CHAPTER 4: THE CRUCIBLE’S FIRST BLOOD

Kael vomited behind Barracks Nine. 

Bile burned his throat, sour and hot, as he braced himself against the cold metal wall. The walk from the Black Gate had been a blur of twisting corridors and judging stares. Now, in the shadow of the Crucible's home, his body rebelled. *Too much. Too fast.* 

He touched the spot on his neck where the needle had bitten him. A tiny, hard knot beneath the skin. It throbbed—a dull echo of the rune's pulse in his palm. *Marked twice now. Once by the Void. Once by the Academy.* 

"Heard they dragged a Void rat into the kennels." 

The voice was smooth. Poisonous. 

Kael wiped his mouth and turned. 

A boy leaned against the barracks doorway, arms crossed. Obsidian eyes. Hair like spun gold, too clean for this place. His grey initiate uniform fit like armor, not hand-me-down rags. A sneer twisted his lips as he looked Kael up and down. "Didn't realize they were taking in strays this year." 

Kael said nothing. His knuckles whitened. 

"Silas marked you, didn't he?" The boy pushed off the wall, stepping closer. His gaze flicked to Kael's neck. "That little *gift* under your skin? Means you're on borrowed time. Crucible eats Void-touched faster than Gate-beasts." He smiled—cold, sharp. "Name's Valen Thorne. House of Iron Runes. Remember it. When you break, I'll be the one reporting your *corruption* to the Assessors." 

Valen turned, tossing one last glance over his shoulder. "Try not to bleed on the floor, gutter-scrape. We have to train here." 

---

The Crucible Yard wasn't dirt. 

It was ash. 

Fine, grey, and clingy as grave dust. It coated Kael's boots, filled his nostrils with the scent of old fire and bone meal. Around him, twenty other initiates stood in loose clusters. None looked his way. Their eyes slid past him like he was smoke. *Already dead.* 

A gong shattered the silence. 

The instructor emerged from a rusted iron shed. No armor. Just scarred leather and eyes like chips of flint. She moved like a blade—all edges, no waste. 

"I am Commander Rhys." Her voice cut through the yard. "You are meat. Weak, untested, *worthless* meat. The Crucible exists for one purpose: to forge you into weapons. Or break you trying." Her gaze swept the initiates, lingering on Kael. "First lesson. Channeling." 

She raised her bare arm. A rune glowed there—deep crimson, jagged as a lightning bolt. The air crackled. Heat rippled off her skin. 

"Rune-channels focus power," she snapped. "Fail to control it, and it burns you from the inside out. Today, you ignite your mark. Hold the flame for ten breaths. Anyone who faints gets dumped in the sluice pit." 

Valen stepped forward first. His sleeve pulled back, revealing a rune like braided gold. It flared, bright and controlled, bathing his smug face in warm light. *Ten breaths. Steady.* 

Others followed. Flickers of blue, green, white. Some gasped. One girl cried out as her rune spat sparks, scorching her wrist. Commander Rhys didn't blink. "Pit. Now." 

Then it was Kael's turn. 

Ash crunched under his boots. Eyes bored into his back. He rolled up his sleeve. The violet rune lay dormant—a silver scar. 

*Focus.* He reached for it. Not with his hand. With his *anger*. At Valen. At the needle in his neck. At the Gates that ruined everything. 

**Ignite.** 

Fire exploded in his veins. 

Violet light erupted—not a glow, but a *blast*. It tore from his palm, screaming through the air like a living thing. The force threw him backward. Ash stung his eyes. Screams echoed. 

*Too much!* 

He tried to clamp down. To control it. But the rune *ripped* at his grip. Wild. Hungry. It lashed out, searing a black scar across the ash where Valen had stood seconds before. 

Valen stared, golden rune still glowing. "See, Commander? Corruption. It's eating him aliv—" 

**PAIN.** 

Not from the rune. From his *neck*. 

The needle-knot ignited—white-hot, vicious—like a shard of ice driven into his spine. Kael gasped, power stuttering. The violet light winked out. 

Commander Rhys was in front of him in two strides. Her hand clamped his wrist, yanking his rune-mark up. Her flint eyes scanned the fading violet threads beneath his skin. Then the needle's burn faded… and the rune flared weakly again. 

"Unstable," she muttered. Her thumb pressed hard over the mark. Agony shot up Kael's arm. "But not void-sick. Yet." She shoved him away. "Pit. For losing control." 

Kael stumbled toward the stinking trench of murky water at the yard's edge. Valen's laugh followed him. "Enjoy the bath, Void Rat!" 

He plunged into the foul water. Cold slapped him, thick with rot. He surfaced, choking. 

Across the yard, leaning against the iron shed, a figure watched. 

Worn Hunter gear. A scar cutting brow to cheek. 

*The scarred Hunter.* 

Their eyes met. No smile. No nod. Just a stare that pinned Kael like a knife. Then, as Commander Rhys barked orders, the Hunter's hand lifted. Two fingers touched the side of his own neck—*exactly where Silas' needle had bitten Kael*. 

His lips moved, silent but clear: 

***"The knife means they fear you."*** 

Then he vanished into the shed's shadows. 

Kael hauled himself out of the pit. Water streamed from his clothes. Ash coated his skin like a second layer of filth. Valen smirked. The rune on Kael's palm throbbed. The needle in his neck pulsed—a warning. 

Commander Rhys' voice cracked like a whip: "Again, Thorn! Ignite it. Or drown yourself in the pit and save us the trouble." 

Kael Thorn raised his trembling hand. Violet light flickered—a dying star in his grip. 

The Crucible had its first blood. 

His own. 

End of chapter 4