The higher they climbed, the colder it got — not in temperature, but in soul.
The Dark Mountains of Dragvill were not merely stone and altitude. They were memory. Regret. Manifested and weaponized. Caelum felt it in the bones of the path — the way shadows lingered too long, the way echoes whispered back things he hadn't said yet.
He laughed — a broken chuckle more edge than humor.
"Isn't it romantic?" he muttered, eyes twitching toward the dark cliffs. "Our honeymoon with death."
Hinata glanced at him, worried. His jokes were always strange, but this one had sharp corners.
"Cael… stay focused."
"Oh, I'm focused, darling," he whispered, fingers twitching with unstable arcana. "I just don't know if I'm me right now."
They were attacked twice before nightfall.
Once by Whisper Wolves — things with no mouths and too many eyes — and once by a Mirrorborn, which mimicked Caelum's form perfectly… but was calm, composed, perfect.
Caelum hated it.
He crushed it with a spell he invented on the spot — shattering light like glass, then forcing it down the creature's throat as if choking it on truth.
"I'll never be perfect," he said, chest heaving. "But at least I'm real."
Hinata didn't speak. Just walked beside him — always a half-step closer than necessary.
---
At the Summit: The Temple of the Ash Tyrant
A monolith of obsidian stretched skyward at the peak, carved from volcanic glass and shaped like something ancient had screamed it into being. Flames danced along the walls, but the fire gave no heat — only memory.
Inside, the Ash Tyrant awaited.
Twelve feet tall, a skeletal god wrapped in ash and flame. Antlers of burning coal curled upward like twisted crowns. It did not move when they entered — only watched, with eyes like collapsing stars.
"You've come far, Caelum Verris," it said.
Caelum tilted his head, grin twitching at the corners.
"Didn't know you knew my name."
"I know every name carved into regret," it replied. "And yours is etched deepest."
The fight began in a breath.
The Ash Tyrant fought like a concept — not a beast, but an idea. Its flames burned not flesh, but memory. Every blow Caelum dodged came with a whisper:
You let her die.
You wear masks because you're hollow.
You'll never stop dancing for someone else.
Caelum staggered.
Spells cracked from his fingers — beautiful, wild, desperate. Lightning that turned to ice mid-air. Fire that screamed like lost children. He screamed back, not words, but fury. Emotion made tangible.
The Tyrant struck again — this time not with magic, but with truth.
"You fear yourself more than me."
Caelum fell to one knee.
But Hinata — bloodied, bruised, burning — stepped between them.
"You don't get to define him," she growled. "He does."
That did it.
Caelum stood slowly. Shaking. Breathing like every inhale was poison.
"I'm not stable," he said softly. "I'm not noble. I flirt with death and kiss my guilt. But I'm not yours."
His magic erupted — not as attack, but as evolution.
Time folded around him. Spells wrote themselves in the air. Stardust swirled from his veins. Wings of energy burst from his back, each feather a different element — wind, blood, shadow, song.
The Tyrant attacked. Caelum rewrote the attack midair and sent it back as light.
With a final motion, he reached into the Tyrant's chest — not to kill, but to take back what was his.
A shard of himself.
The fight ended in silence.
And the Tyrant crumbled — not dead, but forgotten.
---
Arrival at Phoenix City: Academy of Flameheart
The journey down the mountain was quiet.
Caelum didn't joke. He didn't speak.
He walked like someone reborn… or someone who hadn't decided what he'd become.
When they reached Phoenix City, it was like stepping into a living ember. The city pulsed with magical life — flame-powered canals, fireglass towers, phoenixes soaring overhead. At its heart stood the Academy of Flameheart — tall, proud, shaped like a blooming fire lily.
Banners bearing Caelum's sigil — a burning quill in a storm — flew high.
People bowed as he passed. Scholars, knights, nobles. The young duke had returned.
But Caelum didn't bow back.
He looked around with unreadable eyes.
"Feels... fake," he whispered to Hinata. "Or maybe I just don't fit in real places anymore."
She smiled sadly. "You'll make it real."
He chuckled, cracked and crooked. "You always say things like that. Like you believe in me."
"I do."
He looked at her for a long moment. Then turned back to the academy.
"Then let's see what kind of dean I'll be."