The morning sun poured through the tall stained-glass windows of the Royale Académie's main hall, painting the stone floors with shards of color. Students of varying ages assembled in disciplined rows, their robes fluttering faintly as they adjusted their stances. The air was thick with anticipation and the faint hum of latent energy, which vibrated through the floor like a living pulse. Keran, standing among the youngest cohort, felt the resonance of the room settle over him like a mantle.
He observed quietly, as always. Each student's posture, every subtle movement of their hands, every glance exchanged, told him more than words ever could. The instructors moved among them, assessing readiness, their eyes sharp and discerning. Keran's own eyes flicked over the array of artefacts placed before them — crystal spheres, ancient wands, and intricately carved talismans — each humming with dormant potential.
The lead instructor, Master Thalion, cleared his throat. "Today, we begin the first practical exercises in exorcism. Remember, an artefact is not a tool merely to be held; it is an extension of your will, a reflection of your understanding of the forces that bind the world. To control one is to understand the currents of reality itself."
Keran's small hand brushed the edge of a crystal orb. He felt the faint pulse beneath his fingers — not strong, but enough to whisper secrets of alignment, resonance, and potential energy. The instructor's gaze passed over him briefly, and he sensed the faint spark of recognition.
"Let us begin," Master Thalion continued. "Pair yourselves. Observe, focus, and channel. Those who falter will learn the consequences of carelessness."
Keran moved deliberately toward a nearby desk, selecting a small, spherical artefact etched with faint silver runes. The object pulsed in his hands like a heartbeat. He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing on memory, instinct, and the subtle echoes of the Threshold still lingering deep within him. The hum of energy responded immediately, harmonizing with the intent he projected.
The boy beside him, a scrawny student named Lydric, hesitated. "I… I can't… it's too… strong."
Keran's eyes opened slowly, calm yet intense. "Strength is measured by control, not force. Focus your mind, not your arm."
He guided Lydric's hand, demonstrating the flow of energy with subtle adjustments. The crystal sphere lifted slightly, hovering, then spun in response to Keran's direction. A small murmur ran through the surrounding students. A few glanced toward the boy, their expressions flickering between astonishment and irritation.
Master Thalion approached, his gaze narrowing. "Interesting," he muttered, as the sphere continued to respond fluidly to Keran's commands. "This one… understands the essence, not merely the surface."
The exercises continued, each student taking turns manipulating their artefacts. Keran's performance remained impeccable. Where others struggled to maintain even a basic resonance, he harmonized effortlessly, the faint glow of energy forming patterns that suggested comprehension far beyond his years. Observers whispered, noting his precision and control.
During a break, a group of older students approached, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and thinly veiled scorn. One, a tall girl with silver-streaked hair, spoke first. "So this is the Kira child. The one everyone's talking about. You think you can match the older students?"
Keran's lips curved faintly, not in arrogance, but in calm calculation. "I do not think. I observe, I understand, and I act accordingly."
Her eyes narrowed. "We'll see how long your observation keeps you alive in this Academy."
The challenge was implicit, and Keran cataloged every detail: the way she held her wand, the tension in her shoulders, the cadence of her voice. Rivalry, he knew, was as much about information as it was about skill.
The afternoon sessions introduced rituals to cleanse minor spirits, exercises meant to test both focus and ingenuity. Keran excelled, adapting quickly to each task, manipulating energies with finesse. Even when confronted with unexpected variables — a misaligned sigil or a resistant artefact — he responded instinctively, altering his approach, predicting outcomes, and stabilizing the energies.
By the end of the day, Keran had completed tasks that even older students had struggled with. The murmurs of admiration mixed with envy spread across the hall, and instructors began to take careful note. Master Thalion, in particular, approached him privately.
"You possess a rare affinity," he said quietly, his voice measured. "Not merely for control, but for perception. Most students learn artefacts; you communicate with them."
Keran inclined his head slightly, thoughtful. "Artefacts speak truth to those who listen."
Thalion's eyes widened briefly, as if the boy had spoken a hidden truth. "Keep that understanding, and it will serve you well. But remember, even the brightest flame can attract darkness."
Keran nodded, internalizing the warning. Every lesson, every encounter, was a piece of strategy. Each observation, each interaction, was data. And all of it would feed the plan he was already constructing in his mind.
That night, in his quarters, Keran sat cross-legged before the artefact that had performed flawlessly earlier. Candlelight flickered, casting long shadows. He whispered softly, almost to himself:
"Observation first, understanding second, mastery third. The Academy is alive, full of currents and obstacles. I will navigate them all."
A faint vibration pulsed through the orb, responding to his intent. For a moment, it hovered, spinning slowly, as if acknowledging the presence of one who could truly hear it.
Keran knew the path ahead would be fraught with rivalries, hidden dangers, and challenges that would test not only skill but will. Yet he also understood something deeper: the Academy was not merely a place of study — it was a crucible, and he was ready to forge himself within it.
The first day of classes ended, but Keran's mind remained active. Every detail from the courtyard confrontation to the orb's hum was cataloged. He understood, with unerring clarity, that power was not given; it was taken, claimed, and preserved through intellect, strategy, and precision. And he, Keran, intended to claim it all.