The morning air carried a chill that cut through the walls of the Kira estate as Keran approached the gates of the Royale Académie des Exorcistes for the first time. The Academy rose like a fortress of knowledge and power, its towers spiraling into the heavens, bathed in the pale light of dawn. Every stone seemed to hum with centuries of study and arcane energy, a resonance that only those attuned could perceive.
Keran walked alongside his tutors and a retinue of servants, his small frame dwarfed by the enormity of the gates. Yet his eyes — golden, perceptive, unyielding — missed nothing. Every carving, every heraldic emblem, every whisper among the staff was cataloged, analyzed, and stored. Here was a new battlefield, not of swords and fire, but of knowledge, strategy, and subtle influence.
As they entered, a hush fell over the grand courtyard. Students of all ages moved in precise formations, practicing gestures that bent the air and called forth light and shadow. Their robes were embroidered with insignias of rank and mastery, and every movement exuded confidence — arrogance, in many cases. Keran observed silently. These were potential allies, but also rivals.
A tall boy, older and clearly accustomed to the Academy's hierarchy, approached immediately. His eyes, sharp and assessing, landed on Keran with a mixture of curiosity and disdain.
"You're the Kira brat?" he asked, voice dripping with mockery. "The youngest child of a baron who's probably forgotten your name? This place isn't for toys."
Keran's gaze met his evenly. "I am not a toy," he said, voice calm, steady, beyond his apparent years. "And I intend to learn everything this Academy has to teach."
The boy's expression faltered slightly, but pride prevented him from showing it. He sneered and turned, but Keran already noted his posture, the tension in his shoulders, and the slight irregularity in his walking gait — small details others would overlook, but crucial to understanding character and intent.
A tutor whispered by Keran's side, "Do not let them provoke you, Master Keran. The Academy is rigorous, and rivals test every newcomer."
Keran nodded, though his mind was already racing. Observation, understanding, anticipation. Each step within these walls was data. Every glance, gesture, and tone revealed alliances, ambitions, and weaknesses. Power would be measured not only by skill, but by foresight.
They were guided to a grand hall where instruction would begin. Here, the air vibrated with latent energy, and the faint hum of artefacts, old and new, filled the space. Students practiced rituals, conjuring light and shadow, while instructors moved among them, correcting errors with precision. Keran watched the subtle nuances — how each student manipulated the flow of energy, where their control faltered, and how the older students exerted influence over the younger ones.
A demonstration began. The eldest students formed a circle, invoking a ritual to summon spectral constructs — entities of concentrated energy. Their movements were elegant, their gestures precise, yet Keran observed the small cracks, the points of inefficiency. When the ritual ended, the constructs dissipated, leaving behind a faint aura of incomplete mastery. Keran's mind cataloged everything.
One of the instructors, noticing his intense observation, approached. "You watch closely, boy," he said, voice curious. "Most children your age cannot comprehend these techniques."
Keran inclined his head slightly. "I observe to understand, sir. Understanding precedes mastery."
The instructor's eyes narrowed in surprise, then gleamed with interest. "Perhaps this one is not merely a child."
The day progressed with tours of the Academy's vast library, practice halls, and chambers where artefacts were stored and studied. Keran's senses were constantly attuned to the subtle energies flowing through the rooms — the hum of ancient artefacts, the faint shimmer of protective wards, and the residual traces of rituals performed long ago. Each sensation fed into his understanding of the environment, of the forces he would one day command.
By afternoon, Keran was led to a classroom where a practical assessment awaited. Students were to manipulate small artefacts, channeling energy to complete precise tasks. Many struggled, their focus fragmented or misaligned. Keran, however, instinctively harmonized with the artefact placed before him. His fingers traced the runes, his mind calculated the flow of energy, and the artefact responded with a resonance that even the instructors found remarkable.
A collective murmur spread through the room as the object, previously dormant, began to glow, its hum aligning perfectly with the room's ambient energy. One instructor whispered to another, "I've never seen a novice perform with such precision… and so young."
Keran's eyes flicked toward the observing students. Some scowled, others whispered nervously. Already, rivalries were forming, alliances taking shape. He did not yet speak of power; he simply demonstrated it, letting observation sow respect and fear alike.
As the day drew to a close, Keran was escorted to his quarters. The room was modest yet well-appointed, a place for rest and reflection. He placed the artefact on a small pedestal and observed it in silence. The lessons of Alaric, the fire of vengeance, and the resonance that pulsed faintly within him were all present. He had survived the Academy's first test — not by brute force, but through observation, calculation, and understanding.
That night, as he lay in bed, he thought of the boy who had mocked him in the courtyard. Every rivalry, every challenge, every alliance — they are pieces of the larger game. He traced the faint mark of resonance on his palm, a reminder of the power he carried and the path he had chosen.
The Academy was alive, full of currents and shadows, knowledge and traps. And Keran, though still a child, understood his place within it. He was not merely a student. He was a predator in a den of fledglings, a mind that had seen the end and would now shape beginnings.
"I will master this world," he whispered to the shadows. "Every secret, every power, every ally and rival… they will all serve the fire I carry. And when the time comes, the world will remember the name Keran."
Outside, the moon rose over the Academy's towers, casting silver light across the courtyard. Shadows stretched long and thin, dancing like silent witnesses. And in those shadows, the beginnings of the boy's legend took form, ready to grow, ready to strike.