Drake kept to the shadows as he made his way toward the docks, his mind racing. The Academy ships were his only way out, but how could he board one without being recognized? He had no invitation, no proof that he was still a mage worthy of training. His father had seen to that when he cast him out.
He needed a plan.
The docks were alive with activity, even at this late hour. Workers hauled crates onto the waiting ships, voices rising above the crash of waves against the wooden piers. Lanterns flickered along the walkways, casting long, shifting shadows. Drake moved carefully, watching, listening.
The night air was thick with the scent of brine and damp wood. Seagulls squawked in the distance, their cries blending with the murmur of conversation from the dockworkers. Even though it was late, the port never truly slept. Ships needed loading, inventories checked, and final orders relayed before setting sail at dawn. It was an opportunity—one that Drake had to take advantage of.
He pulled his hood lower, his boots barely making a sound against the wooden planks as he maneuvered between stacks of cargo. He couldn't be seen. Even though most of the people here were too preoccupied with their work to notice a lone figure moving in the shadows, it only took one wrong step for everything to fall apart.
A group of older students, laughing and chatting, passed him by. They wore traveling cloaks marked with the sigil of the Academy—students who had been training for years and were returning to continue their studies. Their movements were relaxed, confident, as if they had no doubts about their futures. Drake pulled his own cloak tighter, bitterness clawing at his chest. That should have been him.
He hesitated for a brief moment, an old instinct urging him to follow them, to pretend he was still one of them. But he couldn't. That life was gone.
Instead, he scanned the area, his eyes darting between the ships docked along the harbor. He needed a way on board—but how? The largest vessel, the one he knew would be heading toward the Academy, had guards stationed at its gangplank. Each student's documents were checked meticulously before they were allowed to step onto the deck. There was no way he could simply walk aboard.
Drake's heart pounded. Think.
Then he saw it.
A smaller supply boat, tethered to the main ship, bobbing gently in the water. It was loaded with crates, its crew too busy with last-minute preparations to pay much attention to anything else. If he could slip aboard unseen, he might be able to stow away among the cargo and remain hidden until they were well underway.
It was a risk. A huge one. If he was caught, the best-case scenario was that they'd throw him off before they even left the dock. The worst case? They'd report him to the city guard, and he'd be dragged back to his father in disgrace—or worse, left to fend for himself in the streets forever.
His fists clenched. He had no choice.
Drake exhaled slowly, steadying his nerves. He would have to move carefully, time his approach perfectly. The workers were in constant motion, crates being lifted, orders shouted. He waited, watching the rhythm of their work, searching for the right moment.
A dockhand paused by the smaller boat, wiping sweat from his brow before setting a crate down with a grunt. A second worker called out to him from across the dock, momentarily distracting him. That was his moment.
Drake moved.
He slipped between the stacks of cargo, his movements silent. His heart pounded against his ribs as he crept closer to the supply boat, every sense on high alert. He could feel the weight of the night pressing down on him, the cool sea air brushing against his skin. One wrong step, one loud noise, and it would all be over.
He reached the edge of the dock, his fingers gripping the railing of the smaller boat. The water lapped softly against the hull, the gentle rocking making the vessel sway ever so slightly. Taking a deep breath, he hoisted himself over the side, landing as lightly as he could among the cargo.
No alarm. No shouts. He had made it this far.
Quickly, he scanned for a hiding spot. A stack of crates loomed near the bow, nestled close enough together to provide decent cover. He wedged himself between them, careful to remain completely hidden from view. The wood smelled of salt and damp rope, the rough edges digging into his back as he pressed himself into the shadows.
His breathing was slow, controlled. He had done it. He was on board.
But the real test was yet to come.
As the minutes stretched on, he listened. The sounds of the dock workers continued, the last shipments being secured. A voice nearby grumbled about inventory checks. Another mentioned the academy students, how lucky they were to be heading off to train.
