After practice, a group of grey-robed men and women arrived in silent formation. Without a word, they gestured for the children to follow. They were escorted through the castle’s stone corridors, their footsteps echoing in unison, until they reached the shower rooms. The warm mist curled through the air as they entered.
Cale stood alongside Davion and Tristan. Tristan remained in the middle, his gaze fixed on the ground, his shoulders rigid. Cale gnced at him now and then, searching for some sign of acknowledgment, but Tristan never once met his gaze. His silence felt heavier than the armor they had trained in.
After washing away the grime of the day, they dressed and headed toward the canteen. They ate in near silence. Davion, never one for idle chatter, focused on his food, while Tristan remained brooding, pushing his meal around his pte more than he actually ate.
Cale stole a gnce at Mirelle, debating whether to approach her.
She sat with her arms folded beneath her head, breathing evenly. Asleep.
A tired sigh escape his lips.
After dinner, they were led to the amphitheater, its vast, open space illuminated by magic stones set along the curved stone seating. There, Varra put them through rigorous speech exercises, forcing them to shape their words with crity and precision. They repeated phrases until their tongues ached, learning to project their voices with strength and authority.
Once Varra was done, Alden took over. Meditation followed. Each of them was given a small metal bead, and under Alden’s guidance, they sat in absolute stillness, focusing on the essence within the cold metal. The goal was to feel it, to recognize the quiet hum of its existence, to sense the way it resonated with the world around them. Some struggled, shifting in frustration. Others sat motionless, waiting for something—anything—to happen.
By the time Cale reached his room, the sun had long since set, the corridors bathed in the cool glow of moonlight filtering through the castle windows. Weariness weighed on him like a cloak, and all he wanted was to colpse onto his bed and lose himself to sleep.
But as he stepped inside, he froze.
Garret stood in the center of the room, arms crossed, his ever-present smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Marek stood on his bed grinning .
The door clicked shut behind Cale.
He tensed.
Garret’s smirk widened.
“Long day, huh?” he drawled, his tone mockingly casual.
Cale’s pulse quickened. The fatigue in his limbs was suddenly forgotten, repced by a sharp, creeping tension that coiled in his chest.
Something about the way Garret stood—too rexed, too certain—sent a chill down Cale’s spine.
Garret strode toward Cale with an easy confidence, his smirk a mask of amusement that never quite reached his eyes. Before Cale could step back, Garret’s arm coiled around his neck in a mock-friendly embrace, his grip just a little too tight, just a little too firm.
“I think I need to work on my grappling technique,” Garret mused, his tone light, casual. “That guy—Davion, right? He really beat my ass today.”
Cale remained silent, his muscles stiff beneath Garret’s hold.
Garret chuckled, his breath warm against Cale’s ear. “Is he your friend?”
Cale forced a nod, his throat dry.
“That’s awesome.” Garret grinned. “I want to give your friend a gift.”
From within his clothes, Garret produced a small, sharp piece of metal, twirling it between his fingers. The bde glinted under the light of the magic stones, wickedly pointed. He waved it pyfully in front of Cale’s face, the edge coming dangerously close to his cheek.
Cale stiffened, his breath catching in his throat.
“But first, let’s get some practice in, shall we?” Garret tossed the metal shard to Marek, who nearly sliced his own fingers trying to catch it.
Then, without warning, Garret pulled off his shirt, rolling his shoulders as if limbering up for a match.
Cale barely had time to react.
Garret was on him in an instant.
A fsh of movement—then Cale was choking.
Garret’s arm was locked around his throat, vice-like and unyielding. Cale’s mouth opened, but no sound came, only a faint wheeze. His hands shot up, nails digging into Garret’s forearm, trying to pry himself free, but it was useless.
“This is for what you did when we sparred,” Garret growled, his voice low and dripping with satisfaction.
Cale’s vision blurred at the edges, his lungs burning.
'No. Not again.'
Just like the night before. Just like when Garret had nearly choked the life out of him in this room. His fingers cwed desperately at Garret’s arm, his legs kicking, his body arching as panic flooded through him.
His mind screamed.
'I’m dying.'
