The Forgotten Class D

The stairs to Wing D felt like a descent into a forgotten world.

The deeper Kaito went, the darker the corridors became. The floating lanterns that lit the upper levels were missing. The walls were bare stone, damp and cracked. The magical engravings that warmed the other wings didn’t reach here. No warmth. No light. No care.

Just cold.

Just silence.

Kaito’s footsteps echoed softly as he descended, and with each step, one thought repeated in his mind like a curse:

No mark. No fate.

He said nothing after the Mirror of Truth had rejected him. He hadn’t cried. He hadn’t screamed. He simply walked.

But inside, everything was unraveling.

At the end of a narrow corridor, a heavy wooden door waited for him — warped, splintered, with rusted iron bands holding it together. A crooked sign hung above it, the paint faded and chipped:

“Class D – Assigned Quarters”

Kaito hesitated.

Part of him still clung to a fragile hope that someone would call after him. That a professor would come running to say there’d been a mistake. That his mark had been delayed. That fate hadn’t given up on him.

No one came.

He opened the door.

Inside was a long, narrow dormitory with six beds, all metal-framed and mismatched. A cracked window let in a weak beam of late-afternoon sunlight, catching motes of dust drifting in the air. One of the beds was missing a leg and had been propped up with bricks. The whole place smelled of rust and mold.

Two other students were already there.

The first was a tall boy with wild red hair, lazily tossing a pebble into the air while lying on his bed. He glanced at Kaito and raised a brow but didn’t speak.

The second was a girl — short, sharp-eyed, with dark hair tied back in a messy bun. She sat on her bed with a book open in her lap, scribbling something in the margins with intense focus.

Kaito said nothing.

He didn’t try to greet them. Didn’t try to smile. He just walked to the bed furthest from the others, dropped his bag beside it, and sat down.

The red-haired boy let out a soft chuckle, but didn’t push further.

No one else said a word.

Hours passed. The light in the window dimmed. The dormitory grew darker and colder. No torches ignited. No magic flared to ease the evening.

Just shadows.

Then, a strange metallic voice echoed from the walls — less elegant than the ones used in the main wings of the academy. This one sounded warped, as though even the magic didn’t care about them.

“Class D: Proceed to Arena Three. Spellcasting orientation begins.”

Kaito stood, grabbed his satchel, and followed the others into the night.

The training arenas in the central wings were grand — floating platforms, enchanted barriers, glowing glyphs, and hovering instructors in gilded robes.

Arena Three was… not that.

Cracked stone. Cold walls. No enchantments. No protections. Just the scent of scorched rock and the echo of past failures.

Eight students stood in line.

All unmarked.

All unwanted.

A gruff-looking man stood in the center of the room. His cloak was plain, his boots were dusty, and he leaned on a worn staff like it had seen too many battles — and none of them glorious.

“Name’s Instructor Kael,” he said, voice dry and gravelly. “You’re here because fate had no use for you. That doesn’t mean you can’t learn to not die. That’s the most I’ll offer you. Now—step into the circle one by one. Show me if you’ve got anything.”

He pointed to a summoning ring carved into the floor.

One by one, students stepped forward.

Some failed completely.

One managed to create a small flame before collapsing in exhaustion. Another — the black-haired girl from the dorm — summoned a spear of ice that pierced a training dummy clean through. Even Kael raised an eyebrow.

Then it was Kaito’s turn.

He stepped into the circle.

Took a deep breath.

Closed his eyes.

Focus. Imagine the thread. Pull the power. Just once…

Nothing.

No spark. No warmth. No surge of mana. Just… nothing.

He tried again.

And again.

Still nothing.

Kael didn’t even sigh.

He just muttered, “Next.”

Kaito walked back to the wall, head low, face numb. No one laughed. There was no need.

The silence said enough.

Dinner was quiet.

They were fed in a small, windowless room in the basement of the academy. No teachers. No announcements. Just eight markless students sitting at a long metal table, eating cold stew with tin spoons.

Kaito sat alone at one end.

The red-haired boy from the dorm sat a few seats away, humming tunelessly. The black-haired girl scribbled in her book as she ate.

No one spoke to him.

He didn’t try to speak, either.

That night, lying in his creaky bed, Kaito stared at the cracks in the ceiling above.

His mind was a storm of thoughts, memories, regrets, and quiet fury.

Why even let me in this academy if I was meant to be discarded?

He clenched his fists beneath the blanket.

I always wanted to be strong. Always… I just never got the chance. Never.

He didn’t cry.

Not because it didn’t hurt — but because he was tired of tears. They felt too familiar. Too useless.

Outside, the wind blew softly past the cracked window.

And then—

Something changed.

A flicker.

Not of light, but of feeling.

A strange pressure stirred in the center of his chest. Not painful. Not even magical. Just… there. Like a silent thread tugging at his soul from far away.

He sat up slightly.

The dorm was dark. Everyone else was asleep.

The feeling lingered — quiet, dense, and patient.

Like something old… waiting.

He looked down at his hands.

Still empty.

Still powerless.

And yet—

You are not forgotten.

The words didn’t come from anyone.

But he heard them.

Somewhere deeper than sound.

Somewhere beyond fate.

End of Chapter 2