The forgotten chamber beneath the South Annex breathed with old power.
No footsteps echoed here. No candles flickered. The walls themselves pulsed faintly with residual magic—runes long since faded still whispered to those who could hear.
Kael waited alone in the center of the training ring, arms folded behind his back, eyes distant as if staring through time. When the door creaked open behind him, he didn't turn.
"You're late," he said.
Rin stepped into the chamber, her boots crunching against ancient dust. Lyra followed silently behind, a faint glimmer of caution in her normally impassive eyes. Neither spoke. The heavy silence of the room wrapped around them like a cloak.
Kael finally turned. His face bore the same unreadable expression he wore in class—but down here, it seemed older. Worn. Shadowed by memory.
"You've both been chosen," he said simply.
Rin frowned. "For what?"
Kael gestured to the stone floor. Sigils glowed to life beneath their feet, spiraling outward in a complex lattice—layers of containment, testing, and something deeper. Something reactive.
"This chamber is called the Crucible. Built centuries ago to train flamebound mages. It reads intent. It reflects weakness. And it amplifies pain."
Rin stepped back. "And you're putting us in that?"
Kael's voice was calm, but sharp. "You carry a force inside you that was sealed for a reason. If you cannot learn to control it, it will consume you—and everyone around you."
He looked to Lyra. "And you? You're here because you chose to follow the truth, even when warned not to."
Lyra didn't flinch. "I don't regret it."
Kael nodded once. "Good. Because this lesson is not about spells or sigils. It's about survival."
He drew a circle in the air. Two rings of light erupted on the floor, one encasing Rin, the other Lyra. Their edges flared as if eager for violence.
"You will fight," Kael said.
Rin's eyes widened. "You want us to hurt each other?"
"No," Kael replied. "I want you to test each other. Pain is a consequence, not a goal. Control is the lesson."
He raised a hand, and the rings pulsed.
"Begin."
For a moment, neither girl moved. Then Lyra vanished.
Not blinked—not teleported. Just gone.
Rin spun, instinct flaring. A blade of air slashed toward her from above. She leapt back, barely dodging as the wind tore through her sleeve.
Lyra appeared behind her, casting silently.
Rin countered with a flare of flame, but Lyra was already moving again. Speed and precision. That was Lyra's magic—clean, honed, surgical. Every motion a calculation.
Rin, by contrast, was fury barely contained.
She let her fire out in bursts—smaller than before, but hot enough to warp the air. One blast caught Lyra's shoulder and sent her sprawling. The scent of scorched fabric filled the room.
"Focus!" Kael snapped. "Not rage. Not fear. Control it."
Rin ground her teeth, holding her palms out. Flames flickered, dancing between her fingers like living creatures.
Lyra rose again, face tight with concentration. A quick weave of runes, and the wind surged again, creating a vortex between them.
Rin didn't dodge.
She walked into it—let it buffet her, batter her—and then, from within the eye of the wind, released a flame that was not hers.
It was darker. Thicker. Fire that screamed.
The vortex collapsed. Lyra shielded herself in a last-second spell, but even so, the impact hurled her across the ring.
Kael raised his hand. Instantly, the flames vanished. The runes dimmed.
"Enough."
The girls stood gasping, shoulders heaving.
Kael walked between them. He looked at Lyra first. "Your control is impressive. But don't mistake speed for strength."
Then to Rin. His eyes held hers for a long moment.
"You've tasted the true Flame. And you kept it from consuming you. That matters."
Rin looked down at her trembling hands. "It didn't feel like mine. It felt… ancient."
"It is."
He turned to the wall behind him. With a flick of his fingers, the stone peeled back, revealing an old mural hidden beneath layers of dust and illusion.
A warscape. Figures wreathed in fire and shadow, clashing under a blackened sky. At the center, one figure towered above them all—wreathed in jet flame, a rune on his chest burning like a star.
Rin stepped closer. The rune was familiar.
"Obsidian Flame," she whispered.
Kael nodded. "You are part of something older than this Academy. Older than this kingdom. Once, there was a war—and the Flame was its heart. That war was never truly ended. Only… buried."
Lyra folded her arms, voice low. "And you? You were part of it too."
Kael's silence was answer enough.
"I fought in the last uprising," he said quietly. "I watched cities fall, watched children burn. I turned myself in to stop it. They called it exile, but it was mercy."
Rin looked up at him. "Why come back?"
Kael met her gaze. "Because it's starting again. And this time, I won't stand aside."
Elsewhere – The Vault of Iron Glass
Far beneath the Academy, Magister Helvar entered the ancient vault. The stone door hissed open, revealing rows of forgotten artifacts—each one humming with dark power.
At the very end stood a pedestal. Upon it, encased in stasis, floated a broken staff of obsidian metal. Its core was a swirling shard of crystal, cracked but pulsing with heat.
The Ashbrand.
Helvar stared at it, his voice a whisper. "The Flame returns. And so must the blade."
He placed his palm on the pedestal. Blood welled. The vault sealed once more.