The following morning dawned bright and windswept, the sky above Skyreach
painted in streaks of silver and rose. Students gathered in the academy's domed
hall, where soft magic hung in the air like mist.
Today's exercise was different.
Instructor Calisya's voice carried with a calm resonance. "Today, we ask not
for power—but presence. A moment of balance between yourself and another. You
will express your aura, your magic, or your elemental gift. Together or
alone—but you will show who you are becoming."
Some students were already pairing off—friends, rivals, clanmates. The hall
buzzed with nervous anticipation.
Advait sat near the front, alone, his gaze lowered.
Viaan entered late, sliding into the back row, arms crossed and half-grinning
like he didn't care. But his golden eyes swept the room until they
landed—briefly—on Advait.
Neither said a word.
One by One
Pairs stepped forward. Some formed flames together, others sang to shadows
or shaped light. The instructors watched with interest but rarely spoke.
Then Viaan's name was called.
He stepped forward casually, shrugging. "Guess it's solo for me."
He lifted his hand, fire curling around his fingers—but instead of igniting,
it danced in rhythm. He shaped it not as a weapon, but as motion—a
spiral of golden flames spinning like a solar bloom.
The room fell quiet.
He didn't look at anyone when he was done. Just walked off and leaned
against the far wall, heart racing for reasons he didn't understand.
Next came Advait.
He stood without hesitation. No one expected anything flashy from the
moon-veiled boy who barely spoke.
But when he raised his hand, a soft wave of silver light flowed from his
fingers—like memory given form. It wasn't magic in the traditional sense. It
was stillness. Clarity. A calm that made the room exhale.
Though Viaan had stepped back, something of his magic lingered—unseen, but
not gone. The air still shimmered faintly where his fire had danced.
Just before Advait ended the display—the two auras touched.
The silver mist and the faint warmth left behind by golden flame met.
And instead of vanishing—they wove together.
The room pulsed. Light shimmered. For a moment, the hall was filled with the
soft sound of a chord—musical, impossible. Ancient.
Then it was gone.
Unspoken
Viaan stared, stunned.
Advait blinked and turned away.
They didn't speak. Not then. Not after.
But later that night, both lay awake in their rooms, unable to rest.
That's when the dream came.
The Dream
Flashes. Smoke. Fire.
A moonlit room.
Hands touching.
A name—
"Rael…"
Then silence. A feeling of being pulled away.
"Ashara…"
And waking. Breathless. Shaken.
Both boys sat up in their beds, clutching at nothing.
Viaan's hand found his pendant again.
Advait touched the scar on his palm—a scar that hadn't been there yesterday.
Neither could explain why their chest ached.
But deep within, a door had opened.
And the world had begun to listen.