The days following the trial brought subtle changes to Kertia's life. No longer simply "the sickly boy," he was now "the apprentice necromancer," a title that stirred equal parts fear and fascination.
His friends, Tomas and Arielle, became constant companions. Together, they poured over dusty scrolls in the library's quiet corners, deciphering cryptic spells and forgotten lore. Arielle's sharp intellect complemented Tomas's steady loyalty, and Kertia found strength he had never known.
Yet, beyond their friendship, the academy's social order remained rigid. The noble students eyed Kertia with suspicion, and whispers of his "unnatural magic" spread like wildfire.
One afternoon, as the trio practiced a complex binding spell near the edge of the training grounds, Alric and his clique appeared, their faces twisted with malice.
"Playing with dead things again?" Alric taunted, stepping forward. "You'll only bring ruin to yourself."
Kertia's gaze hardened. "My power is not a curse, but a gift. Something you will never understand."
The tension was palpable. Suddenly, Alric raised a fireball, aimed at Tomas. Kertia reacted instinctively, summoning a barrier of ethereal bones that absorbed the flames.
The gathered students gasped.
Arielle stepped forward, her voice steady. "Enough, Alric. Your petty games end here."
Alric sneered but retreated, knowing better than to challenge the trio openly.
That night, Kertia lay awake, thoughts swirling like a storm. The burden of his divine legacy weighed heavily, but so did the bonds he was forming.
He knew the path ahead was dangerous—not just because of external threats, but because the magic he wielded was a constant test of his will.
With friends like Arielle and Tomas by his side, however, Kertia felt ready to face whatever darkness awaited.
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