The days that followed Kael's reacceptance into the Academy unfolded with a rare clarity, as though the threads of fate had aligned to grant him respite and purpose. He awoke each morning before the sun pierced the skyline of the capital, stepping into his upgraded rune workshop just as the night lamps dimmed. The walls hummed with arcane circuits now personally refined by Master Illovar. Runes danced in the air like fireflies, awaiting Kael's command.
Kael stood in the center, bare-chested, his skin now etched with living runes—black markings that shimmered faintly, branded into his flesh by the String itself. Though the gloves were no longer necessary, he wore them still, more out of habit and secrecy than function.
"You're adjusting well," Master Illovar grunted from behind a scroll-laden desk. He peered over crystalline spectacles. "Your Soulweave is stabilizing. The resonance with the elements has improved. I daresay the String is grooming you for something even I can't decipher."
Kael offered a faint smile. "Then I'd better be worthy of it."
His training spanned across disciplines. Each day, he spent several hours under the tutelage of the House Captains.
Captain Ryven of House Ignis scorched the training yard with blasts of fire, barking out orders with soldierly precision. Kael learned to channel flame not just as a weapon, but as a force of momentum, burning through hesitation.
"Flame is not chaos," Ryven once said. "It is focus. Burn the world down, but only when you intend to rebuild it."
Captain Lira of Glaciem was his next mentor. Her sessions were quiet but intense. She taught Kael to breathe with the stillness of water, to allow his mind to ripple and settle.
"Still water reflects everything," she told him as they stood waist-deep in a glacial stream. "When your spirit is calm, even the fiercest storm will break around you."
Captain Dorn of Petra instructed Kael on grounding and resilience. The burly man threw Kael into earth-wrought mazes and forced him to fight without moving his feet.
"Stone does not yield unless it must. Neither should you."
The wind itself bent under the guidance of Captain Zeff of Caelum. He was whimsical, lighthearted, but sharp-eyed. Kael learned to use the air around him, not merely to leap or dodge, but to sense motion and pressure—to dance with his blade rather than simply wield it.
In House Lucentia, Captain Solen bathed Kael in raw light. Their training was held in sealed chambers, where Kael learned to focus beams into blades, shields, and even illusions. Solen was patient, almost priestlike.
"Light is truth," he said. "But even truth can blind if it isn't tempered."
Captain Verra of Umbra was the most enigmatic. She spoke in riddles and appeared only at dusk. With her, Kael explored shadows not as absence, but presence. Her techniques sharpened his instincts in low-light combat.
"The dark doesn't hide you, Kael. It reveals everything you're afraid to face."
Time itself unraveled under Captain Thorne of House Aeonis. The man was impossibly old and slow, but his teachings forced Kael to confront patience. Thorne taught Kael to feel the weight of seconds in battle, the breath between movements, the eternity in a single heartbeat.
And then there was Selai.
Her Spirit Crest resonated with Kael in a way no other training did. Through her, Kael began integrating spirit magic into his runeweaving—bonding intentions into spells, blending thought and mana into living constructs. Their sessions were ethereal, often held in sacred halls or gardens where silence whispered louder than speech.
"Your soul is loud, Kael," Selai murmured once, touching the crest-marked center of his chest. "But that power needs harmony. Even the Void must listen."
Kurozan, too, grew more responsive. Though it never spoke aloud, it now reached Kael in visions. In dreams, Kael found himself dueling silhouettes wrapped in mist—specters wielding black flame and eerie stances. He began to move like them unconsciously, his bladework smoother, more fluid, like shadows cutting through moonlight.
One such night, Kael jolted awake, drenched in sweat. He had seen a name etched into the misty dojo.
Tenebris Kenjutsu
"You're remembering," came Kurozan's voice in the faintest whisper, as if carried on wind. "Keep moving. We begin again."
Days bled into weeks, and Kael's strength compounded. His void crest remained hidden, but the signs of his growth were impossible to ignore. Captains murmured about his potential. Students watched from afar, no longer seeing him as the crestless outsider but something else—something rising.
Senn remained a steady presence. Their late-night spars continued. No words were needed between them anymore. Each clash of blades carried understanding.
One evening, as they sat beneath the stars overlooking the training grounds, Senn finally broke the silence. "You're not just training for war, are you?"
Kael stared at the sky, eyes reflecting twin stars—one green, one blue. "No. I'm training for what comes after."