Cale’s eyes fluttered open as the morning rays streamed through the window, painting golden streaks across the ceiling. For a moment, he y still, his mind caught between sleep and waking. Then, slowly, he raised his hands, staring at them.

  The memories of st night surged back—the feeling of warm, sticky blood coating his fingers, the iron-tinged scent that clung to his skin. He swallowed hard, his stomach twisting. For a brief second, he thought he might throw up. But then he took a slow, deep breath, just as Alden had shown him.

  Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

  The nausea ebbed. His heartbeat steadied.

  Cale sat up, rubbing his hands against his tunic as if to rid himself of the lingering phantom sensation. Just then, the door to his room creaked open.

  Through it stepped a man dressed in pristine white robes, his smile gentle, his demeanor exuding warmth and reassurance. The moment Cale id eyes on him, the weight of the previous night seemed to lessen.

  He recognized this man.

  The director.

  He had introduced himself two days ago, ciming responsibility for this pce. Now, as he approached, his calm, measured presence filled the room, smoothing the lingering edges of fear from Cale’s thoughts.

  Cale stood as the man approached, instinctively straightening his posture. The director’s hand reached out, resting lightly atop Cale’s head. A strange sensation settled over him—warmth, comfort, the tension in his shoulders melting away.

  “I’m fine, sir,” Cale said, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor. “Sorry for causing trouble.”

  The director knelt before him, his eyes filled with something that looked like understanding. "It’s not your fault, little one."

  His voice was smooth, almost melodic, each word dripping like honey. "We expected some friction—especially among the boys. Many of you come from difficult pces. But for things to escate to this extent…"

  He sighed, shaking his head, his expression pained. "I heard what that boy, Garret, did to you. And if anyone is at fault, it is me. I should have done more to ensure this never happened."

  His hands gently cupped Cale’s face, his touch featherlight yet firm. "I promise you, from this moment on, you will never be hurt again."

  Cale’s throat tightened. He nodded weakly, unsure of what to say.

  After a moment, he found his voice. "What about Garret? Is he… alright?"

  "His wounds have been treated," the director reassured him. "And he will be punished for what he did."

  "Punished?" Cale asked hesitantly.

  "Yes," the director confirmed, his tone remaining soothing. "We cannot allow incidents like this to continue. Every one of you is a precious treasure—especially you. And we must ensure that nothing like this happens again."

  Cale gave a small, uncertain nod. The words felt right, but something about them left an uneasy weight in his chest.

  The director smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair from Cale’s forehead. "We have arranged a special room for you. No more roommates. A pce just for you, where you will be safe. Let me show you."

  He rose to his feet, extending a hand.

  Cale hesitated, then pced his small hand in the director’s. The grip was gentle but firm as they stepped out of the room, making their way through the winding halls of the castle. The corridors lit by glowing stones felt different this morning—less cold, less daunting. Things really will be better now.

  Cale had expected to be led out of the castle and back to the dormitory. That was where he belonged, after all. But he was wrong.

  Instead, the director guided him deeper into the castle’s halls, past ornate doors and softly lit corridors, until they stopped before a grand wooden door, polished to perfection.

  "This will be your room," the director said, pushing it open.

  Cale’s eyes widened in shock.

  The room was nothing like the one he had been staying in. It was bigger—far bigger. The bed was massive, covered in soft, delicate sheets that looked like they belonged to royalty. The air smelled sweet, a faint floral fragrance lingering in the warmth of the space. The furniture was elegant, carved from dark wood and polished to a shine. Everything was pristine, untouched. To his right, he noticed another door.

  "What’s there?" Cale asked curiously.

  The director walked ahead of him and opened the door.

  "Your own bathroom," he said with a smile.

  Cale stepped inside, his mouth slightly agape. The walls were lined with white marble that shimmered under the light made by the magic stones. A shower stood at the far end, and beside it, an actual toilet—something he had never had just for himself.

  He turned to face the director, confusion evident in his expression. "Thank you, sir… but what did I do to deserve all of this?"

  The director’s smile softened, his voice ced with warmth. "I told you, Cale. You are special. Very special."

  Cale swallowed, his heart beginning to race.

  "You have a great destiny ahead of you," the director continued, his voice gentle yet firm, each word weaving into Cale’s mind like a spell. "You will become this nation’s greatest hero."

