The world didn't return all at once.
For Kairen, it came back in pieces — sound, smell, pain.
A deep roaring in his ears, like waves crashing in a storm. The sharp, metallic scent of dust and burned air. And pain — raw and heavy — spreading through his chest like fire.
He tried to open his eyes, but they stung. His body felt weightless and heavy at the same time, like it didn't belong to him anymore.
"He's losing consciousness!" someone shouted. The voice was close, trembling with fear.
Then came warmth — soft, pulsing warmth. A hand pressed against his forehead.
"Hold on, Kairen! Please, stay with me!"
The voice broke at his name. It was Lia.
Amid the haze of smoke and light, he caught sight of her – kneeling at his side, her green healing aura shimmering at her hands. Her hair matted against her cheeks, her skin pale as pale can be. The light began to flicker as her strength dwindled, but she never stopped.
She was sobbing openly, whispering his name over and over.
And then, heavier footsteps and more urgent voices. The healers arrived, their faces hard and serious. They lifted Kairen's limp body onto a floating cot. Lia did not let go. She continued to run alongside them as she poured a continuous stream of her magic into Kairen's wounds, her eyes bright and scared.
In the meantime, the arena was silent.
The air thrumming with sound only moments ago was now filled with gasps and whispers.
On the stands, Dain and Ilya were statues.
Dain's eyes were wide and his big hands balled up at his sides. The smile that started to take shape on his face did not spread to completion; it hung silently half-birthed, half-broken.
"What.... what was that?" he exhaled. "He moved like lightning."
Ilya's calm mask was gone. Her hands trembled slightly as she answered, "I saw."
Her voice was tight. "That wasn't just speed. That was something else."
Her eyes followed the healers carrying Kairen away. "Something that shouldn't exist."
The infirmary was full of the scent of fresh sheets and herbs. A thick air filled with the hum of healing magic enveloped them.
Lia remained seated beside Kairen, her hair tousled and her skin pale. Her hands still held a dim glow, though she was close to total exhaustion. She had put everything she had into halting the weird burns beneath his skin, burns that indicated something had happened with magic that no standard spell could cause.
The glow around her hands flickered feebly.
"Come on," she said in a hushed tone. "Just breathe...for me...please…"
At last, Kairen's breath steadied. The burning heat from his chest subsided, leaving behind nothing but the faint pulse beneath the skin where the mark still rested.
Lia's shoulders drooped. She slumped back, taking desperate gasps, her hands trembling.
A moment later, Dain and Ilya dashed into the room. Dain paused in the doorway, unwilling to approach.
"Is he alright?" Dain asked softly.
Lia nodded, although her voice wavered. "I think so. His body is healing, but something happened to his energy. It's like his magic turned in on itself — and then burned him."
"Magic?" Dain whispered. "But he doesn't—"
"He does now," Ilya said quietly. Her eyes were on Kairen's still face. "And it nearly killed him."
The door burst open.
"Elara!" Dain gasped.
Kairen's mother ran in, her face streaked with tears, Magister Kellan following behind her. She dropped to her knees beside the bed, her hands hovering just above Kairen's cheek, afraid to touch him.
"Kairen…" she whispered. "Please wake up."
Kellan said nothing. He stood back, arms crossed, his sharp eyes scanning the burns on Kairen's body.
"That movement," he murmured to himself. "That wasn't training. It wasn't even magic as we know it."
He looked at the faint glow under Kairen's shirt — the light leaking from the mark on his back. "Something ancient has awakened."
Far away, in a realm of endless night, a dark throne pulsed with fire.
The Demon King, Lord Malakor, lifted his head. His eyes, burning red, flickered blue for a single heartbeat.
Every flame in his hall trembled. The tortured souls bound within his weapons fell silent.
He felt it — a ripple through the fabric of existence.
It wasn't power that stirred the air. It was something older, rawer — a note of pure creation ringing through his world of ruin.
"What was that?" his deep voice rumbled.
The echo faded, leaving behind only unease.
Malakor leaned back on his throne of bone. "A voice from the other side," he muttered. "A song not meant for this world."
He turned to a kneeling demon in the shadows. "Find it. Whatever caused that pulse — find it. I want to know its name."
The demon bowed and vanished, leaving the throne room silent again.
When Kairen opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was light — soft and golden. The ceiling above him was white, the air faintly sweet from healing incense.
Then he saw a familiar face.
"Kairen!" His mother's voice trembled. She clutched his hand, tears spilling down her cheeks. "You're awake. Oh, thank the stars!"
He blinked slowly. His whole body ached, but the warmth of her hand steadied him.
Then came Dain's booming laugh. "You did it, man! You were amazing! You went whoosh! and Kaelan just—bam! Flat on the ground! It was insane!"
He swung his arms around, nearly knocking over a tray of medicine.
"Careful!" Lia scolded weakly, though a small smile appeared on her face.
