Rising With My Mystic Power

WHISPERS AND WARNINGS

By evening, the Academy was buzzing.

News of Mordaine Carrowell’s “flare of power” had spread from the training hall to every dormitory corridor and candlelit study. Whispers rippled through groups of students, some speaking in awe, others in thinly veiled jealousy.

“He lit up his blade. Just like that—”

“No chant, no spell. It was like… raw magic.”

“Unstable, if you ask me. Dangerous.”

Mordaine kept his head low as he walked through the stone archways toward the dormitory wing. But the stares followed him. Curious eyes. Cold ones. Hungry ones.

He clenched his jaw. He hadn’t meant to reveal anything. He hadn’t meant to summon it at all.

“Carrowell.”

The voice stopped him in his tracks. Lyra leaned against the carved frame of the hallway, arms folded, her expression sharp.

“You’re attracting attention,” she said flatly.

“I didn’t ask for it.”

“No one does.” She pushed away from the wall, her gaze steady. “Listen. Power like that? It doesn’t go unnoticed. Not by the instructors. Not by the other students. And certainly not by those outside the Academy walls.”

Mordaine frowned. “What do you mean, outside?”

She tilted her head, studying him. As if weighing whether he deserved the truth. Finally, she sighed. “You think this place is just about study and duels? No. It’s a recruitment ground. Kingdoms, guilds, even… other forces. Everyone’s watching. Looking for talent to claim—or to destroy before it threatens them.”

Her words sank like a stone in his chest.

“So what do I do?” Mordaine asked quietly.

Lyra’s lips curved into a wry smile. “You learn control. Fast. Or you’ll end up someone’s pawn. Or their corpse.”

Before he could answer, a burst of laughter echoed from down the hall. Kaelen and his circle approached, their steps deliberate, their eyes sharp.

“Well, if it isn’t the rising star,” Kaelen drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Tell me, Carrowell, was that a trick of the light, or are you hiding something more?”

Mordaine stiffened, his hands curling into fists.

Kaelen stepped closer, lowering his voice so only Mordaine could hear. “Careful. Power without pedigree draws the wrong kind of eyes. And if you stumble…” His smirk turned cruel. “…I’ll be there to make sure you fall.”

He swept past, his entourage trailing like shadows.

Mordaine exhaled slowly, forcing his shoulders to relax. Lyra watched Kaelen vanish around the corner, then looked back at Mordaine with a raised brow.

“Told you,” she murmured. “Whispers. Warnings. Enemies. And you’ve barely survived your first day.”

Mordaine’s gut twisted, but beneath the unease, a spark burned. He hadn’t asked for this power. He hadn’t asked for this attention. But he wasn’t going to let Kaelen—or anyone else—decide what he became.

Not anymore.

     

The dormitory was quieter at night. Lamps glowed faintly along the hallways, casting long shadows over the carved stone walls. Most students had already turned in, their whispers and rumors carried into dreams.

Mordaine sat on the edge of his narrow bed, staring at his hands. The memory of the blade shimmering with blue fire replayed again and again. He clenched his fists. What was that? He hadn’t studied spells. He hadn’t invoked words of power. Yet something inside him had answered.

A knock at the door startled him. Three slow raps.

He hesitated, then opened it.

No one stood outside. Only the dark corridor.

Mordaine frowned—until he noticed the folded parchment at his feet. He bent, picked it up, and unsealed it.

The handwriting inside was sharp, deliberate:

**“The flame you carry is not new. It is old—older than the Academy, older than the kingdoms.

Your parents knew this. That is why they vanished.

Trust no one.

If you want answers, come to the lantern tower at midnight. Alone.”**

Mordaine’s heart pounded. His parents. The letter burned in his hand like a brand. No one at the Academy should know about them—not the truth, not the way they disappeared without a trace.

He read the note again, half-hoping the words would change. They didn’t.

A creak echoed behind him. He spun.