A pang of something twisted in Drake's chest. That should have been him. He should have been boarding that ship with pride, stepping into a future filled with promise.
Instead, he was hiding in the shadows, praying not to be discovered.
His fingers curled into a fist. He couldn't think about that now. This was his only chance.
Then he heard it—the distinct sound of heavy boots approaching. Too close.
He froze.
A worker paused just on the other side of the crates. Drake could hear the man shifting, could practically feel the weight of his presence through the wood. His breath caught in his throat. If the worker looked down, if he decided to check the cargo just a little more closely—
The man sighed, rolling his shoulders. "Long night," he muttered, before turning on his heel and walking away.
Drake let out a slow, silent breath.
That had been close.
Too close.
He would have to stay hidden until they were well away from the docks. Only then could he figure out what came next. But for now, he had done it.
He had found his way out.
And for the first time since the elemental test, since the exile, he felt something he had thought lost.
Hope.
Drake remained motionless in the cramped space between two crates, his breath shallow. The scent of damp wood and salted fish filled the air, mixing with the occasional creak of the ship's hull as it bobbed gently on the water. The dock workers had finished their last-minute preparations, and now the only sounds above deck were the muffled voices of the crew and the steady lap of waves against the ship's side.
His body ached from staying in the same position for so long, but he didn't dare move. He had made it aboard—barely. If he was discovered now, he had no excuse, no plan, and no allies. He would be thrown overboard without a second thought.
The ship groaned, the weight of the anchor lifting sending vibrations through the floor beneath him. He felt the subtle shift as the vessel began its slow departure from the harbor. The realization settled in his chest like a stone: he had done it. He was leaving the city.
For the first time since his exile, the chains of his father's rejection seemed to loosen—just slightly. But the relief was fleeting. His journey was only beginning, and survival was far from guaranteed.
A sudden clang of boots against wood made him stiffen.
"Check the lower deck again," a gruff voice ordered. "Last thing we need is some rat sneakin' aboard."
Drake's pulse pounded in his ears. He held his breath, pressing himself further into the shadows of the cargo hold. The footsteps descended the wooden staircase, followed by the flickering glow of lantern light. Shadows danced along the crates as the shiphand inspected the area.
The man's voice was closer now, accompanied by the scrape of barrels being shifted aside. "Damn rats been getting bolder," he muttered. "If I catch another one, the captain'll have me toss it overboard myself."
Drake's fingers curled into his palms. He could see the man's silhouette now, just a few feet away. His stomach clenched as the worker nudged a crate near his hiding spot. A little closer, and he'd be found.
A sharp whistle sounded from above deck. "Oi! We need another pair of hands securing the rigging!"
The man huffed. "Bloody hell. Always somethin'." He turned and ascended the stairs, the glow of his lantern fading as he went.
Drake exhaled slowly, his muscles stiff from tension. Too close. He needed a better hiding place—somewhere he wouldn't risk being found every time a crewman wandered below deck.
He waited until the footsteps above faded into the ship's general hum of activity, then moved. His limbs protested as he shifted from his cramped position. Slowly, carefully, he maneuvered his way deeper into the cargo hold, his fingers trailing along the wooden crates for balance.
At the far end of the hold, he spotted an opening between two large barrels stacked against the hull. It was just big enough for him to squeeze into. He crawled inside, tucking his knees against his chest. It wasn't comfortable, but it would keep him hidden.
For now, it would have to do.
As the ship carried him away from the city that had cast him out, Drake's thoughts turned to what lay ahead. He wasn't just running away—he was heading toward something new. Toward the Academy, toward a future he had to carve out for himself.
No matter what, he would prove that he wasn't worthless.
No matter what, he would survive.
Chapter 4
The moment my foot touched the wooden dock, a strange mix of relief and unease washed over me. The boat ride had felt like a lifetime, yet as I stepped onto solid ground, I realized the journey was only beginning.