  Cale’s eyes shot open, his pulse thundering in his chest.

  "Me? A great hero?" His voice trembled with excitement.

  "Yes, Cale. You show qualities that have never been seen before. Perhaps one day, you will stand among legends—maybe even surpass Titan himself." The director’s hands moved animatedly as he spoke, painting a picture with his words. "Imagine yourself, standing before a never-ending crowd. You, dressed like a true metal mage, cd in dark armor forged from the strongest metal. Thousands upon thousands of people cheering your name, their faces alight with joy."

  Cale could see it.

  He could feel it.

  The image filled his chest with an exhiration so intense that he had to stop himself from bouncing on his heels. He had always wanted to be loved, to be someone who mattered. And now—he could be a hero.

  "That sounds amazing! What do I need to do to become a hero?" Cale asked eagerly, his fists clenched in excitement.

  The director knelt before him, his gaze steady. "All you need to do is listen to me during your time here. Train hard, give your all, and never waver. Can you promise me that?"

  "Yes! Yes! I promise!" Cale beamed. "I’ll do everything I can to become like Titan!"

  The director’s firm hand rested on Cale’s head as he stood up, his expression pleased. "I’m very pleased to hear that. Make yourself comfortable. Your new teacher will come to speak with you soon."

  "Yes, sir!" Cale responded with a bright, determined grin.

  The director smiled one st time before turning and walking out, closing the door gently behind him.

  The moment the door shut, Cale threw himself onto the massive bed, the soft bnkets wrapping around him like a dream. He let out a giggle, his mind already lost in visions of himself as a great warrior. He imagined standing on a battlefield, cutting down terrible monsters with a bde of pure steel. He saw himself saving people, rescuing them from evil, being needed—being loved.

  His heart swelled at the thought.

  For the first time in his life, he felt like he had a purpose.

  He would become a hero. No matter what it took.

  Cale stood up from the bed as the door to his new room slowly creaked open.

  His gaze nded on the figure that stepped inside, and his breath caught in his throat. His jaw nearly hit the floor.

  Her long, flowing silver-gray hair cascaded down to her lower back, shimmering like liquid metal, catching the light with every movement. Her skin was pale and fwless, smooth as porcein, untouched by time. But it was her eyes that struck Cale the most—piercing silver, sharp and unreadable, as though they could see straight through him, through everything. They held an intensity that made his chest tighten.

  She was her.

  "Isa…" Cale whispered, barely able to find his voice. He swallowed hard, his throat dry.

  She was dressed simply—a crisp white shirt tucked into dark, well-fitted pants, paired with sturdy leather boots. There were no embellishments, no grand robes, yet she carried an undeniable presence.

  Isa stepped forward, her movements fluid, graceful. Cale's body tensed slightly, unsure of what to do, what to say.

  Then she smiled.

  It was gentle, warm, completely at odds with the powerful aura she exuded.

  “You must be Cale,” she said, her voice soft yet firm.

  He could only nod, his face burning as he struggled to form words.

  Isa chuckled, tilting her head slightly as she observed his hesitation. “I know who I am can be… overwhelming.”

  Cale’s ears burned. Overwhelming was an understatement.

  She took another step closer, lowering herself so they were at eye level. “But let’s set that aside, alright? Forget what you’ve heard about me—about being the strongest metal mage in Arkanthar.” Her silver eyes softened. “From now on, I’m just Isa. Your teacher. Maybe even your friend.”

  Cale stared at her, his heart pounding against his ribs. The way she spoke, the way she smiled—it made it impossible to believe that she was one of the most powerful mages in the nation.

  Gathering every ounce of courage he had, he finally opened his mouth.

  “I… I think you’re very beautiful.”

  The words tumbled out before he could stop them.

  Silence stretched between them for a heartbeat.

  Then his face turned crimson. His hands clenched at his sides as he realized what he had just said. His ears, his neck, his entire face burned with embarrassment.

  Isa blinked, then let out a soft ugh. Not mocking—genuine amusement, ced with kindness.

  “Well,” she said, smiling, “thank you, Cale.” She ruffled his hair pyfully. “That’s very sweet of you.”

  Cale didn’t know if he would survive this moment.

  Isa straightened and continued speaking.

