A metallic taste, sharp and invigorating from his morning brew, lingered on Kael’s tongue. Its alchemical warmth was a fleeting comfort against the cool, indifferent air of Cinderholme. He had offered his usual words to Elara, as he did every day since the Hum reshaped Aerthos, since the Obsidian Spire Academy first admitted them both. And, as always, she had simply fled, a flurry of scholarly robes and averted gaze. A familiar knot tightened in his chest, then just as quickly unraveled. There was metal to be shaped, lectures to attend. Sentiment, while real, served little purpose now.
Then, a heavy arm draped across his shoulders. It settled with an almost bone-deep weight, a friendly challenge to his own sturdy frame. Corvin, his old friend, was taller, broader, a human whirlwind of boisterous laughter and unshakeable optimism.
“Another failure, eh, Kael? How many does that make now? Five hundred and twenty?” Corvin’s voice rumbled, deep and laced with familiar amusement.
“Five hundred and twenty-one,” Kael muttered, a slight flush rising on his neck. His gaze drifted over the bustling Skybridge Ward below, the glint of sun on a thousand metal spires.
“Almost every day since we joined the Spire,” Corvin continued, pulling Kael along toward the grand academy entrance. “Think of it, all the aspiring scholars, the young noblewomen, clamoring for the attention of the Obsidian Spire’s three-thousand-and-twenty-first most promising scion. Yet you fixate on just one. Imagine the hearts breaking across Aerthos.”
Kael let out a dry chuckle. “Three thousand and twenty-first. When the number’s that grand, Corvin, it tends to make the accomplishment ring rather hollow, don’t you think?” Being listed on the ‘Scions of Promise Registry’ was supposed to be an honor, but knowing three thousand and twenty more deemed worthy ahead of him felt less like an achievement and more like a cruel jest. And that was just the younger generation. Once they became full adults, his ranking might vanish entirely.
Even more galling, several newly-arrived students, barely past their naming ceremonies, stood higher on the list. Their talent for fire-weaving or stone-shaping, less nuanced than his Resonance, was often perceived as ‘purer,’ ‘more impactful.’
“Bah, forget that cursed registry,” Corvin spat, a wave of his hand dismissing the very notion. “What grey-haired Archivar compiled such a list? Utter nonsense.”
“Must be nice, looking down from your lofty perch, Mr. Nine-Hundred-and-Sixty-Seventh,” Kael countered, a faint smile touching his lips.
Corvin laughed, a booming sound that drew a few curious glances. He shook Kael, side to side, his grip firm. “Oh, Kael, my metal-whispering friend.”
Above the Academy’s main archway, a low, resonant hum began. Luminescent glyphs flared to life, shifting across the polished obsidian. *”Scanning… Resonance alignment procedures initiated.”* A deep, disembodied voice echoed, audible only within their immediate vicinity, its tone flat and mechanical. *”Scion Kael, identified. Welcome, future Five-Star Forge-Master.”*
Kael flinched, a shiver running down his spine. The cold categorisation always grated, a constant reminder of the path chosen for him, not by him. Corvin seemed to notice, his grip tightening momentarily.
“Think of it this way,” Corvin said, leading them through the grand, echoing hallways of the Spire. The walls here were veined with mithril, pulsing faintly with trapped Primal energy. “There are billions across Aerthos. Countless aspiring minds and hands. Yet we stand in the top sliver of a sliver of a sliver. You must stop fixating on this one girl, Kael. There are too many who would value your attention.”
“Until she rejects me explicitly, Corvin, I will continue,” Kael replied, tapping his finger against his chin. “In four years, she has never once spoken a word after my overtures. She always just hurries away.” He met Corvin’s gaze, a glint in his eye. “It’s obvious she likes me.”
Corvin stared for a moment, then burst into another fit of laughter. Students moving through the hall, used to Corvin’s boisterousness, barely spared them a glance.
“I waste my breath,” Corvin chuckled, pulling his arm from Kael’s shoulder to pound a fist lightly against Kael’s chest. “I know you don’t care for such surface things. Nothing affects your state of mind when the Grand Artificer’s Trial looms.”
Kael grinned, tapping Corvin’s chest in return. “Let the other apprentices wait patiently for their fourth loss to the Spire-forged.” A complex light flickered in Corvin’s eyes. He was easily three inches taller, Kael’s constant companion since their earliest training. Kael knew him too well, could read the unspoken behind Corvin’s bravado.
