Behind them, the screams of the guards mingled with the roar of the Ash Gargoyle, and before them stood the gates of Cloud Peak Academy. They were not mere wooden doors, but two colossal slabs of white meteoric metal, engraved with complex magical runes pulsing with a faint blue light. These gates were the only reason the Eclipse Cult hadn't overrun the place.
Kael shoved his silver-armored shoulder against the gate with all his might, but it didn't budge an inch.
"It's magically sealed!" Lyra shouted from beneath her helmet, her eyes scanning the fog behind them in fear. "It won't open by force, and if we stay here, they'll find us!"
In that desperate moment, the limp body Kael was dragging stirred. The old man, Faren, raised his trembling hand, covered in blood and ash. With immense difficulty, he pressed his bloody thumb against a hidden rune in the corner of the iron gate and whispered a single word in a harsh, ancient tongue that Kael couldn't understand.
Hummm!
The runes carved into the metal flared with a blinding white light. The two colossal gates silently parted, leaving a narrow gap barely wide enough for one person to pass. The three of them quickly slipped inside, and the moment they crossed the threshold, the gates slammed shut behind them with a muffled thud, plunging the area back into the silence of the grave.
They had survived.
They collapsed into a dark alleyway behind the gates, reeking of damp moss and ancient stone. Kael ripped off his silver helmet and threw it to the ground, panting heavily as if his lungs were on fire. Beside him, Lyra leaned her back against the cold wall, her silver eyes scanning the shadows with lethal caution.
On the ground, Faren was coughing up black blood, the gate's spell having drained the last drops of his energy.
Kael quickly knelt over his master, trying to untie the rough ropes they had used for their disguise. "Hold on, Master, we made it... We're inside the Academy now."
"Do not touch him, you ignorant fool."
The voice came from above, cold and faint as the rustling of autumn leaves.
Kael flinched, drawing his broken sword in a fraction of a second and pointing it toward the darkness. But before he could complete his motion, an impossibly thin silver thread glinted in the air. It coiled around Kael's wrist like a steel viper, and in one invisible, fluid motion, his entire arm was paralyzed. The sword slipped from his grasp, clattering noisily onto the cobblestones.
From atop a broken stone statue, a man dropped down. He wasn't wearing the luxurious white robes Kael had imagined the Academy's leaders would wear; instead, he wore a frayed grey coat. His unkempt hair was streaked with grey, and his eyes... his eyes carried the coldness of a man who had seen countless corpses.
The man ignored Kael entirely, treating him like an annoying fly. He didn't even glance at Lyra, who was tightly gripping her dagger. He walked with silent steps toward the old man lying on the ground.
He knelt beside Faren and brushed the ash-stained white hair from his face. For a single second, those cold eyes flickered with something akin to ancient sorrow.
"Thirty years..." the man whispered, his voice barely audible. "Thirty years, and now you return to us in this pitiful state? The man who should have sat upon the White Throne, now wearing peasant filth."
Kael didn't understand a single word, but he watched as the man pulled out a small glass vial containing a glowing green liquid and let a few drops fall between Faren's lips. The old man's convulsing body gradually relaxed, and his breathing returned to a steady rhythm.
The man stood up and, finally, turned his eyes toward Kael. He scanned the blood-stained silver armor the young man wore, then looked at the broken sword on the ground.
"A rusty sword, and armor stolen with a cowardly stab in the back," the man said, his tone devoid of any respect. "I assume you are his blacksmith boy. I didn't expect the old fool to collect garbage in his exile. I am 'Orik'. Carry your master and follow me, before the stench of your blood attracts the hunting hounds of this Academy."
Kael wanted to snap back. He wanted to tell him that he was the one who killed the guard, and that he possessed power this world had never seen. But he remembered Faren's golden rule: Metal that screams too early breaks under the hammer. Kael swallowed his pride, hoisted his master onto his back, and followed Orik.
As they ventured deeper into the Academy, Kael began to notice things that didn't align with the legends he had heard. The vast courtyards were nearly empty. The grand marble statues of the Academy's knights were defaced or broken. Worse yet, the high walls were covered in hairline cracks, emitting faint, fading pulses of blue magic, as if the entire Academy was slowly dying under an invisible siege.
Finally, they entered a massive hall illuminated by crystal chandeliers. Here, life pulsed. Dozens of disciples—young men and women—wore pristine white silk robes adorned with gold threading. They were talking confidently, practicing summoning small fireballs or forming water shields.
But the moment Orik's group entered, all movement ceased.
Every eye turned toward Kael. A young man wearing the silver armor of the enemy state, dripping with dried blood, carrying a filthy old man reeking of ash, followed by a girl hiding her face beneath a black cloak.
Whispers began to fill the hall like a swarm of bees.
"Is that a prisoner from the Eclipse Cult?"
"Look at his weapon... Could a low-class mortal really cross the bridge?"
"What a disgusting stench... How could Master Orik allow these insects into the Sacred Hall?"
Their gazes weren't filled with fear or curiosity; they were filled with absolute disgust. They looked at him as if he were a contagious disease. A blond youth, holding a magic staff embedded with a ruby, stepped forward and blocked their path.
"Master Orik," the youth said with an arrogant smile, not even bothering to look at Kael. "Have we started accepting village refugees into our Academy? Did we not learn from the previous incident of betrayal?"
Orik stopped and eyed the youth from the corner of his eye. "Save your pathetic spells for tomorrow's training, 'Cyril'. This old man is under my personal protection."
Then, Orik nodded toward Kael, making no effort to defend him. "As for the boy... he is merely a baggage handler. You may ignore his existence."
Kael felt the flames of the "Azura Core" churn within his chest, reacting to the rage squeezing his heart. The youth named Cyril finally looked at Kael, smirking mockingly as he saw the fury in the blacksmith's eyes.
"A baggage handler?" Cyril laughed with disdain. "Make sure to clean the hall after you leave, you silver dog. We don't like foul odors here."
Kael didn't utter a word. He locked his eyes onto Cyril's face, carving every detail of it into his memory. Clean the hall... Kael thought to himself, tightening his grip on Faren's arm. Soon enough, white-robed boy... I will cleanse this entire Academy of people like you.
"Move," Orik ordered coldly, heading toward the abandoned rear wings.
And so, Kael entered his supposed sanctuary, not as a hero, but as an outcast thrust into a cage of white wolves.