Kael sat alone beneath a silver tree near the west courtyard, fingers curled around a cold mug of tea he'd forgotten to drink.
His hands still tingled from the rune. From the feeling of raw, chaotic magic flooding his skin. Like something had been asleep inside him—and the circle had just screamed it awake.
Gateborn.
The word meant nothing to him. But it clearly meant something to Vaelyn. And now she was watching him like he might explode at any moment.
He let the tea cool and just… stared into the sky. The clouds hung low today. Bruised and purple at the edges, like stormlight was coming. He almost hoped it would. Let it rain, let the whole world flood. At least that would make sense.
"Not much of a drinker?" came a voice behind him.
Kael turned. Lira was there again, one hand tucked into her sleeve, the other holding a book. She nodded toward his tea.
"It's going cold."
"I forgot about it."
She sat across from him without asking.
They sat in silence a moment.
Then she spoke again. "You look like someone dropped the sky on you."
Kael gave a faint huff. "Pretty close."
"I figured." She flipped open her book, reading upside down for a few seconds before glancing at him again.
"I asked around," she said. "About the rune. There's no student on record with that affinity. Not in the last five decades. Maybe longer."
"So I'm cursed," Kael muttered.
"No," she said. "Just dangerous. Which is… different."
She sounded too calm about it.
Kael rubbed his eyes. "I didn't ask for any of this. I didn't even think I'd get in. My name just glowed on the stone and now I'm stuck in a place full of nobles and monsters and people who talk in riddles."
She tilted her head. "So leave."
Kael blinked.
"You're allowed to," she said. "No one's keeping you here. If you hate it so much, walk out. Take a skyship back to whatever dust-town you came from."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
He looked down. "There's nothing to go back to."
Silence again.
This time, Lira didn't fill it with quips.
Instead, she shut her book. "You said your family was gone."
Kael nodded slowly.
"How long ago?"
"Five years."
There was a tightness in his voice. One he hated.
Lira didn't pity him, though. She just looked at him for a while, then said quietly, "Mine too."
Kael met her gaze.
Something passed between them. Not comfort. But understanding. The kind that comes from standing at the same cliff's edge and knowing what it feels like to fall.
Later that evening, a raven-feathered bell rang through the halls. A magical chime—low and deep.
Library hour.
All first-years were expected to report to the central archive—The Library of Flame—for orientation. A few students groaned. Most just obeyed.
Kael followed the stream of robes into the great hall.
The library was carved into a crater of obsidian glass. Shelves rose in spirals, endless levels of floating steps and shifting ladders. Books whispered to each other. Scrolls floated lazily like birds in slow flight.
It felt… alive.
And watching.
A librarian stood at the entrance: an ancient man with runes stitched into his skin and a long black coat that smelled like old ink and smoke.
"You will not speak in the heart-chamber," he said without looking up. "You will not touch anything that floats unless it touches you. And you will not open anything sealed with a red thread. If you break these rules, you will die. Very painfully. Questions?"
No one raised a hand.
"Good."
The librarian snapped his fingers. The floor fell open beneath them.
Kael's heart jumped as he dropped—but instead of falling, the group floated downward, slow as dandelion seeds, into the glowing center of the archive.
Fire danced along the walls. Runes etched themselves across the ceiling. Something deep beneath them hummed.
This was no ordinary library.
"Each of you will be assigned a private archive," the librarian continued. "Your Thread Index will determine what knowledge you may access. Ask the flames. They will answer. Sometimes."
Kael barely heard him. His eyes were drawn to a glowing gate set into the far wall—small, ancient, made of pure obsidian. A single rune glowed above it: 𝚲.
He felt his chest tighten.
It was the same mark that had burned into the air above the rune earlier that day.
A Gateborn mark.
He stepped toward it without thinking.
A hand caught his wrist.
"Don't," Lira whispered sharply. "You don't even know what that is."
"I think I do."
"Then you're even dumber than you look."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "Why are you even here?"
"To keep you from doing something stupid. Again."
She released his wrist and stepped back.
Kael hesitated—then turned away from the gate.
But he still felt it. Like it was calling to him.
Waiting.
By the time he left the library, night had fallen.
His head ached. His chest still felt too full. And the mark—whatever it was—still shimmered faintly beneath the skin of his palm.
He didn't know what tomorrow would bring. He didn't even know if he'd still be alive to see it.
But something had changed today.
He wasn't just Kael from nowhere anymore.
He was something else now.
Something hunted.
Something powerful.
And the gates… were waking.