The morning haze hung over Selun'Thael like a veil of thin silver, casting a muted glow across the sprawling city. In the lower districts, where the spires of floating estates did not shine, the Veinless Ground stirred slowly to life. It was the section of the Celestial Academy reserved for those who hadn't awakened a single bloodline vein. The forgotten, the mocked, the remnants of a system that prized power over potential.
Nocth sat cross-legged on the rough stone floor of the courtyard, arms resting on his knees. His silver-blue eyes stared at nothing and everything, lost in some place even he didn't understand. Since the mythic performance the night before, something had shifted in him.
Whispers.
He couldn't place them, but they stirred like echoes of a dream, brushing the edge of his mind and vanishing before he could grasp them. Even now, as wind rustled through the ancient ivy creeping along the courtyard wall, he could feel it — a presence, silent but watching.
Across from him, Imius stretched his arms and yawned loudly. "They say another set of brats from the highbloods is arriving today. Prob'ly to look down on us like we're dirt."
Nocth said nothing.
"Y'know," Imius continued, "I heard someone in our dorm used to be from a noble line. Tarn said she saw them practicing late at night with a light affinity that bent like ribbons. Creepy stuff."
The door to the training yard creaked open. Instructor Vael stepped in, his expression a fixed scowl of contempt, robes dragging across the cracked stone. Behind him stood a girl — veiled, silent, her presence like cold mist.
Shae.
Nocth's gaze flicked to her without understanding why. She rarely spoke. She barely reacted. But there was something in the way she walked — light yet grounded — that whispered of a power far beyond their level. Not noble. Not commoner. Something else.
Instructor Vael gestured sharply. "Today, you will spar. I expect nothing but humiliation. Prove me wrong and I'll grant you silence instead of mockery."
Muffled laughter rose from the other side of the yard where a few low-rank students lingered. Imius elbowed Nocth. "Hey, want to bet on which of us gets slammed first?"
Nocth stood without answering.
When the spar began, Nocth moved clumsily at first. He dodged instinctively but struck with no formal technique. Yet in the seconds between dodges, his opponents would falter — as if something unseen pressed into their senses. A discomfort they couldn't name.
Shae stood at the edge of the ring. Her gaze never left Nocth.
He paused mid-swing as another wave of that strange feeling washed over him. Like a memory that wasn't his.
A man with a broken sword standing before a gate of stars.
A woman's laughter woven into thunder.
And then it was gone.
Vael narrowed his eyes. "You, boy. Nocth. That instinct — who taught you that?"
"No one," Nocth replied quietly. "I just move."
Vael didn't press, but a flicker of unease crossed his face.
From the viewing bridge above, unknown to those below, three observers from different sub-clans stood hidden behind a concealing veil. One of them — robed in the sigil of the Qoruth Clan — turned to the others. "That boy. There's something about him. I want him watched."
Back on the training ground, Imius limped toward the dorms, laughing. "Hey Nocth, remind me never to spar with you again. I value my ribs."
Nocth didn't laugh. He turned slightly to glance at the girl still standing under the willow tree. Her veil rustled faintly, though there was no wind.
Shae's gaze was distant.
And somewhere, far beneath Selun 'Thael, the silent echo of a buried will stirred — faint, but awakening.