The halls of the Royal Magic Academy buzzed with anticipation. The term was halfway through, and the students were preparing for the midterm evaluations—a rigorous series of tests that could shift their tier rankings or, for some, force expulsion.
Kertia walked through the stone corridors, clutching a small leather-bound book of necromantic spells. His body still bore the faint pallor of illness, but his spirit had grown stronger than ever. He was no longer the sickly child who had arrived months ago; instead, he was becoming something far greater—though he barely understood the full extent of what he was becoming.
In the grand dining hall, chatter and laughter filled the air, but beneath the surface, tension simmered. The noble students, led by Alric, continued their subtle campaign of exclusion and intimidation.
"Did you hear?" whispered one noble girl to another. "They say Kertia can raise the dead. That's dark magic—against the laws of the gods."
"But he's the Guardian's reincarnation, isn't he?" the other replied cautiously. "That power... it's ancient."
Across the hall, Arielle caught Kertia's eye and gave a reassuring nod. Tomas, sitting beside her, offered a quiet smile.
Despite the warmth of their friendship, Kertia could feel the weight of eyes judging him. He wondered how long he could keep the shadows at bay.
Later that day, in the secluded courtyard where students often practiced magic away from prying eyes, Kertia and his friends convened.
"I've been reading about the ancient deities," Arielle began, unfolding a map covered in glowing runes. "There are legends about the Guardian of the Mausoleum descending to the mortal world in times of great upheaval."
Kertia traced the map with his finger, stopping at a cluster of ruins far beyond the academy's borders. "If I am truly his reincarnation, my fate might be tied to those places."
Tomas frowned. "Do you think this means danger?"
"More than danger," Kertia said softly. "It means responsibility."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows over the kingdom, an uneasy feeling settled over Kertia. He often sensed something lurking beyond the veil—an unseen force watching, waiting.
One night, as he prepared to rest, a faint chill crept into his room. His bones ached not from illness but from something far older.
Suddenly, a whisper echoed through the darkness—a voice neither friend nor foe.
"Kertia... the dead stir... the balance shifts..."
The candle flickered, and shadows danced across the walls.
Kertia's eyes snapped open. His hand instinctively reached for the amulet given by his father—a symbol of protection. Yet, no magic surged from it.
He whispered to the night, "I am ready."
The next morning, word arrived that a disturbance had been detected near the ancient ruins marked on Arielle's map. Creatures long thought extinct had begun to stir, and strange undead sightings had been reported by travelers.
The academy's elders convened an emergency council. The Principal's eyes searched the crowd before settling on Kertia.
"You carry the blood of the Guardian," she said solemnly. "The fate of our world may rest in your hands."
Kertia felt the weight of destiny press upon him like a mountain.
The stage was set.
Beyond the academy's walls, darkness was gathering.
Kertia's journey from frail boy to the kingdom's protector was only just beginning.
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