Saliva dribbled from his lips as his face darkened, his lips tinged blue. He barely registered Garret’s voice, venomous and triumphant.
“This time, I’ll hold it longer,” Garret whispered into his ear, his voice dripping with cruelty. “I’ll make sure you never pull that shit again.”
Cale panicked.
'Longer? Last time, he had barely survived. What if I don’t wake up this time?'
His lungs burned, his vision tunneling into darkness. He thrashed wildly, his instincts screaming for survival. His nails scraped at Garret’s arm, but it wasn’t enough. He needed—
'Sharper. If only my nails were sharper—'
Then—
Everything went bck.
A scream shattered the suffocating silence.
“Garret?!” Marek’s voice cracked with panic.
“This fucker!” Garret howled, his voice twisted in agony.
Cale’s eyes fluttered open, his breath coming in ragged gasps. His body felt heavy, disoriented. He blinked rapidly, trying to shake the haze from his mind.
Garret had staggered back, clutching his arm. Marek stood beside him, eyes wide with horror.
Blood dripped freely from Garret’s forearm—deep red streaks running down his skin, pooling onto the ground.
Cale felt something wet and warm on his hands. He looked down.
His breath hitched.
His hands… they weren’t his hands anymore.
His fingers had turned gray and metallic, their edges elongated into wickedly sharp cws. They glinted under the torchlight, wet with something dark.
Garret’s blood.
A wave of nausea crashed over Cale. His stomach clenched, bile rising in his throat. He turned sharply to the side and vomited onto the floor.
The world around him felt distant, muffled, as if he were trapped in a dream he couldn’t wake from. His breath shuddered, his entire body trembling.
He had done this.
The door to their room swung wide open as a grey-robed man rushed inside. His eyes widened the moment he took in the scene—Garret leaning against the wall, his breathing ragged, his arm slick with blood. But more than that, his gaze locked onto Cale’s hands.
The boy’s cws.
Without a word, the man spun on his heel and bolted out of the room.
By the time he returned, Garret was lying on the ground, pale from blood loss, his breaths shallow. More grey-robed figures followed behind him, their movements swift and practiced. And at the front, stepping through the doorway with an air of silent authority, was a dark-armored figure.
The man’s imposing presence filled the room. He walked straight to Cale, who sat on the floor, staring bnkly at his hands. His metallic cws flexed open and closed, still smeared with Garret’s blood. The rhythmic motion was slow, detached—his mind barely processing what he was seeing.
The armored figure reached down, his gauntlet wrapping firmly around Cale’s arm. With little effort, he lifted the small boy to his feet.
Cale’s head snapped up at the sudden movement. His gssy eyes met the dark visor of the man before him. He was too dazed to resist. Too shocked to speak.
Everything after that blurred together.
He barely remembered being taken through the castle corridors, the cold stone beneath his feet, the murmurs of unseen voices. Before he knew it, he was in a different room. A small, simple chamber—bare walls, a bed, a wooden desk, and a shelf lined with dried herbs.
Cale sat motionless on the bed as the armored figure knelt before him, taking his hands and wiping them clean. The warm cloth soaked in Garret’s blood, turning dark as it passed over the jagged metallic surface of his cws. When they scraped against the man’s gauntlets, a faint screech of metal-on-metal echoed through the room. But each time the cws left a scratch, the damage quickly repaired itself—the armored figure’s magic smoothing over the marks as if they had never been there.
Cale barely noticed.
His gaze drifted to the side as the door creaked open.
Alden stepped inside, his piercing gaze meeting Cale’s without hesitation. The weight of that stare sent a shiver down Cale’s spine. Unlike the others, Alden wasn’t shocked. He wasn’t afraid.
He was assessing him.
Alden walked over, stopping beside them. His expression unreadable. "You can leave now," he said to the armored figure.
The man gave a silent nod before standing and walking out of the room. The door shut with a firm thud, leaving them alone.
Alden knelt before the boy, his presence softer than before. "Cale?"
Cale blinked as he heard his name. His body trembled, his hands clenched into fists, his cws glinting under the magic stones light. He was still in shock.
Alden exhaled and gently pced a hand on the boy’s shoulder. "Take a few deep breaths."
