For the first time since arriving at Duskmoor Academy, Arin felt hunted. Not by monsters. Not by arrogant duelists eager to prove themselves.
No, this was different. Something quieter. More patient.
The kind of presence that lingers in corners you never bother to glance at twice.
Since the encounter outside his dorm, things had started shifting in ways he couldn't ignore.
Some mornings, his satchel felt noticeably heavier as if someone had tried to tamper with it during the night and failed to erase the evidence.
A raven one he'd seen before had begun perching on his window ledge each evening. It never moved. Just sat there with glowing red eyes, watching.
Worst of all? One of the detection runes he'd carved into his desk had cracked.
That only happened if someone tried to spy on him.
Whoever it was… they didn't succeed. But they came close.
Too close.
The next morning, the entire Academy gathered in the central courtyard for the monthly announcement ceremony a brief pause in routine where students were praised, warned, or occasionally scolded in front of their peers.
Headmaster Caelum appeared high above on the balcony, his dark robes swirling in the wind like storm clouds. His voice rolled across the courtyard through the echo-stones, deep and commanding.
"Darkness stirs in places we no longer see," he said. "But Duskmoor stands, as it always has unshaken, undefeated."
He paused. Let the silence stretch.
"Still, remember this: knowledge is a flame. Handle it carelessly, and it will burn you."
His gaze swept the gathered crowd. It landed on Arin.
Just for a second. But it was enough.
Arin's chest tightened.
Later, buried deep in the archives, Arin flipped through brittle scrolls by candlelight. Lyra sat nearby, watching him with narrowed eyes.
"So, this is what we're doing now?" she asked, brushing dust off her sleeve. "You and me investigating ancient secrets before lunch?"
He shot her a weary look. "You're the one who said I needed to move quickly."
She shrugged. "Fair. Still, I didn't think it'd lead to researching something called The Emberborn Trials at sunrise."
Arin unrolled a scroll titled Bloodlines Lost to Flame. "Yesterday, you said something. About legacy. Memory."
Lyra nodded. "Some families didn't trust books. They locked their knowledge into bloodlines magic that only their descendants could unlock."
He tapped the scroll. "That would explain why the spellbook reacted to me."
"Exactly. But here's the problem," she said, leaning forward. "If you're the last of a sealed bloodline, someone else knows it now."
She looked him in the eyes. "Which means they're already moving. Either to kill you… or to use you."
Arin frowned. "Use me for what?" A voice answered from behind them: "To join the Ember Cloaks."
They both turned. A tall figure stood near the archive entrance older than the average student, wrapped in pitch-black robes laced with silver flame sigils. His hair was stark white, but his face remained smooth, untouched by age.
He stepped forward, slow and quiet.
Tattooed on the side of his neck was a symbol Arin recognized instantly.
The same sigil that appeared in his spellbook.
"You're not supposed to be here," Lyra said sharply.
The man didn't blink. "Neither are you."
Then he looked to Arin. "You opened the book. That means we can all see you now."
Arin stood. "Who are you?"
"I am Varik," the man said with a faint bow. "Shadow Watcher of the Ember Cloaks. We move in the places the Academy pretends don't exist."
Lyra snorted. "That's not cryptic at all."
Varik ignored her. "You bear the mark of the First Flame. That book in your possession? It's more than just ancient magic. It's a key." Arin's eyes narrowed. "A key to what?"
Varik's gaze turned grim. "To the sealed tower beneath the Hollow Grounds. To memories long buried. To truths the Academy would rather destroy than expose."
"Why are you telling me this?" Varik stepped closer.
"Because the others won't. Not until you've already paid the price."
He held Arin's gaze. "When you're ready to remember who you are—burn the feather."
Arin blinked. "Feather?"
But Varik was already fading. One step, then two and he melted into the shadows, gone without a trace.
A cold draft swept through the room.
Arin reached into his robe and pulled out the crimson feather he'd found two nights ago.
It pulsed in his hand softly, steadily, like a heartbeat.
That night, Arin couldn't sleep.
He sat at his window, staring across the silent courtyard. Moonlight bathed the stone in pale silver.
He'd only been at Duskmoor a few weeks.
In that time, he'd stumbled into a forbidden vault, inherited a blood-bound seal, drawn the attention of a hidden society, and survived an ancient trial.
He should've felt overwhelmed.
Instead, something inside him had settled. Not peace. Not confidence. Something harder.
Resolve. He walked to the center of the room. Placed the feather on the floor.
Whispered, "Let's see what you're hiding."
He summoned a flicker of fire into his palm and touched it to the feather.
It ignited instantly. No smoke. No heat.
Just shimmering symbols spinning through the air, runes glowing and reshaping themselves midair until they formed a single blazing sigil above his head.
Then Darkness. Total and absolute.
The room vanished. Or perhaps he did.
He floated in a void. Silent. Weightless. Until
hundreds of red eyes blinked open across the dark horizon.
And a voice exploded through his mind:
"You are the last of the Flameblood Line. The blood war begins anew."