The days passed in academy were incomparable to anything Caelum had seen. It is not even the rising of the sun, early morning, with shrill ringing of academy pulls him from fitful sleeping. His body is so unprepared for this brutal training that it hurts in places he never knew it was possible to ache. Unable to be held back, fatigue notwithstanding, that fire was barely clear to him yet somehow seemed not to be ignorable.
Under the keen eye of Elion, Caelum had begun to practice, in an attempt to channel raw, untamed magic from within his soul. Unrelenting and tireless, the lessons forced him to center his attention on meditative exercises that actually connected him to everything surrounding him. It was a voice steady and demanding as Elion took Caelum through step by step. "Feel the threads," he said, "the magic isn't something you control; it is something you guide, become a part of."
They were frustrating at first: Caelum in cross-legged position on the training grounds, hands rested atop his knees, despondently trying to reach for threads Elion speaks of; his mind scattered and tugged a dozen ways by frustration and doubt. The magic inside him is wild and potent, rebellious to taming. His attempts at coaxing the wind to dance or the earth to shift were at best ungainly, at worst embarrassing failures.
Yet, day by day, the invisible threads started to take shape. They were not there to be seen, yet Caelum could feel them-a hum, so fine it seemed a heartbeat, right beneath the world's crust. It was as if the whole world were a great tapestry, woven together by threads of power, and slowly, painfully, Caelum was learning to see how they connected. Now, he could feel them - a heartbeat strong where he had never noticed pulse and flutter before - and as his hand reached out to greet them, they didn't slip through. They fluttered back, cautious and true.
Lirael, though, was invariability itself. Not enrolled at the Academy and present every time he looked at her, his anchoring point in this torrential sea of novelty called school. She had been all soft words of encouragement as his frustration boiled over, anchoring when he'd felt like giving up. Lirael was unique in understanding the load carried by Caelum. The regular set lessons within the academy walls were priceless, another thing altogether in her care. She reminded him again that mastery wasn't skill or technique; it's that place of balance from which one's inner self found harmony with the greater sea of magic surrounding them.
It was an academy in and of itself, a world unto its own, grand and filled with knowledge, but at the same time highly competitive. Noble families, prestigious lineages, young men and women whose confidence was as bright as the fine polish of the marble floors they walked upon-the hallways were filled with these. And then there was Caelum, a boy from that small village, out of place. Whispers, sharp-edged and relentless, followed wherever he went.
"How did he get here?" one student muttered as he passed. "He's no one. Just a peasant playing at being a mage."
Not all the students were cruel, but enough were that Caelum was always beneath the weight of judgment. The worst of them was Alden, a tall, arrogant boy whose family was renowned for mastery over elemental magic, and whose disdain for him was palpable, even in the cuts of his taunts.
It was on one afternoon, while sparring, that Alden finally made his disdain public. The training arena was loud with the sound of practice, bursts of magic lighting the air as students honed their skills. Across from him stood Caelum, nerves building in his chest as he tried to steady his breath-the crowd of gathered students really wasn't helping.
"You do not belong here," Alden sneered; his voice soared without effort over the noise, a razor-sharp grin twisting his lips as his eyes danced with malice. "You're just a kid playing with toys."
Before Caelum could say a word, Alden had raised his hand. A whistling gust of wind beat through the arena, hit Caelum, and sent him stumbling back. It was the laughter from the stands that stung harder than the wind. Caelum's hands curled into fists, his teeth clenched against the fire burning in his chest. Small, out of place, but the fire inside of him flared hot and refused to be doused.
"Focus, Caelum," Lirael said, her voice cutting across the clash of metal and the hisses. Ashen-faced but otherwise composed, she stood away from them, her manner firm. "Don't let him get inside your head."
Caelum closed his eyes to the jeers, to the laughter, even to the wind that whipped at him threatening to push him off kilter. He breathed deep, drawing in and out at the same time. The threads were there, the tapestry of the world was there, waiting. It wasn't an enemy but part of the rhythm of the earth, like himself. It wasn't about fighting the magic; it was about understanding, becoming a part of it.
Slowly, deliberately, Caelum extended his hand. The wild wind veered, caught in his peaceful center. It whirled around him, no longer wild but shielding-a barrier of solidity and resolve. Alden's gusts buckled against it, their force bleeding away like mist beneath the sun.
The crowd stilled, laughter dying into shocked silence. Alden's smug confidence twisted into shock and frustration. He raised his hands again, calling for more power. Caelum didn't budge, but he shifted, redirecting the wind with an ease he hadn't known he'd had. The force of Alden's attack rebounded, sending him stumbling back.
Lowering his hand, Caelum had met Alden's gaze squarely, a set to his jaw. "You're right," he said-the tone cool, but with no give in his meaning. "I don't belong here yet. But I will."
The students' conversations were whispered differently now, threads of respect poisoning them. Alden said nothing more-his pride dented-and stepped back. Caelum was tired but stood a little taller.
As night wore on, and the academy slowly quieted, Caelum lay in his dormitory staring up at the ceiling. His body was sore, his mind racing, but beneath that, a quiet triumph. Lirael slipped in; her presence was as unobtrusive as ever. She sat beside him, her face contemplative.
"You're growing stronger," she said softly. "But strength isn't just about defeating others. It's about defeating yourself—your fears, your doubts, your insecurities. Those are the battles that truly matter."
Caelum turned his head to look at her, his voice barely above a whisper. "I still don't understand why I'm here. Why this power chose me."
Lirael smiled faintly and knowingly. "You're here because the magic saw something in you, something that maybe you don't see in yourself yet. A gift is power, but it is also a burden. It could create or destroy, heal or harm. It's a double-edged sword, and only those who will walk the thin line between light and darkness can really master it."
They had sounded to still be echoing even when she was gone, the gravity of them falling deep into Caelum's thoughts. He did not have all the answers as of yet, but one thing he knew for sure-he would not give up. An endless path lay ahead of him, very vaguely seen, but he was to walk every step until the truth about who he was came out and who he would be.