The morning air was crisp, laced with the faint scent of rain from the night before. Kael stood in front of the grand gates of the Kaelward estate, his posture straight despite the fatigue gnawing at his core. His silver hair shimmered faintly in the sunlight, but the dark circles beneath his storm-gray eyes betrayed the toll of his condition.
The soul remnant had been draining him for days, its presence a constant, unyielding weight. Sleep had offered no reprieve, and every step felt heavier than the last. Yet today, he couldn't afford to falter.
"Young master," Eron said as he approached, his voice calm. "The carriage is ready."
Kael nodded, his hand gripping the leather-bound letter that marked his summons to the Tower of Dawn.
This wasn't just a summons—it was his first step toward the academy. The place where his fate as a Kaelward and his destiny in this world would collide.
"Let's go," Kael said, his voice steady despite the strain.
The journey to Valoria was uneventful, though Kael's thoughts were anything but. The Tower of Dawn loomed over the city like a sentinel, its black-and-gold spire piercing the sky. It was a place of prestige and power, where only the most trusted of the Dominion's elite were granted entry.
Kael stepped out of the carriage, his boots clicking against the marble steps leading to the entrance. His breath hitched slightly as the Tower's aura washed over him—a subtle hum of magic that seemed to resonate in his bones.
"Your invitation, please," said a robed guard, their tone neutral but firm.
Kael handed over the letter, his grip firm despite the tremor in his fingers.
The guard inspected it briefly before stepping aside. "You may enter."
The Tower's interior was breathtaking, its high ceilings adorned with intricate frescoes depicting the Dominion's history. Magic-infused chandeliers bathed the chamber in warm, golden light, casting faint shadows on the polished stone floor.
Kael's gaze swept the room, noting the officials and messengers bustling about, their robes trailing behind them like specters.
"Kael Kaelward," a deep voice called out, pulling Kael's attention to a figure approaching from one of the side chambers.
The man was tall, with a presence that demanded attention. His dark hair was streaked with gray, and his sharp eyes glinted with intelligence. Councilor Eryndor, a mid-ranking member of the High Council, extended his hand.
"You're here to collect your academy invitation, I presume," Eryndor said, his tone measured.
Kael inclined his head. "That's correct, Councilor."
Eryndor studied him for a moment, his gaze piercing. "You've caused quite the stir, Kaelward. An S-level potential paired with a skill most consider useless. A rare combination."
Kael met the councilor's gaze without flinching. "Rare enough to be worth watching, I'd think."
Eryndor's lips twitched, almost forming a smile. "Perhaps. Follow me."
Eryndor led Kael through a series of hallways, each one more ornate than the last. The Tower's grandeur was intoxicating, but Kael's focus remained sharp. He wasn't here to admire architecture—he was here to secure his place at the academy.
They entered a small, private chamber where a single scroll rested on an ornate pedestal. The parchment was sealed with the academy's sigil—a phoenix rising from flames.
"This," Eryndor said, gesturing to the scroll, "is your official invitation to the Dominion's premier academy. You'll be expected to report within a fortnight."
Kael stepped forward, his fingers brushing against the cool parchment. As he picked up the scroll, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over him. His vision blurred, and the edges of his consciousness flickered like a candle in the wind.
"Kaelward?" Eryndor's voice sounded distant, concern barely touching its usual composure.
Kael swayed on his feet, his free hand clutching his chest as the soul remnant's pull grew stronger. The pain was sharp, like claws scraping against his very essence.
"I'll... fix this," Kael muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible. "I'll find a way... to remove it."
The world tilted, and darkness consumed him.
Kael awoke in a quiet chamber, the faint glow of a healing rune illuminating the walls. His body felt heavier than before, the remnants of his collapse still weighing on him.
Eryndor stood near the doorway, his arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, though his tone carried a hint of curiosity. "You're awake."
Kael sat up slowly, his hand instinctively moving to his chest. The soul remnant's presence was still there, a constant reminder of his fragility.
"You collapsed before leaving the Tower," Eryndor continued. "An... unusual occurrence for someone of your potential."
Kael's jaw tightened. "I'll deal with it."
"See that you do," Eryndor said, his tone sharp. "The academy is no place for the weak. If you cannot prove yourself capable, even your S-level potential will mean nothing."
As Eryndor left the room, Kael leaned back against the pillows, his mind racing. He couldn't afford another display of weakness. The academy awaited, and with it, the next chapter of his survival.
The invitation scroll lay open on the bedside table, its contents a mixture of promises and expectations. The academy wasn't just a place of learning—it was a battlefield.
Students were divided into various courses, each designed to hone specific skills. The most prestigious was the Path of Dominion, reserved for those destined to clear dungeons and lead expeditions.
Kael's lips thinned as he read the footnote attached to his invitation:
"While your potential is extraordinary, we recommend you pursue the Path of the Scholar, given your skill's limitations."
A bitter laugh escaped his lips. They weren't rejecting him outright, but they might as well have been. The Path of Dominion was where true power lay—those who walked it became the Dominion's elite.
"I need that item to remove this soul remanat. And while I am at it, I'll prove them wrong," Kael thought, his gaze hardening. "I'll prove them all wrong."
The soul remnant still weighed on him, a silent reminder of his precarious position. But Kael wasn't about to let it define him. The academy was his next step, and nothing—not the council, not his condition, not even fate—would stand in his way.