Kallen returned to his room, slamming the door with his foot. His boots were thrown into a corner. His jacket was thrown onto a chair. He flopped onto the bed, face-first into the pillow, and lay there for a long time, listening to the wind rattling the shutters outside.
My body ached. Especially my arms. The new coach, as gray as death, decided that Kalen was the best candidate for "advanced understanding of magical limitations through physical overcoming."
"Die, Academy," he whispered into his pillow. "Let the airship fuck you."
Unfortunately, there was a thunderclap outside.
He chuckled. Then he sat down. He put his head in his hands.
Tomorrow is the thirteenth.
"Shadow. The weakest in ten years."
"Abnormally low activity".
"Almost zero ripple."
"There may be a scanning error."
He heard it over and over again. At every round table, in the hallways, even from the students who didn't bother to hide their surprise. A weak Shadow was almost a disgrace. It was almost an outcast.
But Kalen knew. He could feel it. There was something in him. Not "almost," not "slightly," not "possibly." Something dark, viscous. It didn't scream. It waited.
As if...
It's as if he's afraid of being noticed too soon.
He reached for his wrist. He pulled up his sleeve.
A tattoo. Almost invisible, ash-colored. A crooked circle with jagged cracks hidden within. No glowing lines, no resonance. But it's there. It's silent. As if it's waiting for something.
He held his hand up to the light.
And for a second—a short, damn-short second—the cracks moved.
"Yeah," he muttered, quietly. "Bitch. So I wasn't imagining it."
A knock.
Sharp, short. At the door.
Kalen jumped.
"Who's there?" The voice is hoarse, like a wolf falling asleep.
"Me," came a voice from the other side. "Rayna."
"Fuck."
He quickly pulled on a uniform shirt, shoved his hair behind his ears, and ran to the door. He opened it.
She was standing there as if she hadn't left since morning. She was wearing the same dress, and her eyes were still red. But she had a bag in her hands.
"It's your birthday tomorrow," she said, as if by chance. "I hate surprises. So here you go."
"You..." He didn't even know what to say. "Are you following me?"
— No. I just know how to read personal documents. Unlike some people. You forgot that they're publicly available, by the way. Sad.
"Thanks, I guess," he said, taking the bag. Inside was a small silver bracelet with thorn-shaped carvings. Thin. Almost weightless.
"It enhances the flow of aether. A little. But you never know when you'll need it. Maybe your 'pathetic Shadow' will wake up and burst out like in a cheap novel."
"If it breaks out, the first person to burn is the one who says it," he snorted.
She smiled. Almost sincerely.
"Let's see.
Reina turned away and walked down the hallway, leaving a trail of bitterness and magic in her wake.
Kallen closed the door. Fell back on the bed. Clutched the bracelet in his hand.
"Tomorrow. Let's see what kind of shit you've got in store for me, Shadow. Just don't fuck it up if it starts."
He lay down and closed his eyes.
In his dreams, he heard a voice. A whisper. Something ancient. Something that breathed in the corner of the room. In his chest. In his wrist.
"Wake up."
***
It was the day of the birth. The light fell through the stained glass windows of the corridor too calmly. The air in the mansion seemed denser than usual. The silence was not peaceful, it was oppressive. It made you swallow, to crouch inwardly, as if before a storm.
Kalen walked barefoot across the cold floor, buttoning up his shirt cuffs. He had been summoned "upstairs" to the Hall of Inheritance, the Lionheart family's private throne room. This meant only one thing: his father was preparing a performance.
"Fuck, I can't get any sleep," said Kalen, who was sleepy and wanted to sleep.
"Well, they're all aristocrats here, and I can't let my family down, even though it's a fake family that I don't really know.
***
"Oh, I think I'm dressed properly. I honestly love black suits."
The nobles turned around.
"Oh, you're awake," someone in the left row said sarcastically.
"He failed the scan in disgrace. It's strange that he was even invited."
"The Lionhearts must have problems with their heritage if they're betting on someone like that."
Kalen walked past without looking at anyone.
"Come here," my father said.
He obeyed
"Today is your fifteenth birthday. Today you receive the symbol of your family's maturity, the Shadow Ring. Are you ready?"
- Yes, - briefly.
The father nodded. He handed over a velvet box.
Inside, there is a black ring with a snake carving that bites its own tail.
Kallen took it. But before he could put it on, someone snorted loudly.
"The weakest Shadow in a decade... His ring would rather burn than bond."
Kalen slowly turned around. The guy in the blue uniform was talking. He was tall, with snow-white hair. Edgar Valsir was the heir of another ancient house.
"Repeat it," Kalen's voice was calm, but there was a tremor in it.
"I said your Shadow is a disgrace. And your ring is a farce."
Kallen approached. Slowly.
Edgar took a step forward. He smiled.
"Or do you want to check it out?" — What is it? " he whispered.
And then Kalen struck. Without warning. Straight to the jaw.
Edgar flew back, crashing into the table. The wine glasses crashed to the floor. The fabric was covered in blood.
The next second, two guards attacked Kalen.
A voice cut through the din:
— Stop. Leave it. Let it stand.
Silence.
"Kalen," his father said quietly, "you've forgotten who you are."
"No," he wiped the blood from his hand. "I just reminded them. All those bitches."
After that, Kallen and his family went to have lunch separately, where Kallen had a stern conversation with his father, but not too stern. His father understood why he did what he did when he was expected to do something and he was too weak. Anyone would have done the same...