Unworthy

After the nightmare Rion didn't sleep again.

Long hours went by whilst he lay motionless, hearing the timid creaking of the academy bones as the wind blew up and down the stone halls. Then when at last the light oozed in through the curtains he sat up, dressed himself without thinking, and went out of his room with dry feet and messy thoughts.

He told himself to forget it. Its nothing but a dream. However, the sound of the fire was heard yet in the corner of his mind, like smoke which could not disperse.

---

His first class that day was in the South Hall's survival wing, a wide room filled with bundles of preserved flora hanging near the rafters, and side tables stacked with strange looking stones and dried roots. Long wooden benches lined the space, already filled with unfamiliar students.

No Leon, no Kaela, no one he knew. Slowly Rion slipped into an empty seat near the rear,

A thin man with hair turning silver at the threads and a pair of green eyes full of sharp edges stumped in, and behind him came a tall, metal frame which he pulled open to fold into a portable chalk board.

"Welcome," he said without preamble. His voice was clipped and brisk. "I am Professor Malven. This is your first survival and resilience session. You may think that because you are mages, you're immune to most dangers. That assumption will get you killed."

There was a little nervous laughter around the room. Rion made an effort to concentrate. He really did. But the orphanage and the screams and the fire kept creeping back to his mind. Then through the fog Malven spoke.

"There are plants that burn out your core before you even feel the fever. Foods that look safe but deaden your spellwork for hours. And yes, some that mimic mana pathways just enough to trigger seizures."

He lifted a pale purple root from a nearby table. "Anyone know what this is?"

Silence.

"This," Malven said, "is frost thistle. It numbs pain. But eat too much, and you'll lose sensation in your arms for days. That includes your ability to direct emission. Eat it unknowingly in battle, and you'll die with a full mana pool and no way to use it."

That got Rion's attention.

The professor moved quickly from one specimen to the next, presenting dangers stranger than the last. Stone apples that hardened in the gut. Falseleaf that mimicked real herbs but disrupted fusion. Mirrorcaps that caused hallucinations reflecting your deepest fears.

Rion's stomach twisted at that one.

Over the hour, the lecture shifted from threat to method of identification by smell, texture, emission testing, and the proper use of survival kits. It became almost rhythmic: danger, solution, unknown, understanding.

By the time class ended, his mind felt steadier. Not quiet, but clearer.

He was walking the hall slowly, lost in thought, when Kaela appeared from the north stairs.

She saw him instantly. Her expression tightened.

"Rion!"

He blinked. "Hey."

She stopped in front of him, apologetic. Her voice was soft. "Listen, about yesterday. I didn't mean to press. I shouldn't have—"

"Its all right," he interrupted. "Don't worry about kt."

She paused and sighed as she nodded back. "Still… I had something I wanted to present you.

She reached into her regalia band and pulled out a slim, worn book. Its leather cover was faded, the gold title nearly rubbed away: The Last Stand of Ardren Vale.

"It's about a warrior who fought off hundreds of Draughnir alone," she said with a small smile. "I remembered what you said yesterday. About liking heroic stories."

Rion blinked, caught off guard. He took it carefully, fingers brushing the old spine.

"Thanks," he said, quieter this time. "Really."

He slid the book into his own regalia slot. It shimmered and vanished into the fold.

Kaela adjusted her satchel. "What's your next class?"

"Geography. Map reading and theory, I think."

"Ah. Rune Configuration for me, guess we split here."

He nodded. "Guess so."

She gave him a playful wave. "Try not to get lost in a forest full of frost thistles."

He chuckled. "No promises."

Then they turned and went their separate ways.

His next class met in a round room filled with glowing tables and thin glass panels showing maps of old ruins, ley lines, and long forgotten roads. The ceiling was painted like a star chart, golden lines moving across it as if tracing paths through memory.

Rion slipped into a seat, then spotted two familiar faces across the room. Luciel sat stiffly, arms crossed, as sour as ever. Next to him, the purple-haired girl from Combat Theory, fast asleep, head on the desk, drooling slightly.

Rion blinked, then quietly chose a seat far away and turned his attention to the instructor.

A middle aged woman in travel gear with an eye patch tapped her cane against a massive map.

"Welcome to Navigation and Strategic Terrain Theory," she said. "You'll learn to read maps, plan travel routes, and recognize hidden threats beneath the surface of the land."

She tapped again.

"Some of you will use this to find sanctuaries. Others, to avoid traps. Either way, get comfortable with being lost. Because I plan to make sure it happens, intentionally by the end of the month."

Some students groaned. Others exchanged glances.

Rion just opened his notebook, put pen to paper, and took a slow breath.

He is still exhausted. But he decided to focus on what's in front of him.

Its dusk at the end of the period, and the academy was silent. Along the archways were the lanterns, giving the stone paths the warm circles of light. In the dining room there was scarcely anyone.

Near the back a solitary figure, Rion, was stirring a bowl of root porridge and dried greens. His hunger had not come back yet however he ate out of routine. His mind wandered among lecture notes, the book of Kaela and dreams he don't want to remember again.

He rose his eyes toward the tall windows. The sky was turning a rich blue velvet out side. He pictured Kaela studying her runes in her dorm.

He sighed and stood, returned his tray, and headed toward the training hall.

The air there was cooler, faintly scented with old stone and charged mana.

He had just passed the ivy framed archway when his regalia beeped softly.

Rion stopped and lifted his wrist. Light shimmered across the metal surface as a transparent screen appeared.

[From: Caspian Everheart]

[I forgot to tell you, among the gold you got, there's some magic gems. They're high quality, so don't absorb too many in one day.]

Rion stared at the message. The gem, the one he'd been unsure about. Are much valuable more than he knew.

He turned around and headed back to his dorm. His room was streaded with the fading light. The bag of gems remained in the shelf, wrapped in cloth.

He picked one up. It shimmered faintly beneath his fingers. Metallic, yet strangely warm.

He held it tightly and exhaled.

"Alright," he whispered. "Just one."

He focused.

The moment his emission touched the gem, it responded.

Light curled at the edges of his vision. The room blurred. His consciousness folded inward.

---

The Realm of Conception.

The endless, swirling streams of color. The echoes of thought and shape not yet formed. The ink that mages used to paint their creations.

But something was different this time. Before he could react, something pulled him deeper transport him to other realm.

He stumbled forward and stopped.

Under his feet is not ground, there's a starry ocean, dark and boundless, and as the waves moved there's countless pulsing lights ripples beneath. Each step threw a glinitzing over it, as though one is walking on stars.

Above him, the sky rotated slowly, a dome of shifting constellations, unnatural in their arcs. And there, ahead of him, stood a tower.

A black tower. Impossibly vast. It spun up towards the heavens in endless spirals like a galactic drill attempting to bore heaven. It buzzed with a pressure that caused ache on his chest.

From the sky above it, silver threads fell constantly, silent, vanishing as they touched the tower's surface.

And before it—

Blocking the entrance, stood a figure. Humanoid, Golden. Radiant but indistinct. Its outline shimmered like heat over desert sand. It did not move.

Rion couldn't breathe.

His body trembled. He couldn't look away. It wasn't fear. It was something deeper. A recognition that he was witnessing something beyond comprehension. Something he had no right to see.

Then the pressure grew. His knees collapsed. His lips parted in voiceless horror. The sea of stars below him started shaking. About to shatter.

He woke up gasping.

Back in his room.

Sweat clung to his skin. His sheets were twisted. The gem was gone, already dissolved into his mana flow.

But the memory remained, not the image. The feeling. A silence too large. A presence too distant. Rion laying quitely, staring at the ceiling with his chest panting heavily.