  “Alden told me what you did st night,” she said, her silver eyes watching him closely. “And I’m very impressed.”

  Cale slowly lifted his gaze to meet hers, his brows furrowed in disbelief.

  "Me? I impressed you?" His voice wavered, caught between astonishment and doubt. How could he—a boy barely learning what he was—have impressed the strongest metal mage in Arkanthar?

  Isa’s expression didn’t waver. If anything, her smile deepened.

  “Yes, you did.”

  She took a step closer, kneeling so they were at eye level. "For you to use Elemental Shifting like that—instinctively, with no training—that’s unheard of. Not even I could have done something like that."

  Cale’s breath hitched. "But… you're you."

  Isa chuckled. "And even I needed training before I managed my first Elemental Shift. And when I finally did, it was nothing close to what you did."

  She lifted her right hand and stretched out her fingers. "My first shift? I could barely harden the tips of my fingers, let alone reshape them." She flexed her hand, the skin shimmering for a brief moment before the metal seeped in, forming razor-sharp talons at her fingertips.

  "You, on the other hand—" She gestured toward him, her voice ced with something between awe and curiosity. "You transformed your entire hands into cws instantly. No training, no guidance, no build-up—just pure instinct."

  Cale swallowed hard, his fingers twitching at the memory. He could still feel it, the way the metal had surged through him, shaping itself as if it had a will of its own.

  Isa tilted her head, studying him. "Do you understand what that means, Cale?"

  He shook his head, unsure if he wanted to.

  Her silver eyes gleamed. "It means you're something entirely different from anything we've ever seen."

  Cale hesitated, unsure of what to say. The director had told him he was special, but hearing it from Isa—the strongest Metal Mage in Arkanthar—felt different. It carried weight, a truth that settled deep in his chest, both thrilling and terrifying at the same time.

  Isa studied him for a moment before speaking again. "Can you do it for me? Shift your hands?"

  Cale swallowed and gave a small nod. "I'll try."

  Taking two careful steps back, he closed his eyes and focused. The memory of it was still fresh—the cold rush, the way the metal had responded to his desperation. But now, there was no fear. Only intent.

  A breath in. A steadying moment.

  Isa watched, her silver eyes widening as the transformation began. The metal crept over his skin like living liquid, spreading in an instant, precise and controlled. In mere seconds, his fingers had elongated into deadly, razor-sharp cws—gray and gleaming under the dim light.

  Isa inhaled sharply. "So fast… and so precise." Her voice was barely above a whisper, filled with something that bordered on reverence.

  Cale opened his eyes, looking at her with a mix of uncertainty and embarrassment. He flexed his hands, the cws glinting dangerously. "Is… is this okay?"

  Isa nodded, stepping closer. "Now, can you shift them back?"

  Cale nodded again. He focused, willing the metal to retreat. And just as easily as it had come, it obeyed. The cws melted away, the metallic sheen vanishing into his skin like it had never been there at all. His hands looked normal again—small, human, unremarkable.

  Isa stood in stunned silence, her mind racing.

  'Now I understand why Alden was so shaken.'

  This boy—this child—was an anomaly. He defied everything they knew about Elemental Magic. What he had just done should have taken years of training, discipline, and relentless practice. And yet, he had done it on instinct. Like breathing.

  Isa exhaled, a soft smile forming on her lips. "That was amazing, Cale."

  Cale blinked, gncing down at his hands as if seeing them for the first time. "Really?"

  "Really," Isa affirmed with a nod. "I've never seen anything like it."

  Before Cale could respond, his stomach let out a loud, undeniable growl.

  His face burned red with embarrassment. "S-Sorry… I guess I’m hungry."

  Isa chuckled, shaking her head. "It's fine. I'm a little hungry too. Let’s go eat something."

  She stood up and turned toward the door, but when she gnced back, she noticed Cale hadn’t moved.

  "Are you coming?" she asked with a raised brow.

  Cale quickly nodded and rushed to her side.

  For the first time in hours, he wasn’t thinking about what had happened st night. He wasn’t thinking about his cws, or Garret, or the weight of the director’s words.

  Right now, he was just a boy following his teacher to dinner.

  They entered the canteen.