He demonstrated, inhaling slowly, then releasing the breath in a steady rhythm. Cale hesitated, then followed his lead, his breaths shaky at first but gradually evening out.
Alden waited until some color returned to the boy’s face. "How are you feeling?"
"I… I'm scared." Cale’s voice was barely a whisper. His wide, tear-filled eyes met Alden’s. "What happened to my hands?" His voice cracked as fresh tears slipped down his cheeks. "Am I a monster?"
Alden’s lips quirked into a small smirk. "No, Cale. You are no monster. What you experienced is called Elemental Shifting."
Cale sniffled, his fingers twitching at his sides. "Elemental… shifting?"
Alden raised one of his hands. Before Cale’s eyes, his skin darkened, hardening into rough stone. Despite its rocky appearance, the hand moved fluidly, fingers flexing with ease.
"Elemental mages who have trained extensively in Elemental Reinforcement can shift parts of their bodies into their element. In my case, stone. In yours—metal." As Alden spoke, his hand slowly shifted back to flesh, as if it had never changed at all.
Cale hesitantly raised his own hand, watching the light reflect off the unnatural, metallic sheen of his cws. He reached up to wipe his tears, but he froze mid-motion, afraid he might cut himself.
"So… I’m not a monster?" he asked, voice small.
"No, Cale," Alden said firmly. "You are not."
The man reached out and patted the boy’s head, the simple gesture grounding him more than any words could.
But then Alden’s expression shifted, curiosity creeping into his features. "But how did you do it?"
Cale frowned. "What do you mean?"
Alden leaned back slightly, observing him. "Elemental Shifting takes years to master. Even experienced mages struggle to achieve it. Yet, you did it instinctively—without training. That… is not normal."
Cale hesitated. His breathing grew uneven again, his heart hammering against his ribs. His mind fshed back to Garret. To the suffocating grip around his throat. To the burning panic in his lungs.
He swallowed hard and forced himself to speak.
"One of my roommates, Garret… he—he choked me." Cale’s voice wavered as he took a shaky breath. "I—I was scared. I thought I was going to die. And then… everything went bck. I heard a scream, and when I woke up—" His face twisted as the image of Garret’s bloody arm filled his mind. The sticky, warm sensation of blood on his hands…
His stomach churned violently.
Alden saw it before it happened. He swiftly grabbed a wooden bucket and pced it in front of Cale just as the boy lurched forward and vomited.
Cale gasped between retches, his body wracked with tremors. His hands gripped the edges of the bucket, cws digging into the worn wood. The reality of what had happened crashed down on him all at once.
Alden didn’t speak. He simply sat beside him, silent and steady, waiting for the storm to pass.
Alden studied Cale’s cws, his eyes narrowed in contemption. "You have no idea how you did this?"
Cale hesitated. He opened his mouth, struggling to put his thoughts into words. The memory was hazy, distorted by fear and the fading echoes of suffocation.
"I remember thinking… that if my nails were sharper, I could escape," he whispered. His voice wavered, unsure if that was truly what had happened. The ck of oxygen, the terror—it had all blurred together.
Alden’s expression remained unreadable as he stared at the boy. Moments passed in silence.
Then, suddenly, he ughed.
A deep, genuine, almost disbelieving ugh erupted from his chest. It wasn’t cruel—it was the ughter of a man faced with something so absurd that his mind refused to process it any other way. He ughed for a long few seconds before finally composing himself.
Cale stared at him, utterly puzzled.
Alden’s face quickly turned serious again. "I have an idea," he said, his tone carrying a new weight. "Try thinking about your hands turning back to normal."
Cale frowned. That… sounded ridiculous. He wasn’t sure what he expected Alden to say, but this certainly wasn’t it.
'This just sounds so stupid. How the hell did this kid do it?' Alden thought, barely keeping his composure. 'What kind of anomaly is he?'
But Cale, though confused, obeyed.
He stared at his hands, furrowing his brow in concentration. He focused—not on fear, not on desperation—just on the simple thought: Turn back.
Alden’s breath caught in his throat as he watched.
