Days at Aetherveil settled into a strange rhythm for Caelum. The initial shock and mockery from the other students morphed into a cautious curiosity, tinged with unease.
They gave him a wide berth in the hallways, their whispers following him like unseen shadows. The teachers, initially skeptical, now regarded him with a mixture of bewilderment and a grudging respect for his inexplicable abilities.
Sword class remained a tense affair. Valerius avoided direct engagement, his gaze flickering towards Caelum with a palpable fear. The other students, emboldened by Valerius's subdued demeanor, occasionally tested Caelum with clumsy attacks, only to find themselves disoriented by his uncanny awareness and the strange fragility of their own weapons upon contact with his simple wood.
Magic class was equally perplexing. While Caelum readily absorbed the theoretical aspects, his practical application remained stubbornly focused on the gentle emission of soft light. Instructors tried various techniques, urging him to channel different elements, but the result was always the same – a calm, unwavering luminescence that seemed to possess no offensive capability whatsoever.
They began to suspect his magic was fundamentally different, operating on principles they didn't understand.
Reya, however, persisted in her quiet observations. She often sought him out in the quieter corners of the Academy, her questions gentle and probing. She seemed less interested in the spectacle of his abilities and more in the person hidden behind the bandage and the quiet demeanor.
"You always talk about 'listening' to the world," she said one afternoon, as they sat beneath the shade of an ancient willow tree. "What does that mean? What do you hear?"
Caelum tilted his head, his unseen gaze seemingly directed towards the rustling leaves above. "It's not hearing as you know it. It's… feeling the vibrations, the intentions. The way the air shifts when someone moves quickly, the subtle resonance of different materials, the flow of energy when magic is being used. Everything leaves a trace, a whisper in the fabric of the world."
Reya frowned, trying to grasp the concept. "So you knew Valerius was angry even before he moved?"
"His anger had a weight to it, a sharp resonance in the air around him," Caelum explained. "Like a tightly strung cord about to snap."
"And the mean boy in the hall?"
A faint shadow crossed Caelum's expression. "His… his intent flickered. It became… empty for a moment. I don't understand it myself." The memory of that strange, vacant hum was unsettling.
One evening, as twilight painted the sky in hues of violet and gold, Caelum found himself drawn to the Academy's oldest section – a crumbling courtyard overgrown with moss and forgotten flowers. The air here felt different, quieter, the echoes of the past lingering like a faint melody.
He heard a soft sob. Following the sound, he found a young girl, barely a first-year, sitting on a weathered stone bench, her small frame shaking with tears. A tiny, empty birdcage lay beside her.
"Are you alright?" Caelum asked gently, his voice barely above a whisper.
The girl looked up, startled. Her eyes were red and swollen. "My… my little Pipkin flew away," she choked out. "I can't find him anywhere."
Caelum stood still, his head tilted slightly. He focused on the subtle sounds of the courtyard. The chirping of crickets, the gentle breeze rustling through the ivy-covered walls, the distant laughter of students. And beneath it all, a faint, frantic flutter.
"He went that way," Caelum said, pointing towards a gap in the crumbling wall. "Towards the old bell tower. I can hear his wings beating against the stone."
The girl's tear-streaked face lit up with a flicker of hope. She scrambled to her feet and ran in the direction Caelum indicated. A few breathless minutes later, she returned, clutching a small, yellow bird to her chest, her face beaming.
"You found him! Oh, thank you!" she cried, her voice thick with emotion. "How did you know?"
Caelum offered a small, almost shy smile. "The world… it whispers sometimes."
Reya witnessed this exchange from the shadows of a nearby archway. She saw not a display of strange power, but an act of quiet empathy, a connection to the world that transcended sight. The pieces of the puzzle that was Caelum Rivenhart began to shift in her mind. Perhaps his strangeness wasn't something to fear, but something… else.
That night, as the Academy slept, Caelum dreamt. It was a fleeting image, a whisper of a memory not his own, yet somehow deeply familiar. A woman's laughter, light and airy as wind chimes, the warmth of a hand clasped in his, the scent of starlight and blooming night flowers. Her face was a blur, a shadow in the starlight, but the feeling of connection was profound, a pang of something akin to longing in the silent landscape of his heart.
He woke with a start, the echo of the laughter fading like a distant song. The darkness of his room was absolute, yet he felt a faint stirring within him, a fragile echo of a joy he couldn't quite grasp.
It was the beginning to stir in the unfamiliar light of this world, drawn by a memory it couldn't yet name.