Kairen let out a rough laugh that quickly turned into a cough. "You sound… way too excited for someone who almost saw me die."
Dain scratched his head. "Yeah, sorry. Just… dude, that was awesome."
Ilya stood by the window, arms crossed. Her usual sharp tone was gone. When Kairen looked at her, she quickly turned away.
But he saw it — the worry in her eyes.
Not just worry. Fear.
By morning, Kairen was strong enough to walk. His mother had wanted him to stay in bed, but he couldn't. The stillness made his chest tighten.
When he stepped outside, the air was cool and fresh, but something about the world felt… different.
Everywhere he went, people looked. Students who once ignored him now whispered as he passed. Their voices followed him — part awe, part fear.
He wasn't "the boy without magic" anymore.
He was something else now.
Kaelan's face flashed in his mind — the way the older boy had fallen, his eyes wide in shock.
Later that day, he saw Kaelan near the library. The once-proud mage froze when their eyes met, guilt flashing across his face. Without a word, he turned and walked away.
That evening, Kairen sat in the quiet courtyard with Dain, Ilya, and Lia.
The same courtyard where, weeks ago, he had broken down — feeling worthless, empty, invisible. Now the air was calm, filled with the sound of distant bells and rustling leaves.
Lia broke the silence first. "Kairen… what happened in the arena?" she asked softly. "That energy wasn't like anything I've felt before."
Kairen looked down at his hands. They were steady now, but he could still remember the sensation — that moment when everything inside him had cracked open, when the mark had burned like a second heartbeat.
"I don't know," he said. "I was on the ground, and I just knew I couldn't lose. Then everything went white. I felt… different. Fast. Strong. Like something else was moving for me."
He paused, his fingers curling into fists. "It didn't feel like me."
Lia bit her lip. "And now?"
He shook his head. "I tried to feel it again last night. Nothing. It's like it disappeared."
Dain groaned. "You're crazy if you think that was nothing. You saved yourself! You beat Kaelan! You're a hero, man."
Kairen smiled faintly. "A hero who doesn't understand his own power."
Ilya's voice was quiet. "Sometimes power isn't meant to be understood. Not yet."
The next afternoon, they trained again in the open yard. Sunlight hit their blades, scattering flashes of silver.
Kairen and Dain sparred until sweat dripped down their necks. The ring of metal echoed through the air.
But Kairen was slower now. The strange energy didn't come. His movements were strong, but normal.
"What happened to your lightning reflexes?" Dain teased, blocking another strike easily. "You left your 'whoosh' back in the arena?"
Kairen laughed breathlessly, lowering his sword. "Guess so."
Magister Kellan was watching from the walkway nearby. His arms were crossed, expression unreadable.
"You're trying to awaken it again," Kellan said as he approached.
Kairen nodded, frustration in his eyes. "But it's gone. I can't reach it."
"Power born from desperation rarely answers twice," Kellan said. "It comes when the soul is cornered."
He looked straight at Kairen. "Let's see if we can call it back."
He gestured to an aide. "Bring him a real blade."
Kairen blinked. "A real one?"
"Yes," Kellan said simply. "Now fight me."
The moment the duel began, Kairen barely saw the Magister move.
Waves of invisible force struck him again and again, throwing him back, knocking the air from his lungs. He hit the ground hard, rolled, and came up swinging — only to be blasted down once more.
Pain flared through his ribs, but he pushed himself up.
He tried to remember the feeling from before — the mark burning, his heartbeat racing, the rush of light — but it didn't come.
Every strike from Kellan pushed him closer to breaking. Dust rose around them. Students watching from afar whispered nervously.
Finally, Kairen dropped to one knee, his sword digging into the dirt. His vision blurred.
"It's no use," he gasped. "It's not there. Maybe… maybe it was just luck."
Kellan lowered his hand. "Or maybe it's waiting for something more."
Kairen remained silent. He simply gazed down at the floor, his chest moving in and out, a strange hollowness blossoming in him.
A part of him was thankful the power had not come back, but another part of him - a darker part - wished it had.
That evening, Kairen stood in front of the mirror in the twilight of his candlelit room.
When he pulled his shirt off, a stinging sensation swept across his back.
"What the hell?" He whipped around, eyes widened.
The mark - the winged pattern - lay illuminated and barely under his skin. A thin red crack lined through the center, as if something deep underneath was trying to escape.
He reached back, feeling the mark with his fingers. It burned, as if it was alive, pulsing with heat.
A soundless pulse rippled through him, just like a heartbeat, though it didn't belong to him.
He gazed into his own reflection. "Kaelan," he said in a whisper. "You left me a mark."
The mark glowed again - faint, blue-white light rippling through the contours of the pattern - and then it went still.
Kairen stayed at the mirror for a long time, watching the mark fade in line with the flashlight on his phone, while mirrored in candlelight his reflection faintly trembled.
And while the pain left his skin, the echo of that heartbeat never left.