Chapter 3: The Gates of Aethelgard

Chapter 3: The Gates of Aethelgard

The week-long journey from Oakhaven to the capital was a silent, grueling march. Warden Thorne set a punishing pace and spoke only to issue curt commands. For Kaelen, it was a blur of aching muscles and the constant, gnawing dread of his future. The cold voice of the System remained silent, a sleeping predator in his mind, leaving him alone with the terrifying memory of the Void.

Then, they crested a final hill, and Kaelen’s breath caught in his throat.

The capital city of Aethelgard wasn't built so much as it was woven from white stone and shimmering magic. Towers pierced the clouds, their peaks adorned with floating crystals that bathed the city in a soft, perpetual daylight. He could see enchanted carriages moving along pristine streets without horses, and feel a low, powerful thrum in the very air—the hum of a thousand complex enchantments working in harmony. It was a world away from the mud and woodsmoke of his village. It was a world designed to make him feel small.

At the center of it all, a fortress of knowledge and power, stood the Royal Mage Academy. It was less a single building and more a small mountain range of spires, domes, and flying buttresses, all connected by bridges of solid light. A shimmering, semi-transparent ward enveloped the entire campus, a silent testament to a level of magical might Kaelen couldn't begin to comprehend.

Before they reached the grand, rune-etched gates, Thorne stopped him. From a pouch on his belt, he produced a heavy iron collar. It was a single, seamless ring, etched with dull, silver runes that seemed to drink the light.

"This is a Suppressor," Thorne stated, his voice devoid of any emotion. "It will dampen your connection to the Void. It won't stop a deliberate use of your power, but it will prevent... accidents. Like the one that brought me to your village. Do not try to remove it."

Kaelen’s desire was to recoil, to refuse this symbol of his imprisonment. But the Warden's cold grey eyes held no room for negotiation. He lowered his head in submission. The iron was freezing cold against his skin, and as Thorne clasped it shut with a sharp, magical click, Kaelen felt a profound sense of loss. A vital part of him, the strange, terrifying power that had awoken within, was suddenly muted, as if wrapped in thick wool. The faint tingling from the rune on his hand subsided to a barely perceptible numbness.

As they walked through the gates, the reaction was immediate. Dozens of new students, clad in crisp, new uniforms and accompanied by proud noble families, milled about the courtyard. Conversations stopped. Heads turned. A wave of whispers followed their path. They weren't just looking at Kaelen’s simple, commoner's clothes, a stark contrast to their tailored robes. They were staring at the Warden, a figure of fear and authority, and at the crude iron collar around Kaelen's neck. It was a brand, a mark that screamed 'dangerous' and 'unworthy' more loudly than any words. He was not a student; he was an inmate.

It was then that he saw her.

She was standing with a group of other nobles, her posture perfect, her long, straight silver hair braided with what looked like threads of captured starlight. She wore the pristine, rune-etched uniform of the academy as if she were born in it. Her sharp, intelligent blue eyes swept over him, her gaze lingering on the collar for a fraction of a second before dismissing him entirely, as one might dismiss a piece of filth on the cobblestones. But in that brief moment, he saw it all: contempt, disgust, and a cold, absolute certainty of his inferiority.

"Unbelievable," she said to her companions, her voice clear and carrying in the sudden lull. "To bring such a... variable... into a place of order. It's a contamination."

The boy next to her, a sneering youth with slicked-back blond hair, laughed. "He's probably one of the Warden's charity cases, Elara. A hedge-witch's brat who can't control his own cantrips."

Elara didn't laugh. Her expression remained one of severe disapproval. "Control is the foundation of all magic. That thing he wears is proof of its absence. He doesn't belong here."

Her words were like stones, striking him with a cold, precise cruelty that was somehow worse than Loras’s brutish taunts. This was the voice of the world he had just been thrust into, a world that had judged and condemned him before he'd taken a single step inside its halls.

The welcoming ceremony took place in the Grand Hall, a cavernous chamber whose ceiling was an enchanted starscape. An ancient, stern-looking Magus, the Headmaster, addressed the new students from a high dais. His speech was a long, dry oration on the principles of magical law, the sanctity of the Veil, and the paramount importance of discipline.

"Magic is not a toy," the Headmaster droned, his voice echoing in the vast hall. "It is the fundamental force of creation, a power that demands precision, respect, and above all, control. Any deviation, any chaos, is a threat not only to the practitioner but to the very fabric of reality."

Every word seemed aimed directly at Kaelen. He hunched his shoulders, trying to make himself smaller, acutely aware of Thorne standing like a stone statue in the shadows along the wall, watching him.

The ceremony concluded with the Attunement. One by one, each student was called to the dais to place their hand upon a large, flawlessly clear crystal. It was a diagnostic tool, designed to reveal a student's innate magical affinity. One boy produced a deep crimson glow—Evocation, the school of fire. A girl summoned a soft green light—Transmutation.

When Elara's name was called, a respectful hush fell over the hall. She moved with an effortless grace, placing her hand on the crystal. It didn't just glow; it blazed with a pure, blindingly brilliant white light, so intense it was almost painful to look at. Thin, perfect lines of light arced across its surface, forming intricate, geometric patterns.

"Magnificent," the instructor overseeing the ritual breathed. "A prodigy of Abjuration and Order. Unprecedented purity."

Then, the instructor called the next name, a slight frown creasing his brow as he read the unfamiliar parchment. "Kaelen of Oakhaven."

Every head turned. The whispers returned, venomous and sharp. He walked the long aisle towards the dais, each step an agony of self-consciousness. He could feel Elara's icy stare on his back. He reached the dais, his hand trembling. He deliberately chose his left hand, keeping the Scar of the Void on his right hidden from view.

He hesitated for a second, then pressed his palm against the crystal's cool surface.

For a moment, nothing happened. The crystal remained clear. A few students snickered. The Unawakened commoner truly was a blank.

Then, a low thrum began to resonate from the crystal, a deep, discordant vibration that made Kaelen’s teeth ache. The clear surface flickered, not with color, but with a terrifying, oily blackness that seemed to swallow the light. A hairline fracture spiderwebbed across its surface with a sickening crack.

The air around the crystal grew thick and heavy. The perfect, geometric patterns left by Elara's magic warped and bent as if seen through heated air. A stack of parchments on the Headmaster's lectern ten feet away lifted into the air, fluttered sideways in a physically impossible direction, and then clattered to the floor. The minor spatial distortion lasted only a second, but in the pristine order of the Grand Hall, it was a cataclysm.

The instructor snatched his own hand back from the dais as if burned. The Headmaster was on his feet, his face a mask of thunderous fury. The students stared, their scorn now mixed with genuine fear. He hadn't just failed the test. He had broken it. He had brought his chaos into their sanctuary.

Kaelen stood alone in the sudden, ringing silence, his hand still on the cracked, light-devouring crystal. He was no longer just an outcast. He was a confirmed threat, a monster wearing a boy's skin.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Warden Thorne, his face unreadable, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The message was clear. Kaelen's life at the academy had begun, not with a lesson, but with a verdict.

And in the silence of his mind, the System delivered its own cold judgment.

[Public Perception Altered.] [Reputation with Aethelgard Academy decreased to: Hostile.]