“I did have something important to discuss with you, Kael—” Corvin’s voice was abruptly cut off by a sharp, resonant chime, echoing through the halls. It signaled the start of morning lessons.
“Dammit, there’s a test today!” Corvin cried, his face falling into an exaggerated mask of panic. He sprinted off down the hall, likely searching for a scroll-keeper willing to share their notes.
Kael shook his head, a faint sigh escaping him. Without thinking much, he reached into his satchel, pulling out a binder crammed with meticulously transcribed notes. He began to cram, reviewing complex alchemic formulae and elemental matrices as he walked toward his own class. He and Corvin were not in the same section. Kael consistently ranked among the top three academically across all subjects. Corvin, however, hovered near the bottom of the barrel. Had his Primal assessment not deemed him a ‘Five-Star Sky-Guardian’—a pivotal role in Cinderholme’s airborne defenses—he would not even be permitted entry into the Spire’s main campus.
Academy policy, strictly enforced, dictated these separations. It was a minor miracle Kael, with his ‘expendable’ profession, had even secured a place in the coveted Elder Scholars’ Class, Section A.
All children, at the age of three cycles, underwent a mandatory Primal Resonance Analysis. This assessment determined their optimal career path and their projected societal contribution, grading their potential from one to five stars. A One-Star Professional was considered average, a solid foundation builder. Five-Star Professionals were rare, destined to revolutionize their fields. Across Aerthos, perhaps a hundred children in a generation might receive such an evaluation, and not every profession birthed one.
Kael, too, was a Five-Star Professional. His evaluation, ‘Five-Star Forge-Master,’ should have been a cause for celebration. But he held no interest in joining the Grand Artisans’ Guild, nor becoming a Hall of Fame Smith. People like him, categorized as ‘Architects of Resonance,’ were often seen as highly skilled, yes, but ultimately not ‘essential’ in the way a Fire-Weaver or a Spirit-Healer was. He would be comfortable, live a good life, but never be taken truly seriously outside his craft. This was part of why his ranking on the Scions of Promise Registry was so low. Many ranked above him, though only Three-Star Alchemists or Four-Star Rune-Carvers, were considered more vital.
Of course, that wasn’t the full reason. If it were, Corvin, also an ‘expendable’ Sky-Guardian, wouldn’t be ranked so much higher.
Kael entered his classroom, the Elder Scholars’ Class, just as the last chime faded. He offered a brief, polite nod to a few classmates, a quiet “Good morning,” before burying his head back into his binder. Many appreciated Kael’s amicable nature, but his intense focus often left them shaking their heads. Only moments ago, he had been confessing his enduring admiration to Elara. Now he sat directly behind her, poring over notes as if she were a stranger.
Elara, typically shy and prone to blushing when Kael approached, hardly reacted to his entry. Did both suffer from some strange elemental imbalance? The Elder Scholars’ Class, barely twenty students strong, was a close-knit group. They had become deeply invested in the peculiar Kael-Elara dynamic. Unfortunately, in class, the two offered no dramatic fodder.
“Alright, scrolls away, all materials cleared from your desks,” Mistress Veridia, an amiable woman whose hair held the sheen of aged copper, announced. “The test begins now.”
Surfaces of the seemingly normal obsidian desks shimmered, then flared into softly glowing screens. They were enchanted to block all light projection, preventing any sharing of answers. Cheating, effectively, was impossible.
Kael’s amiable gaze vanished. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing as he read the first question. A suffocating intensity emanated from him, a focused pressure that seemed to draw the very air from the room. The others in the Elder Scholars’ Class had grown accustomed to it. Many had journeyed with him from their earliest days in the Spire. Still, a cold sweat often prickled their skin. It was only a test, they thought. Did it warrant such a transformation? They truly couldn’t fathom why Kael had been assessed as a Five-Star Forge-Master, instead of a Five-Star Tactician. Even a Four-Star General, like his father, would have been a far better use of his talents.
As usual, Kael finished with blazing speed, completing the two-hour examination in under thirty minutes. He closed his eyes for a moment, then, with a soft exhale, pushed up from his desk, slinging his satchel over his shoulder. The rest of the class breathed a collective sigh of relief. Now, they could truly begin their own tests.