  The pce, usually brimming with children’s ughter and chatter, was eerily silent. The long wooden tables sat empty, the usual liveliness repced by an unsettling stillness. Cale’s eyes darted across the room until they nded on a lone figure—a grey-robed man standing stiffly in the corner. He barely moved, barely blinked, more like a statue than a person.

  Cale swallowed and turned his focus back to Isa, who was already walking toward a table near the center of the room. It was clear this table had been prepared specifically for them—judging by the warm ptes of food neatly arranged on top.

  His stomach twisted at the sight.

  Steaming cuts of meat, thick sauces, fresh-baked bread that still carried the scent of the oven, and an assortment of vegetables and fruits, vibrant and inviting. Just looking at it made his hunger cw at him, but he forced himself to keep his excitement in check. He didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of Isa.

  Isa sat down and motioned for him to do the same.

  Cale hesitated before slowly pulling out the chair next to her, sinking into the seat. He kept his eyes down, his appetite suddenly overshadowed by the nerves crawling under his skin.

  "Aren't you hungry?" Isa asked, noticing his hesitation.

  Cale gave a small nod but didn’t move.

  Isa arched a brow, then smiled knowingly. "Go ahead. Eat."

  He took a deep breath and picked up his fork, cutting into a thick slice of pork. The moment he took a bite, his entire world shifted.

  The fvors burst in his mouth—the rich, savory meat, the perfectly blended spices, the way the juices coated his tongue. It was unbelievable. The warmth of the food spread through him, igniting something primal.

  And then, the dam broke.

  Cale couldn’t hold back anymore. His hunger fred, and he began eating in earnest, his bites quick yet savoring every fvor. He wasn’t usually the type of kid who ate a lot, but this—this was too good.

  For a moment, he forgot about Isa sitting beside him.

  It was just him and the food.

  Then, mid-bite, he turned to Isa, his cheeks stuffed with food, and blurted out, "Aren't you angry?"

  The moment the words left his mouth, he froze.

  He spped a hand over his lips, his face burning with embarrassment.

  Isa, instead of scolding him, simply chuckled. A soft, amused ugh as she reached for a piece of meat and some vegetables, pcing them on her pte.

  "You should swallow before speaking, you know," she teased lightly before taking a bite herself.

  Cale quickly chewed and swallowed, still red-faced, but now a little more at ease.

  The director stood in a simple, dimly lit room, hands csped behind his back. The air smelled faintly of parchment and old wood.

  Across from him, Igor sat in a worn wooden chair, his posture as rigid as ever. His cold blue eyes locked onto the director with quiet impatience.

  "Why did you call me?" Igor asked, his voice dry and rasping, as though he spoke only when necessary.

  The director didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, as if weighing his words. When he finally spoke, his usual pleasant smile was absent.

  "That boy—Cale. His mind is… strong. Too strong for someone his age."

  Igor’s fingers drummed once against the armrest. "And?"

  "In fact," the director continued, his voice carrying an unusual edge, "I had to check for enchantments, just to be sure. It felt like an impenetrable bastion. I could only pick up his surface thoughts—and that was only because he was overwhelmed with emotion."

  Igor’s stare didn’t waver. "I do not see where this is my problem. You are the mind mage. If something is wrong, you should be the one to handle it."

  The director sighed, rubbing his temples as though the conversation itself was tiresome. "It's not something I can expin, but I have a feeling—the procedure may not work as intended."

  Igor's expression shifted slightly. Not concern. But calcution.

  The director never voiced concerns unless they carried weight. And now, his ever-present smile was gone, his expression carved from cold stone.

  Igor remained silent for several moments, his eyes drilling into the director’s as if searching for something unspoken. Then, without a word, he stood.

  "You can go now," the director said, his voice returning to its usual smoothness, though the weight of his earlier words lingered. "Back to your boratory."

  Igor turned without hesitation, his gray robes trailing slightly as he walked toward the door. His movements were measured, unhurried—but there was something else beneath them now. A quiet awareness. A shift in thought.

  The door creaked open, then shut softly behind him, leaving the director alone in the dim candlelight.

  For the first time in a long while, he allowed his expression to change.

  His jaw tightened, and he exhaled slowly, his fingers curling slightly.

  What are you, Cale?

  Something about the boy wasn’t right. And whether it was fortune or misfortune, only time would tell.

  Cale with cws: