The dawn light crept slowly over the horizon, casting a soft pink glow over the mountain.
Kael's chest was heaving, legs burning as he raced to the top. His heart thudded against his ribcage, his breath coming out in hard, uneven gasps. He felt the weight of the last two days' trek on his muscles, but still, he didn't stop. His mind focused on one thing — beating the Sage. This time, he was sure he would reach the summit before her.
But when he finally crested the ridge, the same sight greeted him.
The Sage sat there, still as the stones around her, her eyes closed, face serene. A soft breeze lifted her hair slightly, as if the wind itself knew not to disturb her. Kael bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. His whole body ached with the exertion, and yet, there she was — already waiting for him.
"How?" Kael muttered between breaths, frustration curling in his chest. His voice was a rasp, barely audible.
The Sage opened her eyes slowly, a knowing smile playing at her lips, but said nothing. Kael straightened, staring at her, his eyes narrowing slightly. Something about it wasn't right. No matter how hard he pushed himself, she was always there first. Always. It made no sense.
He swallowed his questions, instead dropping to the ground beside her. The morning chill was sharp against his skin, but he welcomed the cold. It was a brief distraction from the thoughts swirling in his mind.
"Let's begin," the Sage said softly, as the first rays of sunlight broke through the sky.
Kael nodded, pushing his doubts aside for now. They began the routine — dynamic stretching, yoga poses to loosen their bodies, breath control exercises to center their focus. The physical strain felt good, grounding him, giving him something to focus on other than the chaos that was always brewing in his mind.
But then came meditation.
Kael hated meditation. He hated the stillness, the silence, the way it made his thoughts rise like a storm he couldn't control. He sat cross-legged beside the Sage, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. The world around him faded, leaving only the sound of his own breathing, the slow beat of his heart.
"Fifteen minutes," the Sage had said.
For a moment, it was peaceful.
Kael closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. In. Out. In. Out. The moments stretched into what felt like eternity. His thoughts wandered, darting from one corner of his mind to another — his father's indifference, his mother's disappearance, his grandmother's warm embrace now lost to him. the nightmares he could never quite shake, the Vatsaraks, the mystery of the Vyrimka, all the strange things the Sage had been teaching him about, yet none of it made sense to him yet.
He cracked one eye open and checked his watch. 8:03.
Three minutes?!
His chest tightened with frustration. It felt like hours!
His patience snapped.
He sighed deeply, opening both eyes and letting his gaze drift over to the Sage. She was perfectly still, lost in her own peace, her breathing steady. She made it look so easy. But for Kael, it was impossible. His mind was too loud, too chaotic, always pulling him away from the present.
He lay back on the cold ground, staring up at the pale sky. Clouds drifted lazily overhead, unconcerned with anything below. His thoughts wandered again, as they always did. The nightmares had faded, but in their place were sleepless nights filled with thoughts of everything he had lost. His mother. His grandmother. Even his father, in a way.
He didn't know much about the Sage still. Didn't know much about the Vatsaraks, or even the Vyrimka, though he had been reading about them. What little he had learned felt like fragments of a puzzle he couldn't put together. Yet, the more he read, the more he felt as though he had always known these things.
They were familiar in a strange, unsettling way. But none of it made sense.
Nothing made sense anymore.
"As many thoughts as the mind conjures, the further you stray from peace," the Sage's voice broke through his thoughts.
Kael didn't look at her, his gaze still fixed on the sky. "There's no peace left in my life." he muttered, bitterness lacing his words. "Only chaos. Might as well accept it."
The Sage said nothing, but her silence wasn't dismissive. It felt like she understood, but she didn't offer any platitudes or advice. She rose gracefully, gesturing for him to follow. Kael sighed and got up, brushing the dirt from his pants as they began their descent.
The walk home was quiet, the kind of silence that sat heavy between them but didn't feel uncomfortable. Breakfast was equally silent, and Kael was grateful for it. He wasn't in the mood to talk. His mind was already consumed by the day ahead.
Today was the elimination round.
He had prepared for this, but it still gnawed at him. He didn't fear the challenge. He knew his worth, but the competition was fierce.
Rian Seth and Serene Cross were sharp.
They excelled academically, and the rivalry between the three of them had been constant for years. Today, they would finally determine who would represent the university at the Vyrimka debate competition.
Kael chose to attend the morning lectures, though he could have skipped them to prepare in the library. But the thought of sitting with Rian and Serene in that silent, tense space wasn't appealing. He would rather keep his mind occupied.
As the lectures ended, Kael made his way toward the seminar hall. His thoughts were focused on the debate, the questions that might come, how he would handle them. But then, a voice cut through his concentration.
"Kael!"
Kael turned, already knowing who it was before he saw Rian striding toward him, that familiar smirk plastered across his face. He felt the irritation buzzing under his skin already. He wasn't in the mood for this. He was never in the mood for this.
"Rian," Kael acknowledged with a curt nod, trying to keep his voice neutral.
Rian's smirk deepened as he stopped in front of him, his eyes glinting with something malicious. "Big day, huh? You sure you're up for it? Thought you'd still be mourning your grandmother's death." His tone was light, but the words were sharp.
Kael's jaw tightened, but he didn't give Rian the satisfaction of a reaction. His voice was steady when he replied. "I'll mourn her, and your loss, together. Don't worry."
Rian's eyes narrowed, just a flicker of anger in them before he forced a laugh. "We'll see about that, mama's boy."
Kael didn't respond. He turned and walked away, hearing the faint snickers of the students who had been eavesdropping. Rian always knew how to provoke him, how to dig at the parts of Kael he kept buried.
But Kael had learned to live with it.
It didn't bother him anymore. He was used to it.
The jab, the ridicule — it had all become background noise to him. He knew how to deal with it, how to ignore it, how to appear indifferent.
As he reached the door of the auditorium, something strange happened. The voice in his head spoke, clear and sudden.
"Your grandmother is not dead, Kael."
Kael flinched slightly, startled by the sudden intrusion. He hadn't expected it.
"Go back to not talking to me," Kael muttered under his breath, stepping inside the empty auditorium. He was early, as usual.
"I was giving you space," the voice replied, quieter now.
"I need more of it," Kael snapped, frustration simmering beneath the surface. The voice said nothing after that, and Kael was left alone with his thoughts.
He closed his eyes, focusing instead on the Sage's words from earlier that morning. "Sometimes you find peace in chaos, sometimes in silence, sometimes in happiness, and almost always in relief. You'll know your haven too."
Kael opened his eyes, looking around the quiet auditorium. There was no peace here, no sense of relief. Even in the silence, his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts.
As the minutes ticked by, the auditorium began to fill. The teachers entered first — Professor Aldwin, Professor Voss, Professor Clinton, Chairperson Dr. Stephen Monk, and Director Dr. Krystal Vernaniz. Then Rian and Serene arrived, both taking their seats beside Kael. The tension in the air was palpable.
The elimination round began.
At the center of the raised dais, Chairperson Dr. Stephen Monk cleared his throat, commanding silence. "Today's debate will cover the ethics of power centralization. Is concentrated power inherently dangerous, or does it allow for more effective leadership?"
"Concentrated power has always been the root of tyranny," Rian began, his tone carrying the weight of a lecture. "History shows us that when too much authority is vested in one person or group, it inevitably leads to abuse. The solution is simple: decentralization. The more people involved in governance, the harder it is for anyone to dominate. Power must be distributed, shared, to prevent corruption."
Kael expected this. Rian, the model student, who always said the right thing. Good thing Kael had no desire to match Rian's performative flourish.
"History might show that concentrated power can lead to abuse," Kael began, his voice measured, deliberate, "but it also shows that decentralization often results in indecision, stagnation, and chaos. When too many voices have equal say, decisions are rarely made — and when they are, they're diluted to the point of irrelevance."
He paused, letting his words sink in. "Power isn't the issue — it's who wields it. Competence matters more than the number of people holding power. A strong leader, even flawed, is more effective than a committee with no direction."
"But Kael," Serena said, her voice smooth, almost diplomatic, "you're making the assumption that concentrated power is somehow more efficient just because it's centralized. But history shows that when one person holds too much power, any mistake they make affects everyone under their control. Decentralization doesn't just spread decision-making — it diffuses risk. When power is shared, it's harder for any one individual to make catastrophic errors."
His eyes locked on Serena who sat diagonally to him. She was clever, but she was following Rian's lead. Kael could see the connection between them, the subtle exchange of glances. An almost united front.
"What you're describing is a fantasy, Serena," Kael said, his voice sharp. "Spreading power thin doesn't prevent mistakes. It spreads the blame. When too many voices have control, decisions become paralyzed. Look at any failed state, any collapsing system — the problem isn't power, it's the people wielding it. We shouldn't fear concentrated power. We should fear those who are unprepared to use it effectively."
Rian leaned forward, trying to seize back control of the debate. "So, what you're suggesting is that we concentrate power in the hands of the few? You're ignoring human nature, Kael. Power corrupts, no one is immune. Even leaders you call strong fall into the same traps. Look at at the Valeran era in 1673 — centuries of tradition and principles, yet even they had their moments of corruption. You speak of effective leadership, but where are these infallible leaders of yours? They don't exist."
"I'm not talking about infallible leaders, Rian. I'm talking about effective ones." Kael leaned in slightly, his gaze unyielding. "And let's not pretend decentralization is some noble solution and that your knowledge on the Valeran era is correct. House Valeran's system faltered in 1678 not because one person had too much power, but because they tried to share it too widely. Power scattered among weak leaders is just as destructive as power abused by a tyrant. You don't solve leadership crises by spreading responsibility. You solve them by choosing those who can bear the weight of it."
Serena glanced at Rian, a silent exchange passing between them. Then she spoke again, trying to steer the debate back to safer ground.
"Perhaps the issue isn't centralization or decentralization at all, but the ethics of power itself. How can we talk about governance and ignore the moral responsibility of leaders? Power must be checked, not just by structure, but by ethical standards. And that's where decentralization plays a crucial role. It ensures leaders, no matter how capable, are held accountable."
Kael's eyes flickered to Serena, his lips thinning into a tight smile. She was clever. "Ethics are a veil, Serena. Convenient, but ultimately hollow. Who defines these standards? The same people who already hold power. Decentralization doesn't enforce morality — it hides behind it. Power is neutral. It's not dangerous unless it's in the wrong hands. What matters isn't the structure of power — it's whether the people who hold it have the strength and wisdom to wield it responsibly. Otherwise, they're just playing at leadership."
"You talk about strength, but you're conveniently ignoring the human element, Kael. Power isn't neutral — people are. And people, like you, who stand on the outside looking in, might not understand what it takes to truly lead. It's easy to talk about power when you've never had to shoulder the responsibility of belonging to something greater than yourself."
The jab was subtle but loud enough to make the entire room uncomfortable. The words hung in the air like a sudden chill. He saw the calculated gleam in Rian's eyes, the carefully planted barb meant to shake him. Serena, for her part, looked slightly uncomfortable, but didn't intervene.
Kael glanced at the panel, all of them looking surprised. Professor Aldwin shifted in his seat, sensing the tension and leaned towards her mic but Kael was quick to intervene. "It's fine, Professor."
His voice was quiet but firm, a storm brewing just beneath the surface. He turned his eyes back to Rian, his tone sharper than before and eyes harder. "You're right, Rian. I've been on the outside. Rejected more times than I can count. But that's why I understand power better than you. It's not about belonging. It's about what you're capable of when there's no one else to rely on. You think belonging makes you strong? It makes you dependent. Leadership isn't about where you fit in — it's about standing when no one else can."
The room fell utterly silent. The weight of Kael's words hung in the air, heavier than anything that had been spoken before. He wasn't just talking about power anymore; he was talking about survival, about resilience forged in isolation. About his fucking life.
"We're straying from the point," Serena said, her voice a little too soft, as if trying to ease the tension. "Leadership isn't about isolation either, Kael. It's about collaboration, understanding the needs of the many. You can't lead if you're disconnected from the people you govern. Centralized power puts distance between leaders and the people they serve. Surely, you can't argue that strengthens governance?"
Kael leaned back, eyes narrowing, but his voice remained calm.
"Disconnected leaders exist in any system, Serena, whether it's centralized or decentralized. Weak leaders, afraid to make decisions, surround themselves with advisors and committees to avoid responsibility. True leaders act. Power doesn't corrupt — it reveals. And what it reveals is whether a person is fit to lead or if they're too weak to bear the weight of it."
"Maybe it's easy for you to dismiss belonging and morality because you've never experienced either." Rian speaks again, his eyes narrowing. "What do you know about governance? You've never stayed in one place long enough to understand what it means to lead, or to belong."
Professor Aldwin started to speak, "Rian, let's keep the debate—"
"And maybe that's why you should be worried, Rian." Kael interrupted, his eyes dead and voice threatening. "Because I don't need to fit in to understand how power works. I know what it takes to wield it, to shape it, to challenge it. So maybe you should stop worrying about whether I belong and start asking yourself why you need to cling to your sense of place to feel secure."
The room was silent. Rian stared at him, his smirk faltering and his confidence shaken. He knew he had messed up. Serena looks caught between wanting to respond and understanding the gravity of Kael's words. Even the teachers seemed caught off guard by the sharpness of Kael's response.
Professor Aldwin cleared her throat, breaking the tension. "Let's... move on."
But Kael knew, even as the debate continued, that he had won. Not just the argument, but the round. He had unsettled both of them which could be seen in the way Rian and Serena struggled to regain their footing.
The jab about belonging still lingered in his mind, like a shadow he couldn't quite shake, but he kept it buried under layers of practiced control.
When the final decision came, Kael wasn't surprised. He was selected to represent the university.
When Kael returned home, the Sage greeted him with a soft smile. "How did it go?" she asked.
"I got selected," Kael replied simply.
The Sage nodded, her eyes searching his face, but she didn't press him further. For that, Kael was grateful. He wasn't in the mood to talk about it. Not yet.
Later that night, as Kael lay in bed, Rian's words echoed in his mind, relentless and sharp, cutting deeper the longer they lingered. Every syllable stirred old wounds he thought had healed, but the sting was still there, raw and aching. He knew, in the quiet spaces of his mind, that he hadn't truly moved past the losses, the rejection.
How could he? When every step forward seemed to pull him back, every victory felt hollow? Accepting it all, he realized, was turning impossible. Every moment, every silence, everything reminded him — of what he lacked, of the places where he didn't fit, the people who didn't stay.
He had won the debate. He'd crushed their arguments, dismantled their deflections, and yet... the question remained. Unanswered. Like a ghost, haunting him.
Where does he belong?
No one could answer that. Not the professors, not the audience, not even the Sage. Not even himself.
The question festered inside him, growing heavier with each breath, like a weight pressing down on his chest. He had mastered the art of hiding, of building walls high enough to keep the world at a distance, but the cracks were showing now.
The nightmares came for him that night, pulling him into the dark, swirling chaos but gave no answer either.
It never did.