The second trial was supposed to test "perception."
That's what the announcement said.But everyone knew what it really meant.
Illusions. Mind traps. Fear magic.
It was held in the Hall of Echoes—an underground vault carved from starlit blackstone, where sound warped, thoughts twisted, and nothing was truly what it seemed. Only students trained in mental defense were expected to last more than ten minutes.
Calix didn't even know how to cast a ward.
But he'd been surviving fear his whole life.
That had to count for something.
As the students waited in the staging hall, cloaks drawn and whispers quiet, Calix stood alone. His harness hung under his academy coat, light as a secret, and he carried nothing else—no blade, no charm, no sigil of power.
Lysena passed him without a word. Her eyes burned with focus.
Thorian smirked. "Try not to cry, brother. I'd hate to mop the stone with your tears."
"I'll do my best," Calix said, smiling slightly.
He was getting good at not flinching.
The Hall of Echoes was darker than he expected.
Not pitch black—but that strange kind of twilight that felt like you were underwater, or inside a dream that didn't belong to you. The ceiling disappeared into mist. The floor was a mirror of black crystal.
No doors. No exits.
Just silence.
Until it wasn't.
A voice echoed—not out loud, but inside his head.
"Face yourself."
A shimmer of silver fog gathered before him—and then solidified.
Into… himself.
Same face. Same clothes. Same scar under his jaw.
But the eyes were wrong. Cold. Empty.
"You don't belong here," the other Calix said.
"Yeah, well," the real Calix muttered. "Get in line."
"Even the sky didn't want you," the double said. "You're not Skyborn. You're skybroken. A child playing pirate."
"I survived," Calix said, fists clenched.
"You hid."
"I trained."
"You begged."
"I kept going," Calix snapped.
The double smiled—and lunged.
They fought in silence. Each blow felt like hitting a shadow, but every strike landed with bruising weight. Calix dodged, blocked, countered. Not perfectly—but enough to stay standing.
Every move was a memory.
The flames that took his family.The stares at the palace.The bruises no one saw.The endless silence of being unwanted.
The double struck again—and this time, Calix let it come.
And as it hit, he whispered: "You're not all I am."
The world shook.
The mirror-floor cracked.
The fog exploded outward.
And suddenly, he was standing in the real chamber again—alone. Breathless. Alive.
In his hand was something new: a single feather, glowing faintly with silver light. Not conjured. Not gifted.
Earned.
Outside the Hall, instructors stared.
"Ten minutes exactly," one murmured.
"But he's ungifted," another said. "How—?"
Archmistress Vaelora said nothing.
But as Calix passed her, she spoke quietly. "Tell me—did the hall give you anything?"
Calix hesitated. Then showed her the feather.
For the first time, she looked at him differently. Not as a project.
But as a threat.Or maybe… a possibility.
She nodded once. "Keep it. You'll need it sooner than you think."
That night, Calix and Mira met on the high balcony outside the library.
"I saw the scores," she said. "You passed."
"Barely."
"You came out with a relic. That's not 'barely,' Calix. That's legend material." She paused. "Something's happening to you. I don't know if it's magic or... something older. But it's waking up."
Calix opened his palm. The feather still glowed faintly, like it breathed with the wind.
"I think it was always there," he said quietly. "I just had to stop hiding from it."
Mira looked at him, softer now. "You're changing."
He met her eyes. "Good."
Because if he could change—he could survive.If he could survive—he could fly.And if he could fly…
The sky would never forget his name.