A shadow slipped across the wall, gone before he could focus. He rushed to the door, peering both ways down the corridor. Empty. Silent.

The parchment felt heavier now. He folded it, tucking it inside his shirt.

Lyra’s warning echoed in his mind: Everyone’s watching. Looking for talent to claim—or to destroy.

So who had left him this message? An ally? A trap?

Mordaine closed the door softly, his decision already forming.

He couldn’t ignore this. Not when it mentioned his parents.

Midnight. The lantern tower. Alone.

He sat back on the bed, staring into the dim glow of the lamp. His pulse refused to slow. For the first time since entering the Academy, he felt the invisible weight of eyes pressing down on him from the dark corners.

Watching. Waiting.

     Chapter Eight – The Lantern Tower (Part A)

The Academy at midnight was a different world.

The bustling halls, filled with chatter and clashing swords during the day, lay cloaked in silence. Only the wind whispered through the arches, carrying the faint rustle of enchanted banners that never aged.

Mordaine moved carefully through the shadows, heart hammering. He had slipped out of his dormitory unseen, wrapping himself in a simple cloak. Every creak of the floorboards, every flicker of torchlight felt like it would give him away.

The lantern tower rose at the far edge of the Academy grounds. It was ancient—older than the dormitories, older even than the dueling halls. Legends whispered it had once served as a lighthouse for ships sailing the skies when the world’s magic was wilder. Now it stood abandoned, its spiral staircase leading into darkness.

Mordaine hesitated at the base.

The note’s words echoed in his mind: Trust no one.

He clenched his fists and started up the stairs.

Each step groaned beneath his boots. Dust stirred with every movement, glowing faintly in the slivers of moonlight seeping through cracks in the stone. He counted the turns of the staircase, his breath shallow, until at last he reached the chamber at the top.

A single lantern burned in the center, though no hand seemed to tend it. The flame within shimmered silver, unnatural yet beautiful. Shadows danced along the curved walls.

And from those shadows, a voice emerged.

“You came.”

Mordaine spun, hand going to the hilt of his practice blade.

A figure stepped forward, cloaked in gray. The hood concealed their face, but their presence radiated a quiet strength, like coiled lightning waiting to strike.

“Who are you?” Mordaine demanded, his voice low but steady.

The figure tilted their head. “A messenger. Nothing more.”

“You wrote the letter?”

“Yes.” The hood shifted, and though Mordaine could not see their eyes, he felt them—piercing, knowing. “And I was not certain you would be bold—or foolish—enough to answer.”

Mordaine took a step forward. “You mentioned my parents. What do you know about them?”

The figure was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, they raised a hand. From the folds of their cloak, they drew an object—a shard of crystal, faintly glowing with the same blue fire that had erupted from Mordaine’s blade.

His breath caught.

“This belonged to your father,” the figure said softly. “Do you recognize it?”

Mordaine’s chest tightened. The crystal shimmered like the pendant his father once wore around his neck—the one Mordaine had seen glowing faintly on stormy nights. The one that had disappeared with him.

“What… what happened to them?” Mordaine’s voice cracked despite himself.

The figure lowered their hand, hiding the shard once more.

“That,” they said, “is an answer I cannot yet give. But know this—your power is not an accident. It is a legacy. And those who would rather it remain buried are already watching you.”

Mordaine’s blood ran cold.

“Who are they?” he whispered.

The figure’s head turned sharply, as though listening. A sudden gust swept through the lantern tower, extinguishing the silver flame. The chamber plunged into darkness.

The voice came one last time, urgent now:

“Find the rest of the crystal, Mordaine Carrowell. Before they do. Or you will share your parents’ fate.”

Then silence.

When the lantern reignited, the figure was gone.

Mordaine stood alone in the tower, his pulse thundering, his mind reeling. The note had been right. His parents’ disappearance, his strange power, the artifact—it was all connected.

And now, for the first time, he realized just how dangerous his legacy was.