Spring broke through the brittle ice of Frostmere like a whisper of life after long silence. The sun hung low and pale, scattering golden threads over melting snowbanks and dormant fields. I stood shirtless before the mirror—such as it was, a sheet of polished metal hammered into vague reflectiveness—running fingers along the lean muscles I’d carved over years of chopping wood, hauling milk pails, and hunting herbs.

  Toned, but not bulky. Pale, almost unnaturally so, courtesy of northern winters that hid the sun like it was a curse. Silver-blonde hair clung to my forehead, still damp from my bath in the cold stream. Not ideal, but it was the cleanest I’d be before leaving for the capital.

  A knot tugged in my chest.

  "Granny?" I called as I buttoned my shirt, the wool still scratchy from her rough sewing.

  She was outside already, feeding what was left of the grain to Dol. The cow had grown more docile since the monster attack, maybe sensing the shift in our little family. Granny turned toward me, eyes squinting under her shawl.

  "You’re leavin’ soon, Kael. Got everything packed?"

  "Yes. Clothes, bread, that awful dried cheese you made for the trip."

  She huffed. "You’ll be gd for it halfway to the capital."

  'She always hides it with jokes,' Finn murmured. 'But she’s scared.'

  I adjusted the strap of my satchel and walked toward her. "Granny," I said, voice soft, "if anything happens, go to the vilge elder. Don’t let the neighbors treat you poorly just because I’m gone."

  "I ain’t afraid of no gossipin’ hens." She patted my cheek, hands still smelling of hay. "You just go find your future."

  I nodded.

  Then the cart came rattling down the muddy path. Old Gort had lent us his hay wagon, which usually hauled cow feed but had been scrubbed down for the occasion. Five other kids sat awkwardly in the back—some I'd known from brief gnces in the vilge, others I barely recognized.

  We didn’t speak.

  But in my mind, it was anything but quiet.

  'We finally leave this frostbitten hole,' Jax muttered. 'About damn time.'

  'What if we awaken fme?' Finn asked, excitement bubbling. 'Or lightning? That would be amazing.'

  'I’ll take ice, honestly,' Tyran said, brooding. 'Fits the aesthetic.'

  'Focus,' Sidarth added. 'We still don’t know what sort of affinity we’ll manifest. Kael, remember—observe everything. Memorize the protocols.'

  I nodded subtly.

  The six-hour ride was a jarring blend of rutted roads, bouncing wheels, and silent discomfort. The others occasionally stared at me—maybe because of the axe strapped to my back, or the stories that still floated around about a monster and a boy with dead eyes.

  The capital of Frostmere Dukedom rose like a fortress out of white stone and iron will. Tall walls encased it, dotted with soldiers in fur-trimmed armor. The roads were paved—actual cut stone!—and the scent of roasted nuts and smoke filled the air as we passed into the outer district.

  It was a city that looked like Moscow in some way—broad avenues, sloped domes, and high towers bristling with antennas and magical crystals pulsing faintly like stars during daylight. Steel carriages rolled by, powered by a blend of magic cores and steam.

  In the square, a grand stage had been constructed, wood polished and painted with the crest of a wand crossed with a sword—an emblem encircled by elegant script:Astraxus Academy of the Arcane & Martial

  A man in long bck robes stood on the ptform, golden trim lining the cuffs and hem. His hair was swept back and braided along one temple. He exuded an aura that made even the loudest of the commoners hush.

  "I am Professor Veyn of Astraxus Academy," he decred. His voice carried—calm, smooth, and edged like polished steel. "Today, we test your eligibility to walk the path of strength—through the arcane or the martial. This stage will serve as your crucible."

  His gaze swept over us.

  "You will line up at the registration table beneath this ptform. State your name, age, vilge of origin, and whether you’ve had any prior training in weapons or spellcraft. Then, you will step up and pce your hand on the Arcane Sb. It will determine if your core is capable of forming."

  He paused. "Any questions?"

  Silence.

  Then I raised my hand.

  His gaze locked onto mine. "Yes, you—blonde hair. Speak."

  "I was wondering, sir—why test at eighteen? Is it because that’s when our body’s growth ends and aging begins? Is there a link between growth cycles and core compatibility?"

  The professor tilted his head.

  For a moment, he studied me like one might study a glyph in an ancient tome. His eyes lingered on my mismatched gaze—right eye brown with flecks of red, left eye grey and almost silver.

  "A good question," he said finally. "The answer is yered. Exposure to magical cores at younger ages shortens the lifespan. Eighteen is the threshold discovered by the World Council where forming a core does not just preserve, but extends human life expectancy—from seventy to over one hundred and twenty. Bance, not haste, leads to mastery."

  I nodded.

  'Smart delivery,' Soren said in my mind. 'You made him remember you.'

  'Of course he did,' Jax grinned. 'We don’t raise idiots in this brain.'

  The line moved forward. One by one, kids stepped up, touched the stone, and were either dismissed with a shake of the head or passed with a small nod. Most glowed faintly—blue or green. A few flickered and then faded.

  Then it was my turn.

  I stepped onto the stage. The crowd whispered.

  "Name?" asked the robed assistant.

  "Kael. Eighteen. Vilge of Greystone. No formal weapon training."

  "Pce your hand on the Arcane Sb."

  I did.

  The stone pulsed under my skin.

  Colors fred—red, blue, green, violet, gold. Not in succession, but yered, bleeding together in harmonious light. Gasps rippled through the onlookers.

  Professor Veyn’s eyes widened just slightly.

  He leaned over and made a note on his parchment.

  "Prismatic Catalyst Core," he murmured. "Rare variant. Hybrid-compatible."

  He didn’t expin it aloud, didn’t show his card. Smart man.

  I stepped down. The others stared at me.

  'We lit up like a damn firework,' Jax crowed.

  'I didn’t expect prismatic,' Sidarth mused. 'That’s… unprecedented.'

  The testing ended shortly after. Ten of us remained: six designated warrior css, three mage css, and myself—the hybrid.

  The professor stood once more. "You will now swallow this."

  He held up small stone-like marbles. They glowed faintly, dense and gssy.

  "This is crystallized mana, refined by the Headmaster himself. It will catalyze the awakening of your core without risk. Swallow it—do not chew."

  We took them, hesitated, then obeyed.

  It felt… strange. Not bitter or warm, just heavy going down.

  Then, as we loaded into the Academy’s transport carriage—sleek, floating, runed with shimmering glyphs—something flickered in my chest. A warmth. Not fire. Not heat.

  Power.

  'Tyran?' I asked.

  'So that’s mana,' he replied. 'Interesting. Feels like thunder without sound.'

  'Like knowing there’s a storm, but you’re the eye,' Soren added.

  The carriage lifted into the air. Beneath us, the capital shrank as clouds embraced the horizon.

  A floating isnd loomed ahead—jagged cliffs, towers spiking upward like fingers, and crystalline spires glittering in the sun.

  Astraxus Academy awaited.

  And so our journey began.