The early bell rang out like a song of awakening across Crescent Academy, carried by wind and magic through shimmering towers and floating walkways. Students in robes of deep blue and silver flowed into their morning classes, some yawning, others chattering about upcoming duels or potion grades.
At the far end of the east wing—reserved for the academy's most elite—Class 1-S gathered once again beneath the domed crystal ceiling of the Grand Lecture Hall. Runes floated gently around the chamber, adapting their glow based on the subject being taught.
And in the very back, by the tall arched window, sat Kaito.
Still. Silent. Watching.
The morning light framed his figure—half in shadow, half in gold. He hadn't moved since arriving, and despite the commotion around him, not a single student had approached. Whispers buzzed like bees, circling him but never landing.
"Why is he in Class S if no one's heard of him?"
"He didn't even use a wand in the placement test. I thought that was required."
"He made Aiko drop her book yesterday. And lived."
Some chuckled at that last one.
Others dared a glance at Aiko Himura, the Academy's golden girl.
Top of her class, heir to the Himura sorcerous lineage, and famous for turning down three highborn suitors in one semester. She sat five rows ahead of Kaito, back straight, posture perfect.
But today, her eyes strayed more than once to the window behind her.
At exactly seven minutes past the hour, the classroom doors flung open with a flourish.
"Good morning, spell-slingers and slacker-mancers!" announced Professor Ryudan, storming in with a grin. His long red cloak sparkled as if stitched with live fire.
A stack of enchanted scrolls trailed behind him, snapping into a neat pile beside his desk with a sharp thunk.
"Today, we put theory aside and embrace chaos. Yes, my lovely disasters—it's time for some real casting!"
The students erupted in a low wave of excitement.
Ryudan twirled his staff and pointed at the front training circle. "Elemental manifestation drills. Five volunteers. No safety gloves. Let's see who's been actually reading the textbook and not just trying to impress the dueling team."
Aiko's hand went up, as expected. "Professor, I'll go first."
"Excellent! Ms. Himura, as brilliant and punctual as ever." Ryudan beamed. "Who else?"
Haruka Mibara raised her hand with a smirk. Her long black ponytail swished with the same speed and confidence as her spellwork. "Can't let the light mage hog the spotlight."
A few others volunteered. The usual showoffs.
Kaito didn't move.
Ryudan glanced toward the back. "And our newest mystery—Mr. Kaito. Why don't you go last? Let's see what Class S's latest surprise can really do."
Whispers rippled again. A few students sat up straighter, others leaned forward.
Kaito closed his eyes for a moment.
He had hoped to stay in the background a little longer.
But fate, it seemed, had a flair for cruelty.
✦✦✦
The first demonstration was dazzling.
Aiko stepped into the casting circle and extended her right hand. With practiced grace, she summoned six glowing feathers, each woven from golden threads of Light magic. They hovered and rotated slowly, releasing a harmonic tone that soothed the air itself.
The feathers began orbiting her, forming a ring of light.
"A 'Sanctum Halo,'" murmured a student. "That's third-tier cleric magic…"
"She didn't even chant," whispered another.
Aiko gently bowed, dispersing the spell in a flicker of radiance.
The applause was quiet but respectful. She returned to her seat without arrogance.
Then came Haruka. Her element: lightning.
She stepped forward, and with a swift pull of her fingers, crackling arcs of blue voltage surged through the air. She snapped her arm outward, and the lightning coiled into the shape of a dragon's head before slamming into a reinforced practice dummy.
The impact made the crystal-reinforced floor hum.
Ryudan laughed. "Mibara's still got the flash. And the bang."
Haruka twirled her wand like a baton. "I aim to please. And fry."
More students followed. Fireballs. Gusts of wind. Animated vines.
Some were skilled. Others were… trying.
Then came Kaito.
He walked toward the front, calm as ever.
No wand. No visible magic circle. No chant. Not even a stance.
He simply raised one hand.
And the room fell silent.
Not from anticipation—but from something deeper. An instinctive stillness, like the quiet before a storm.
Then, he whispered a single word. One so old the magic seals along the walls shivered.
A pure white flame bloomed in his palm.
No flickering. No heat. Just purity.
It hovered gently, shaped like a teardrop. Silent, but somehow singing—low and harmonic. The kind of sound you feel in your chest rather than your ears.
Even Aiko turned fully in her seat.
Haruka stood without meaning to.
Ryudan's jovial expression faded into seriousness.
"That's…" he began, then stopped. "That's not elemental fire."
Kaito said nothing.
He clenched his fist. The flame vanished, leaving only silence in its wake.
He turned and walked back to his seat.
The class didn't clap.
They simply stared.
✦✦✦
The rest of the lesson passed in a haze.
No one talked.
Even the students who normally cracked jokes sat still.
After the bell rang, Kaito exited quickly, but not quietly. Eyes followed him. Some in awe. Some in fear.
Behind him, Aiko remained in her seat, fingers lightly touching her lips.
"That spell…" she murmured. "I've only read about it in hymns…"
Outside, in the marble corridor beneath floating lanterns, Haruka caught up to him.
"You," she said sharply.
Kaito didn't stop walking.
She matched his pace. "What was that? That wasn't fire. That wasn't anything in the Elemental Codex."
He glanced at her. "And if it wasn't?"
"Then you're lying to all of us. And I don't like liars."
"I'm not lying," Kaito said. "I'm just not explaining."
Haruka scowled. "Cryptic. Cute. Keep it up, mystery boy, and we'll see who unravels who first."
And just like that, she spun on her heel and stormed away.
But not before he saw it—the flicker of fear behind her bravado.
✦✦✦
That night, Kaito sat on the rooftop of the dormitory, legs dangling over the edge, gazing up at the twin moons of Crescent.
In his palm, the flame returned—small and quiet.
It didn't burn. It remembered.
A whisper of the past. A promise of power. A warning of what he still carried.
He clenched his fist again.
"I was supposed to stay hidden," he murmured to no one.
And far below, deep beneath the academy in stone chambers lost to time, something ancient stirred.
A presence opened its eyes.
And smiled