“Apologies, Mistress Veridia,” Kael murmured, a polite bow of his head. “I must depart.”
“Do not worry, Kael,” Mistress Veridia smiled, a fond warmth in her eyes. She held a deep respect for his intellect. “I know you Spire-forged apprentices have rigorous schedules. Go on now.”
Kael was about to jog out the classroom door, his mind already on the next task, when he paused. He looked up at the vaulted ceiling, drew a deep breath, as if gathering some invisible strength. With a determined grit of his teeth, he turned back. With purposeful strides, he made his way back to Elara, who was still deeply engrossed in her exam. His finger lightly tapped the metallic clasp of the intricate, silvered watch on her small wrist before she could react. A soft, intricate glow passed from his own watch to hers, a fleeting whisper of Resonance.
She sat in a daze for a moment, her brow furrowed in concentration. Then, she looked up, her wide eyes meeting Kael’s. For a moment, she seemed unsure how to react.
“I know you probably won’t come,” Kael said, a rare, genuine smile gracing his features. It softened the air, a fleeting warmth in the academic chill. “But I thought I would ask anyway. We can celebrate our trial victory tonight.”
Without another word, Kael turned. He pressed his hands together in a quick, apologetic gesture to Mistress Veridia for the disruption, then left with a faint, embarrassed smile. He sprinted out of the building, the stone stairs echoing with his footsteps, then hopped onto his Sky-Skiff, weaving through the morning air currents with practiced speed, cutting across the vast academy grounds.
This early departure, this constant rush, was the true reason Kael could only rank third academically. He simply never had time to attend lectures. With the Information Sanction Decree of 1272, knowledge, particularly concerning higher alchemical and elemental theory, was restricted the further one traveled from the central city-states. The Council’s reasoning was that policing the scattered settlements and sky-wards was difficult, especially the highest, most isolated ones. It was impossible to monitor how ‘sensitive’ knowledge was being used. Therefore, the Council concluded, it should be restricted. But when had the reasons governments gave for doing anything ever been anything but thinly veiled excuses? Even the official reason they offered was absurd.
Ultimately, Kael’s only chance to truly study was the time he spent within the city’s heart. His ‘Arcane Censor’ watch, otherwise oh-so-‘useful,’ would simply scramble the most complex texts when he traveled beyond Cinderholme’s designated zones.
Still, this wasn’t the worst of Kael’s predicament. To enter the Obsidian Spire Academy’s main campus, the requirements were exceedingly strict. One needed to be a Three-Star Professional in an ‘Essential Profession’—like a Grand Engineer or a Spirit-Surgeon—or a Four-Star Professional in an ‘Auxiliary Profession’—such as a Rune-Lawyer or a Trade-Consul. If one desired entry with an ‘Expendable Profession,’ like Kael’s, a Five-Star evaluation was the bare minimum. All of this meant Kael was allowed into the same building as Elara only because of his credentials as a potentially revolutionary Forge-Master. He had no choice but to follow the ‘Spire-forged’ curriculum, which was, quite obviously, not academically centered.
Corvin’s ‘test’ this morning was merely for the basic knowledge every adult citizen required. Over eighty percent of his workload was evaluated at the Spire’s state-of-the-art Elemental Training Arenas. The logic was simple, if frustrating: since his career path had already been decided as a muscle-brained Sky-Guardian, what need did he have for advanced physics, theoretical mathematics, or ancient Aerthan literature?
Kael sped into a massive, glass-domed oval arena, its metallic supports gleaming. After entering the locker room, he was greeted by the familiar chorus of groans from dozens of grown men.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Kael sighed, a sound of profound disappointment. “You’re all too embarrassing. I no longer wish to be your captain.”
“Don’t be like that, Cap! These Four-Star Elemental Masseurs have the touch of angels!” A burly Guardian called out from beneath a pile of heated compresses.
“Come on, Cap, you have to try this. They only hire these goddesses for the Grand Artificer’s Trial. If you don’t take advantage now, you’ll have to wait until you’re drafted by the Elemental Guilds!”
“Well, since you’re all so sincerely begging me…” Kael sighed again, but a faint smirk touched his lips. Soon, Kael’s own moans of content joined the others, echoing within the locker room.
An eruption of boisterous laughter shook the arena walls. It seemed impossible that the biggest competition of the year was only hours away. But why would it? Kael had led them to victory three times already. This year would be no different.