Dark Currents

'First rule of the Academy,' Kieran recited to himself, staring at the ceiling of his dormitory room. 'Don't draw attention.'

"You're still pretending to be weak?" The entity's voice echoed in his mind, amused and mocking. "After all the trouble we went through to secure your power?"

'Shut up,' Kieran thought back. Having the entity as a permanent resident in his head wasn't part of his plan, but he'd learned to adapt. 'The amplitude test is tomorrow. I need to focus.'

"Ah yes, the famous ranking ceremony." The entity chuckled. "Where they sort the sheep by the color of their wool. How... quaint."

Kieran rolled onto his side, trying to ignore the cold spot in his chest where the entity had made its home. Five days at the Academy had taught him enough to know that tomorrow would make or break his cover.

The next morning, hundreds of first-year students gathered in the Great Hall. Each wore a plain copper band on their wrist, waiting to be attuned to their magical strength. Crystal orbs sat before each student, ready to reveal their elemental affinities.

"As you know," Headmistress Vale announced, her voice carrying across the hall, "your bands will change color based on your magical amplitude. Bronze for basic aptitude, silver for intermediate, and gold for exceptional talent." She smiled thinly. "The test cannot be fooled. It measures your raw potential."

'That's what you think,' Kieran thought, feeling the entity stir.

"Want some help with that, little shadow?" it whispered. "I know a few tricks about hiding power that your precious Academy has forgotten."

For once, Kieran didn't argue. 'Show me.'

The entity's presence spread through him like frost on a window. "Remember the void space we created to trap my consciousness? We can use that to... redirect your magical signature. Make it read differently. Darker. Weaker."

'And the cost?' Kieran had learned to always ask.

"Just the pleasure of watching you squirm," the entity replied. "Consider it a free lesson. I do so enjoy teaching."

One by one, students stepped forward. Bands glowed and changed color – mostly bronze, a handful of silver, two proud gold. The orbs spun with elemental alignments: fire, water, earth, air, light.

"Kieran Webb," called the examiner.

He stepped forward, feeling dozens of eyes on him. 'Now or never.'

"Ready?" the entity whispered.

'Do it.'

As Kieran placed his hand on the testing orb, the entity wove its magic. He felt his power sink into that cold void space, emerging twisted and diminished. The copper band on his wrist flickered weakly before settling into a dull bronze, shot through with threads of black.

Whispers erupted across the hall. The orb before him swirled with shadows, refusing to settle on any traditional element.

"Dark affinity," the examiner muttered, making a note. "Unusual. And quite weak overall."

Kieran caught the looks from his classmates – fear, disgust, fascination. Perfect. No one wanted to associate with the weak dark magic user. No one would look too closely.

"Mr. Webb," Headmistress Vale said carefully, "dark affinity is... rare. You'll need special accommodation for certain classes."

"Yes, ma'am," Kieran replied, letting his voice shake slightly. "I... I hope it won't be a problem?"

"Not at all," she said, though her smile didn't reach her eyes. "The Academy accepts all magical talents."****

Back in his now-private room (they'd moved him immediately, away from the "normal" students), the entity laughed. "Oh, very well played! Did you see their faces? Such delightful prejudice."

Kieran sat on his bed, examining the black-veined bronze band. 'It worked better than expected.'

"Of course it did. Dark magic users are always isolated, always watched from a distance. No one will want to get close enough to notice when you're practicing... other talents."

The next few weeks proved the entity right. Students avoided him in hallways. Teachers watched him with barely concealed concern. Even his roommate had requested a transfer.

In Elemental Theory, they sat him at the back. During practical exercises, no one would partner with him. His intentionally weak attempts at basic spells drew sighs of relief – proof that the dark magic user was no threat.

"You know," the entity mused during one particularly lonely lunch period, "you could show them a fraction of your true power. Just enough to make them regret their scorn."

'No,' Kieran thought firmly, picking at his food. 'I need this. The isolation makes everything easier.'

"Easier to study forbidden magic? Easier to plan? Easier to kill?"

'Easier to survive.'

The entity fell silent, but Kieran felt its approval. They both understood survival.

In his private room each night, Kieran practiced his real magic, the grimoire open before him. The entity offered tips, critiques, the occasional burst of ancient knowledge. It was almost like having a mentor, if mentors were ancient, malevolent beings trapped in your soul.

"Your containment sigils are sloppy," it would say, or "Channel the power through your core, not your hands. Were you raised in a barn?"

'Actually,' Kieran would reply, 'I was raised in a gutter.'

These exchanges became almost comfortable. The entity's darkness and his own twisted together until sometimes Kieran couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

"You know," it said one night as Kieran mastered a particularly complex spell, "most humans would have broken by now. The isolation. The constant deception. The weight of power."

Kieran closed the grimoire, hiding it in its usual spot. 'I'm not most humans.'

"No," the entity agreed. "You're much more interesting."

Days blurred together. Kieran played his role perfectly – the weak, awkward dark magic user, struggling with basic spells while excelling in theoretical work. Teachers praised his academic efforts while lamenting his practical failures. Students either ignored him or whispered behind his back.

All the while, his true power grew.

"We make a good team, you and I," the entity observed one evening. "Your ambition. My knowledge. Their ignorance."

'Don't get sentimental,' Kieran thought, but he didn't disagree. 'It's just business.'

"Of course," the entity replied, its amusement clear. "Just business."

And if sometimes, in the darkest hours of night, Kieran found himself having actual conversations with the thing in his soul – about magic, about power, about the nature of humanity – well, that was just business too.

After all, even monsters could be useful. And Kieran had learned long ago that the most dangerous monsters weren't the ones lurking in shadows.

They were the ones hiding in plain sight, wearing bronze bands shot through with black, pretending to be less than they were.