The aftermath of the explosion hung heavy over the Academy.
Ash floated lazily through the fractured air like dying embers, glowing briefly before fading into the dark. The acrid tang of burnt mana clung to Rivan's throat, metallic and sharp — the scent of something powerful, unstable, and ancient that had no right existing here.
He stood in the middle of what used to be the eastern training hall, surrounded by a web of cracked tiles and smoking debris. The floor still pulsed faintly gold, mana sizzling in thin, fractured lines that stretched outward from where he stood — as though the world itself hadn't yet accepted what had happened.
A faint tremor passed through his hands. The veins beneath his skin still glowed dimly, threads of golden light flickering in and out, syncing with the beat of his heart. Each pulse came with a whisper of warmth, and beneath it, something colder… like another heartbeat that wasn't his.
From the far side of the room, voices rose — scattered, nervous.
Students peered from the shattered archways, whispering to each other in alarm. A group of faculty members in gray robes rushed past the open door, their mana lanterns cutting streaks of pale blue through the drifting smoke.
Liora stood among them, her normally immaculate uniform stained with ash and blood from a small cut at her temple. She was speaking to a warden, her tone firm, sharp — the kind of voice that silenced panic and restored order.
But when her gaze found him, her words faltered.
Rivan barely noticed the whispers spreading through the hall — Did he do that?, Is he hurt?, What kind of magic was that?
They faded into a hum, distant and hollow, as his focus narrowed to the girl who was now walking toward him through the haze.
Liora stopped a few feet away, eyes scanning the glowing marks around his feet. The air between them pulsed with faint mana, bending slightly as though refusing to stay still.
When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet — but not soft.
"Rivan… what did you do?"
He looked down, forcing a breath that scraped at his throat. "I didn't—"
He shook his head, words failing him. "I don't even know."
"I didn't call it," he said. "It called me."
The silence that followed was suffocating. Only the distant sound of wards being reset broke through — metallic chimes echoing somewhere beyond the windows.
"Mana doesn't behave like this," she said finally. "It doesn't answer people. It follows form, pattern, command. Unless…" Her eyes darkened, the sentence left unfinished.
"Unless what?" he asked.
She didn't answer. Her hand tightened on the staff at her side, faint ripples of light flickering through the crystal embedded in its core. For a moment, Rivan thought she might say something more — some truth she didn't want to. But then she just exhaled, her voice quieter.
"Whatever it is, it's not ordinary. And neither are you."
Rivan's chest tightened. "You think I wanted this? You think I asked for it?"
Liora flinched, then looked away. "That's not what I meant." She took a step back, her tone shifting into something almost weary. "You should rest. The headmistress will want to see you once the stabilizers are up."
Her boots crunched softly against the debris as she turned away. At the doorway, she hesitated — the smoke swirling around her like a second cloak.
"Listen carefully, Rivan," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "Whatever that power is… don't touch it again. Not until you understand what it's touching back."
Then she was gone, her silhouette vanishing into the chaotic glow of repair sigils forming outside.
Rivan stood in silence. The echo of her words lingered, cutting deeper than he wanted to admit.
He sank to his knees, fingers brushing the cracked floor. The mana residue still thrummed faintly beneath the surface — rhythmic, alive, almost like a pulse. His pulse.
"What are you?" he whispered.
No answer. Only that same faint hum.
Outside, the sounds of the Academy slowly returned — healers chanting restoration spells, sentries scanning the sky, students whispering rumors in the courtyards. Yet beneath all of it, something else stirred.
Far below the eastern towers, the Academy's foundations thrummed faintly, vibrating with an energy long dormant. Dust stirred in forgotten corridors, swirling around runes carved into the stone centuries ago.
Rivan's pulse echoed in the rhythm of the hum, golden veins flaring faintly beneath his skin. It wasn't just power — it was awareness. Something old, patient, and calculating was watching him, marking his every heartbeat.
A whisper threaded through the air, soft and cold, threading straight into his mind:
You are not alone. They are coming.
Rivan's chest tightened. He pressed a hand to it instinctively, as if he could still the echo of the warning. Shadows shifted around the courtyard, though no one was there — at least, no one he could see. The floating lanterns flickered, casting elongated shapes that seemed alive, like tendrils stretching toward him.
Somewhere, deep in the bowels of the Academy, the first threads of a long-forgotten cycle began to stir. And Rivan knew — in every pulse of golden light that wriggled beneath his skin — that the world was no longer waiting.
He wasn't just being observed.
He was being hunted.
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Author's Note
This chapter dives deeper into the Academy's hidden corners and Rivan's awakening power. Things are starting to shift, and the world around him isn't as quiet as it seems. Keep your eyes on the shadows — there's more stirring beneath the surface than anyone realizes.
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