracked through my thoughts like a whip.
I flinched. Blinked. Looked up just in time to see Calden glaring at me like I'd committed war crimes by standing still.
"Sorry," I muttered. "Zoned out."
"No excuses!" he barked. "Get in the stance and hit that rock until your blade is dull!"
I gave the world's driest look at the stick in my hand.
"It's a wooden sword."
"And?"
"And it's not going to get dull."
"Then hit it until your arms are."
Fair enough.
I dropped into stance. Dragon Style, Form Two. My legs already ached from the last set.
Strike. Recover. Step. Breathe.
Repeat.
The rock didn't care. Neither did Calden.
I kept swinging.
Sweat clung to my back like a second shirt. My grip was going numb. I was halfway into convincing myself that this counted as self-torture when I heard it—
A slow clap.
Sarcastic. Precise.
Not Calden's.
I turned.
There was someone standing just outside the yard wall, arms folded, leaning casually like they owned the place.
Tall. Slender. Black gloves. Hair the color of dark copper braided back into a long tie. And a smirk that made me instinctively want to lie about everything I'd ever done.
"Charming technique," they said. Voice smooth, maybe a few years older than me—ten at most. "You planning to court the boulder, or just teach it manners?"
Calden turned. His whole body tensed for half a breath. That alone made me tense.
"Who let you in?" he asked, flat.
The newcomer stepped forward and offered a mocking half-bow.
"Officially? The gatekeeper. Unofficially?" He grinned. "I walk where I want."
Calden scowled. "Kaelen, sheath your blade."
Oh. That's a new one. I'd never seen Calden look so… guarded.
"Who is that?" I whispered, stepping closer.
Calden didn't answer. Not directly.
Instead, he muttered, "Noble house liaison. From the Varnhal Spire... the sword academy."
I stiffened.
The Academy?
The stranger strolled into the yard like they were inspecting a painting.
"My name is Veyr," he said. "Veyr Hal'Rhen. And I'm here to evaluate your progress, little Ghostborn."
I froze.
How did he—?
"I didn't tell him," Calden said, quietly. Almost through his teeth.
"I never asked you to," Veyr replied sweetly. "House Selkareth filed a noble interest request with Arkenblood three years ago. Your file's been open since you learned to walk."
He smiled at me. Wide. Pleasant. Empty.
"And now I'm here. To see if the rumors are true."
Calden stepped forward, body halfway between me and Veyr.
"You'll test him over my dead body."
"Tempting," Veyr said. "But I'm here on a preliminary visit. No official scans. No aura readings. Just… observation."
His eyes flicked to me again.
And I felt it.
Pressure.
Like he wasn't looking at me—he was seeing me.
Like the way Nareva sees me sometimes when she thinks I'm not watching. Like something ancient behind glass, trying to remember if it's still human.
"I've heard… fascinating things about you," he said, voice low. "Even among Ghostborn, you're an outlier."
I swallowed. My throat felt dry.
"I'm not special."
"Mm. You're something." He tilted his head. "We'll find out what."
He turned, cloak fluttering behind him.
"I'll return next week. Try not to combust before then."
Then he vanished past the gate like he'd never been there.
I stood in silence. Calden said nothing. The wind stirred.
"…what the hell was that?" I asked finally.
Calden let out a long breath. Not a sigh. Something tighter.
"Trouble," he muttered.
"Is he dangerous?"
"Yes."
"To me?"
Calden didn't answer.
I didn't like what that meant.
He finally turned back to me.
"Hit the rock again."
"Seriously?"
"Yes. And if you start glowing, warn me this time."
Later that night, I couldn't sleep.
Not because I was scared, exactly.
But because my brain wouldn't shut up.
Who was Veyr, really?
Why had Calden reacted like that?
And how long had my file been sitting in some dusty archive, waiting for a kid with gloves and a pretty smile to dig it up?
The Varnhal Spire.
That was supposed to be a legend. A sword academy so selective they didn't even publish rosters. You either knew someone, or you didn't. Most nobles begged for a spot. Bribed for it.
Why were they scouting me?
I wasn't anyone. I wasn't supposed to be anything.
And yet he called me "outlier." Like I was an anomaly. Like I was a puzzle he already planned to solve.
I turned over in bed again, heart racing. I knew I shouldn't—but eventually, I got up.
The halls were dark. Still. My footsteps didn't echo.
I found Father in his study, seated by the window with a glass of something dark and sharp-smelling. He didn't look surprised to see me.
"Couldn't sleep?" he asked without turning.
"No."
"Because of the boy from the academy?"
"…yes."
He finally looked at me. His eyes were tired. Not soft.
"Veyr Hal'Rhen," he said. "Heir to House Rhen. Top of his year. The youngest person ever marked by the Spire."
"So why was he here?"
"To evaluate potential," Father said. "That's what he told me. Standard noble academy procedure."
I crossed my arms.
"And what did you tell him?"
He paused.
Then: "Nothing. Yet."
That wasn't comforting.
"Why me?" I asked. "Why are they interested?"
Father looked at me for a long moment.
Then he said, "Because something about you scares them."
I didn't breathe for a second.
"And that," he added quietly, "might be the only reason you survive them."
I left Father's study in a fog.
The hallway felt longer than usual. The torches burned lower. The portraits on the wall seemed to lean in as I passed.
"Something about you scares them."
What the hell was that supposed to mean?
I'd asked for answers and walked away with more riddles. Typical. Nobles always knew how to speak a thousand words and say nothing.
But this time, it wasn't just politics. It wasn't just legacy or crest-born pride.
It was me.
And for once, that didn't feel empowering.
It felt like a countdown.
The next day, Calden didn't mention Veyr at all.
He drilled me harder than usual, which probably meant he was even more on edge than I was. His form corrections were sharper. His patience thinner. His words clipped like they were cutting away everything soft.
I didn't ask again.
But when I stumbled mid-form and landed hard in the dirt, he didn't bark at me.
He just stood there. Watching.
"Get up," he said, finally.
I did.
Because what else was I supposed to do?
Later that evening, I found Nareva in the greenhouse.
She didn't look surprised to see me.
"You always find your way back here when something's eating you," she said.
"It's not just one thing," I muttered. "It's a lot of little knives."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Poetic."
I didn't smile.
Instead, I sat on the bench and pulled out my notebook. Pages scribbled with half-formed spells and mana theory stared back at me. Normally, I found comfort in the chaos. But now?
Now I felt watched.
"Do you think he'll come back?" I asked quietly.
"Veyr?" she said. "Yes."
"When?"
"Soon."
I closed the notebook.
"Will he find out what I am?"
She didn't answer right away.
Then she said, "That depends."
"On what?"
"On whether you keep trying to be invisible," she said. "Or whether you choose to become undeniable."
That shut me up.
She stood and walked to the center of the greenhouse, brushing a few vines aside as she passed.
"Magic is a risk, Kaelen," she said, not turning. "Living with secrets is a bigger one."
And then, softer:
"You won't be able to stay hidden forever."
I knew that.
I'd known it since the day the Feather Drift spell worked the first time.
Still, knowing something doesn't make it easier to face.
That night, I dreamed of mirrors.
A thousand of them.
Each one reflected a different version of me—some scared, some burning, some laughing through blood.
But in the center was a version of me that didn't flinch.
That version held a sword in one hand and fire in the other, wearing a black broken mask.
And Veyr stood across from him, smiling like he was already impressed.