The battlefield was silent.

  The once grand academy grounds now lay in ruins, the aftermath of the battle leaving scars that would take weeks—perhaps months—to repair. The Minotaur King’s body had disappeared, as had the attackers who had orchestrated this assault. It was as if they had never been here, their existence wiped away like a passing storm.

  Aleron stood amidst the rubble, his breath heavy, his body still adjusting to the new power surging within him. The Abyssal Wraith Flame had become a part of him, its dark and ethereal fire coursing through his veins. He clenched his fists, feeling the lingering heat pulsate beneath his skin. The battle had ended, but the weight of what had happened pressed upon his mind.

  Students, instructors, and academy staff moved about, tending to the wounded. The casualties were few, but that did not make the losses any less painful. Each life lost was a blow to the academy, a scar that would remain long after the debris was cleared away.

  Kaelan, still gripping his sword, approached Aleron. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his gaze—an understanding, perhaps, or a confirmation of a suspicion he had long held.

  “You did well,” Kaelan finally said, his voice calm but firm. “But we need to talk.”

  Aleron wiped the sweat and soot from his brow, nodding. He had questions, and it seemed Kaelan had answers.

  As night fell, the academy worked tirelessly to restore order. Healers moved among the injured, their magic mending wounds and easing pain. The air was heavy with exhaustion and grief, but also with resilience.

  Kaelan led Aleron to his private chamber within the academy’s main building. The room was lined with ancient books and artifacts, their presence giving the space a weighty sense of history.

  Aleron sat across from him, his eyes sharp. “Why did you bring me to the library that day?”

  Kaelan let out a slow breath. “Because I suspected that flame was meant for you.”

  Aleron frowned. “You suspected?”

  Kaelan leaned back in his chair. “For years, I’ve tried to absorb that flame myself. I’ve spent countless days attempting to harness its power, but it rejected me every single time. I knew it required someone else—but finding that person was difficult. When I saw your performance in class, your instincts, your growth—it made me believe that you could be the one. And when the flame reacted to your presence, my suspicions were confirmed.”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Aleron absorbed this information, the puzzle pieces beginning to fit together. “So, you believed I was connected to it?”

  Kaelan nodded. “Yes. And after what happened today, there’s no doubt left in my mind.”

  Aleron flexed his fingers, feeling the faint pulse of the flame within him. It had accepted him, become a part of him. But there was still something missing—something just beyond his grasp.

  Kaelan studied him carefully. “That flame is ancient, far older than this academy. Its origins are unknown, but legends say it was wielded by warriors who existed before recorded history. It doesn’t just choose anyone.”

  Aleron remained silent, but deep within, he felt an unsettling familiarity. As if this power was not new—but rather, something long forgotten.

  Kaelan sighed and stood up. “I know you have more questions, and I will answer them—but not now. There are too many things that require my attention after today’s attack. We will speak later.”

  Aleron nodded reluctantly. He had wanted to ask more, but he understood. There was much to be done in the aftermath of the battle, and Kaelan had responsibilities to handle.

  By morning, news of the attack had spread beyond the academy. Parents and guardians arrived in waves, desperate to see their children safe. Some wept in relief as they found their sons and daughters unharmed, while others mourned those who had fallen.

  Aleron stood off to the side, watching the reunions unfold. He had never seen the academy like this—so vulnerable, so shaken.

  Then, he saw them.

  His parents.

  They rushed toward him, their faces filled with worry and exhaustion. His mother, her usually composed demeanor broken, pulled him into a tight embrace. His father, though quieter, placed a firm hand on Aleron’s shoulder, his grip conveying everything he didn’t say.

  “You’re safe,” his mother whispered. “Thank the gods, you’re safe.”

  Aleron felt an unfamiliar warmth spread through him. He had always known his parents cared for him, but this moment solidified it. They had feared for his life, had rushed to the academy the moment they heard the news.

  They stayed with him throughout the day, refusing to leave his side. That night, when the academy provided temporary lodging for visiting families, his parents chose to remain within the academy walls rather than return home. It was the first time in weeks that they had spent a night together under the same roof.

  For the first time since arriving at the academy, Aleron felt something he hadn’t expected.

  He felt like he belonged.

  That night, as exhaustion finally took hold and he fell into a restless sleep, the dreams came again.

  Blades clashing. Thunderous roars. The sky painted with fire and darkness.

  A battlefield stretched endlessly before him, warriors locked in deadly combat. Their figures were blurred, their faces indistinct, but their strength was undeniable. Each strike shook the heavens, each battle cry echoing through the void.

  In the distance, a massive palace loomed, its towering spires reaching into the storm-filled sky. It felt familiar—like a place he had once known, long ago. But how? He had never seen this place before… had he?

  Then, a voice.

  “Balance must be preserved.”

  The words rang through his mind, sending a chill down his spine. It was not a warning, nor a command. It was a statement.

  Aleron’s eyes snapped open, his heart pounding. The dream faded, but the feeling remained. He wasn’t sure what it meant yet, but one thing was certain:

  This was only the beginning.