I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the crisp mountain air. The scent of pine and damp earth replaced the salt and seaweed from the ocean. In the distance, jagged peaks stretched toward the sky, partially veiled in mist. Somewhere beyond them lay the Academy of All-Elemental Arts, the place where I hoped to prove myself.
The dock was far from empty. A crowd of locals had gathered, their gazes fixed on us—some with curiosity, others with indifference. Merchants with wooden carts lined the edges of the pier, hawking wares and food to students who could afford them. Beyond the dock, a medieval-style town sprawled along the mountainside, its stone buildings adorned with banners bearing the Academy's sigil—a golden sun and crescent moon entwined. Some of the townsfolk whispered among themselves, while others openly pointed out certain students, recognizing noble heirs or famous family names.
Around me, other students disembarked, their faces a blend of determination and uncertainty. Some were chatting excitedly in small groups, while others, like me, stood alone. I adjusted the strap of my small pack and kept my expression neutral. If I had learned anything from my old life, it was that showing weakness only invited trouble.
A sharp whistle broke through the murmurs, and I turned toward its source. A tall man in dark blue robes stood near the dock, his arms crossed over his chest. His sharp eyes scanned us with the scrutiny of a hawk. There was no doubt in my mind—this was someone important.
"Line up!" his voice boomed. "Now."
The group hesitated only for a moment before scrambling into a loose formation. I found a spot near the edge, observing as the instructor strode forward. He carried himself with a casual confidence, but there was a weight to his presence, a quiet authority that commanded respect.
The sound of hooves against the cobbled streets drew my attention. Several riders passed by, mounted on animals ranging from horses to towering rhinos and sleek, oversized panthers. Some students arrived on camelback, while others led smaller creatures—massive wolves, armored hounds, and cats with luminous eyes. The sight was awe-inspiring, a reminder that this was no ordinary place.
"Listen up!" the instructor began. "From this point forward, your names, your families, your backgrounds—they mean nothing. Only your ability matters. If you want to enter the Academy, you'll have to earn it."
Murmurs rippled through the group, but no one dared to speak up. I tightened my grip on my pack. I had already lost my name and my family—this trial was my only path forward.
"The Academy does not accept the weak," the instructor continued. "Your trial begins now. Follow the mountain path. At the top, you'll find a building where the trials will take place. You will be tested in the order you arrive. Arriving first does not guarantee success. Strength, intelligence, and perseverance will determine who passes."
He paused, letting his words sink in. A few students exchanged nervous glances. Others—those who carried themselves with the confidence of nobility or rigorous training—simply smirked.
I barely had time to absorb his words before someone nudged me from the side. I turned to see a girl with striking silver hair, her violet eyes filled with energy. She grinned at me, her expression friendly yet curious.
"Hey, you look like you're trying really hard to be all broody and mysterious," she said, smirking. "I'm Talia. And you are?"
I hesitated for a moment. "Drake."
"Drake, huh? Solid name." She tilted her head, studying me. "So, what's your element?"
I hesitated again. "Dark."
Instead of the usual reaction—discomfort or judgment—her grin widened. "Oh, that's interesting! I don't think I've met a Dark mage before. Must be a lonely gig."
I blinked at her bluntness, unsure if she was teasing or genuinely curious. "I manage."
She laughed. "I like you already! I'm a Lightning mage. My family's kinda famous for it, but don't worry, I'm not one of those 'high and mighty' nobles. Too much effort."
I found myself smirking despite myself. There was something refreshing about her casual confidence.
Before I could say more, the instructor's voice rang out again.
"That's all. Move out."
The moment he finished speaking, some students took off at a sprint. Others hesitated, clearly unsure whether speed mattered. I stayed put for a second longer, glancing at Talia.
She nudged my shoulder playfully. "Well, Dark mage, let's see if you can keep up."
And with that, she took off, her silver hair flashing in the light as she disappeared into the crowd. I shook my head before setting off at a steady pace. I wasn't about to exhaust myself before the real trial began.
The Academy awaited, and I had no intention of failing.