RELIC OF THE NAMELESS KING

3.

Kael’s POV

The morning bell at Ardentum Academy peeled through the sky like a sword through silence, sharp and unwelcome, especially to Kael who was not ready to get up from the comfort of his hard bed.

Kael climbed out of bed groggily, his limbs heavy with the kind of weariness that didn’t fade with sleep. Every joint ached, and when his bare feet touched the cold stone floor, he hissed under his breath.

His bruises from the night before had stiffened, making even simple movements a quiet war. Kael couldn’t shake off the memory of last night. The low growl still echoed in his mind, primal and close, too close.

Something had moved in the shadows, something not human. Whatever it was, it had sent Dorian and the others running without a word, their faces pale with fear. And that terrified Kael more than anything.

He winced as the bell sound echoed again across the ivy-wrapped towers of the academy; a warning to students who were still in their beds to get up and get moving.

He quickly got dressed, grabbed his belongings and left the room.

As he descended the stairs, he couldn’t help but notice that some students were staring at him with displeased look, so he pulled the collar of his tattered tunic higher to hide the swelling along his jaw.

No one would care to ask what had happened to him. No one, except Lys, ever did anyways.

Ardentum had no place for sympathy, especially not for someone like Kael Merren. He was a mistake and a fluke that shouldn’t have happened. A Weaveless charity case barely tolerated by the staff and loathed by most of the students.

He walked the stone path toward the Grand Lecture Hall, surrounded by walls carved with old runes and creeping vines.

Around him, students in pristine robes whispered incantations, conjuring floating parchments, flickering sparks, or familiars that strutted along behind them.

Kael kept his head down as always. But a voice called out from behind. “Kael!”

He paused, turning just as Lys Ardent fell into step beside him. The son of High Magister Theron Ardent, Lys, had a presence that turned heads. Tall, lean, with a dark braid down his back and sharp, curious eyes that always looked like they were studying the world for flaws.

Most assumed Lys only tolerated Kael out of boredom or rebellion. But Kael knew better. Lys was one of the few who treated him like he belonged. Like a friend.

He had saved Lys from being robbed in the crowded marketplace few years ago, stepping in without thinking when two older boys cornered him near a fruit stall.

One had grabbed Lys’s coin pouch, the other reaching for the dagger at his belt. Kael had thrown himself into the scuffle with nothing but instinct and a broken broomstick. It wasn’t a graceful fight, but it was enough. The boys had run off with bruises and empty hands.

Lys could have handled it himself, Kael knew that. The sharp glint in his eyes and the way he moved proved he wasn’t helpless. He’d been reaching for a concealed blade under his cloak when Kael intervened, and later admitted with a smirk that he’d already picked out which boy to strike first. But even so, he hadn’t minded the help.

“You didn’t even know me,” Lys had said afterward, brushing dust from his robes, more amused than shaken.

Kael had shrugged. “Didn’t need to.”

From that moment, something unspoken passed between them, a quiet understanding, the kind that didn’t need words. They’d connected like flint and steel, two sparks drawn together in a world that too often tried to smother both.

“You’re limping,” Lys said, his voice low but sharp with concern, pulling Kael from his thoughts.

Kael kept his gaze on the ground. “Training accident,” he lied, though the stiffness in his shoulders and the way he shifted his weight told a different story.

Lys didn’t buy it. His eyes narrowed, tone flat. “Was it Garron this time?” he asked.

Kael didn’t answer. The silence spoke volumes.

Lys hissed under his breath and raked a hand through his hair. “It’s Dorian again, right? He’s the one sending the boys after you.” He murmured.

Kael tensed, jaw tightening. He had learnt a long time ago never to get Lys involved in his mess. It usually didn’t go as expected.

“And did you report him to the Highmaster?” Lys pressed, stepping in front of him.

Kael looked away. “What would that solve? They all turn the other way. I’m not like the rest of you, remember? No noble blood. No legacy. No Weave.” He said.

Lys scoffed. “That shouldn’t matter.” He mumbled.

“But it does.” Kael replied.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The corridor around them was quiet, lit only by flickering runes carved into the walls. Then Lys spoke again, more quietly this time.

“You don’t have to keep letting them break you.”

Kael gave a bitter smile. “They haven’t broken me yet.” He muttered.

Lys shook his head, frustration simmering behind his pale eyes. “Maybe not. But if you keep walking into fire and pretending it’s just rain, one day there won’t be anything left to put out.” He muttered.

Kael shrugged as they continued walking, his gaze fixed on the path ahead. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried to stop it, he had.

He’d spoken up, reported the bullying more than once. But his words always fell on deaf ears, swallowed by the indifference of those in charge. One teacher had even scoffed, telling him that if he was so tired of being picked on, he should just summon a relic like everyone else. As if it were that simple.

But Kael didn’t have that luxury. He was Weaveless, born without magic, without a thread to the Weave. In a place like Ardentum, that made him invisible. Or worse.

