The Royal Magic Academy was alive with whispered rumors and sideways glances. Kertia's presence had ignited curiosity, fear, and, most dangerously, scorn.
Each morning, as he walked through the grand courtyards, clusters of students parted like waves—some sneering, some merely cautious. The noble boy Alric was never far behind, his mocking gaze sharp and relentless.
"You really think you belong here, sick boy?" Alric jeered one afternoon as Kertia struggled to keep pace during physical training. "You're nothing but a shadow. Fragile, useless. This academy isn't for the weak."
Kertia's breath came in shallow gasps, his body aching with exhaustion. But his eyes held steady resolve.
"I may be weak now," Kertia said quietly, "but strength is not always measured by muscle or bloodline."
Before Alric could respond, Tomas stepped forward, fists clenched.
"Leave him alone," Tomas warned, his voice firm despite his smaller stature. "Kertia is stronger than you think."
Alric scoffed, but the crowd of students around them murmured in hesitation. Tomas's bravery had earned Kertia some allies, but it also marked him as a target.
That evening, Kertia retreated to the quiet refuge of the academy's tomb crypts—an eerie but familiar place where the dead whispered their secrets.
Lighting a single candle, he knelt before a pile of bones. Extending his hands, he murmured an incantation he had painstakingly learned.
The bones stirred, clattering softly as they reassembled into a skeletal warrior barely a foot tall. Its hollow eye sockets glowed faintly blue as it saluted Kertia.
"This is my first guardian," Kertia whispered, a rare smile touching his lips. "Together, we will grow stronger."
The small guardian bowed and vanished with a snap, leaving Kertia alone with his thoughts—and a rising determination.
Back in the grand hall, word of Kertia's necromantic abilities spread. Some whispered of dark magic, while others whispered in awe.
Arielle approached him after class, her eyes filled with curiosity.
"Necromancy is rare and dangerous," she said softly. "But you handle it with care. That is unusual."
Kertia looked up, surprise flickering in his gaze.
"It is my heritage… though I do not yet understand it fully," he confessed. "I must learn control, lest I lose myself to the darkness."
Arielle nodded. "Then let me help you."
For the first time, Kertia felt the weight of loneliness lift, replaced by the fragile hope of friendship.
But the academy was no place for mercy.
The noble council, watching closely, whispered warnings of the "undead sorcerer" rising within their walls.
And as Kertia's powers awakened, so too did the shadows lurking in the kingdoms—forces that would seek to exploit or destroy him.
The true test was only beginning.
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