The metallic sheen of Cale’s cws dulled, shifting like liquid metal retreating beneath his skin. The grey steel sank into his flesh as effortlessly as water soaking into dry earth. Within moments, his hands were normal again—small, human, untouched by any trace of metal.
Cale turned his hands over, flexing his fingers. They looked completely ordinary. As if nothing had happened at all.
Alden’s jaw went sck.
His mind froze.
'That—That’s not possible.'
He had read about Elemental Touched. Had studied them. Had even spoken to Isa, an Elemental Touched herself. But never—not once—had he heard of anything like this.
Elemental Shifting took years of training, of discipline, of understanding one’s element. Even prodigies struggled with it at first. And yet, this boy—
He had done it without training. Without guidance. Just by thinking it.
Alden swallowed hard. He pushed himself to his feet, but there was a slight unsteadiness in his movement. He felt lightheaded, pale.
"Master Alden?" Cale asked, his voice ced with concern.
Alden shook his head. "Sorry, kid. I need a walk. A long walk."
Cale blinked in confusion, watching as Alden strode toward the door, his thoughts clearly elsewhere.
"A grey-robed woman will come to take care of you," Alden muttered before stepping outside.
The door shut behind him.
Cale sat motionless for a moment, staring at his hands once more. They looked normal now, but the memory of what they had become still lingered in his mind. He flexed his fingers again. They trembled slightly.
His body was exhausted. His mind even more so.
Slowly, he lowered himself in to the small bed, sinking into the mattress. His eyelids felt unbearably heavy. The day's events weighed on him like a boulder, pressing him into the sheets.
His breathing slowed.
As sleep cimed him, one st thought flickered through his mind—
What… am I?
Deep in the bowels of the castle, Alden stood before two figures, their presence heavy with unspoken authority.
The first was a man dressed in pristine white robes. His expression was warm, his face carrying an air of serene calmness. A sharp contrast to the truth of who he really was. He called himself the director of this pce, but in reality, he was nothing more than a puppet master—his hands woven into every decision, every hidden thread of control, ensuring that everything followed the grand pn.
Beside him stood another man, dressed in simple gray robes. His posture was rigid, his lower face obscured by a dull metal mask. His head was completely shaved, and his piercing blue eyes measured Alden with unsettling precision. He looked like any other servant wandering the castle’s halls, but that was intentional. The true director of this facility could not be easily spotted. Yet, the metal mask did him no favors—it was a beacon, a warning to those who knew what y beneath.
Alden did.
And it was better left hidden.
"You may leave now, Alden. Thank you for your report," the director said, his voice as smooth as silk, masking whatever calcutions ran behind those pcid eyes.
Alden gave a curt nod and turned on his heel, his boots echoing softly against the stone as he left.
The moment the door shut behind him, the white-robed man turned to the masked figure. His ever-present smile lingered as he spoke.
"What do you think, Igor?" he asked, tilting his head slightly. "Should we adjust the pn?"
Igor did not respond immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the spot where Alden had stood moments before, deep in thought.
"Yes," Igor rasped, his voice raw from disuse. "If this succeeds, we will create a weapon that will make Arkanthar unstoppable."
The white-robed man chuckled, a low, knowing sound.
Igor finally turned to face him, his expression unreadable behind the mask. "I didn’t know you were so patriotic," the white-robed man mused, amusement dancing in his voice. "Be honest with me—you’re simply eager to experiment with such a rare specimen, aren’t you?"
Igor's gaze did not waver. "Why ask me? You could just read my mind."
The director gave a small, zy shrug. "I could. But it’s so much easier to hear it from you directly. Besides, all the enchantments you have on you would make it rather tedious."
Igor let the silence stretch for a moment before answering. "Yes. To be honest, I am."
The white-robed man’s smile widened, pleased by the admission. "And what of the other children?" he asked, his tone light, almost casual, as if discussing mere livestock.
"Raorok has already identified a candidate who shows promising potential," Igor replied. "As for the rest… I will determine their fate once I see how the boy—Cale—reacts to the process."
The director gave a slow nod. "Very good, then."
Between them, an unspoken understanding passed. The pieces were moving. The game was unfolding.
And Cale had just become its centerpiece.