They crossed the outer courtyard and stepped into the Lecture Hall, where the professor, a sour-faced mage named Mistress Brennal, was already pacing beside a levitating blackboard.

Kael slipped into his seat at the far edge, closest to the cold wall, where no one would bother him.

The seats behind him filled with whispers, then snickers.

“I heard he tried to cast a spark spell and set his own sleeve on fire.”

“Can Weaveless even catch on fire?”

“Maybe if we throw him into the forge, we’ll find out.”

Kael stared straight ahead. He was already used to people talking trash behind his back. He caught a glare from Lys and shook his head to stop Lys from intervening. It only made matters worse.

Mistress Brennal began the lecture, droning about Weave resonance and rune matrices, but Kael’s thoughts drifted. Back to the shadow in the woods. The thing, or person, that had saved him. No one else had seen it. No one else had been there.

He didn’t know if it had saved him or warned him. He made a mental note to talk to Lys about it after their classes was done.

Mistress Brennal’s lecture carried on, her voice rising and falling like a steady tide. Kael sat stiffly, trying to keep his head down and avoid more attention.

Unfortunately, that was exactly what happened.

From two rows behind, a whisper slithered its way forward.

“Merren,” Dorian drawled, just loud enough for Kael to hear. “Done hiding? You think your little stunt yesterday would save you?”

Kael didn’t turn or answer. He kept his eyes ahead, fists clenched at his sides.

“Oh, come on, Still playing noble?”

The chuckles that followed were sharp and cold. A few of Dorian’s friends that were in the woods, even mimicked Kael’s staggered breathing from the previous night.

Lys’s eyes flicked between Kael and Dorian, before turning back to Mistress Brennal who was still teaching.

Dorian leaned forward, his voice darker this time. “You don’t belong here, Merren. You never did. Just a charity case pretending to be something more. You should’ve stayed where they found you. In the dirt.” He whispered.

Kael’s jaw twitched, but he said nothing. Lys, a few seats away, paused his note-taking, but before he could interfere, Dorian acted.

A sudden sting flared at Kael’s neck, barely a touch, but it sent a shiver through his entire body.

Dorian’s fingers brushed against his skin for just a second, as though flicking away lint… but Kael felt it. A jolt. Cold, then heat. Something wrong.

Kael whipped around, eyes wide. “What did you…?” he started.

Dorian was already leaning back in his chair, innocent as a prince. “Must be the air in here,” he said mildly, eyes gleaming. “Makes the weak twitch.”

Mistress Brennal turned then, brow furrowed. “Is there a problem over there?” she asked, eyeing them.

If she had eyes that functioned well, she would see beyond Dorian’s innocent face, but as usual, she chose not to, as she glared pointedly at Kael.

“No, Mistress,” Dorian replied smoothly. “Kael was just feeling… touched.”

Laughter broke across the class again. Kael turned back around, fists clenched beneath the desk. The sensation still crawled beneath his skin, like iceworms burrowing through his veins. He could feel something foreign in his body, small, magical.

Lys caught his gaze, eyes narrowing in concern. “What did he do to you?” he mouthed.

Kael didn’t have time to answer, because that was when it happened.

Mistress Brennal was mid-sentence, chalk hovering just inches from the board, when it happened.

Kael blinked.

The world… paused.

The scratch of chalk against slate stopped halfway through a rune. The sway of a student’s robes froze in mid-air. A mote of dust, caught in the beam of sunlight pouring through the high windows, hung motionless like a suspended star. Even the whispering voices behind him, which had been relentless, fell eerily silent.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

No one, except Kael.

He sat there, heart thudding, eyes darting across the frozen classroom. Lys was stuck mid-blink, hand half-lifted as if about to reach for his quill.

Brennal’s lips were parted, but the word she had been about to speak hung silent in her mouth. It was like stepping into a painting.

Cold crept over Kael’s skin and he felt it. The presence from last night.

Then, a sound, not loud, but ancient.

A low hum, vibrating deep in his bones. The same hum he had heard in the woods.

“…Kael…”

The voice was not human. Not even spoken, exactly. It echoed in his mind, layered with whispers, like many voices speaking as one. Male and female. Old and young. Thunder and whisper. Flame and ash.

“…You were chosen. You opened the gate…”

He shot up from his seat, breath sharp, eyes wide.

The classroom snapped back into motion.

The chalk screeched across the board. A student behind him laughed. Lys blinked and turned, eyes narrowing at Kael’s sudden movement.

Kael stood there, frozen for an entirely different reason.

“…We are not done.”

The voice faded.

Mistress Brennal scowled in his direction. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class, Merren?” she asked, annoyed.

Kael’s lips parted. No words came out at first, then, he blinked. “No… no, Mistress.” He stuttered.

Lys leaned in, his voice low. “You look pale and you’re sweating. What happened?” he asked.

Kael didn’t answer. Because he didn’t know what to say. Only that whatever Dorian had done had opened something. Something that had only been waiting for a crack.

He shook his head slowly, dazed. “I… I don’t know.” Kael muttered.