Chapter 2: Bloodlines And Masks

Morning in the Academy began with chimes.

Not bells.

Not gongs.

Chimes of Māna — tuned to the vibrations of elemental schools. Fire rang sharp and fast. Water echoed soft and slow. Air barely whispered.

But Earth?

Earth never rang at all.

It waited.

Just like Kaen.

He stood in the Initiates' Circle, dressed in formal robes they gave him that morning. Too clean. Too white. Too stitched with sigils he didn't recognize.

The robe fit, but it didn't feel his.

He tugged at the collar.

And waited.

Rows of students stood in formation — nobles in polished silk, half-bloods in darker tones, and Kaen… alone at the edge.

The Ceremony of Ash was only held once every ten years — when a Class Five emerged.

Which meant this one was for him.

And they hated that.

Master Hiroshi stepped onto the dais.

His scar looked deeper in sunlight.

" we welcome one whose flame is unknown to our records," he began, voice hard. "A blood we cannot trace. A power we do not understand."

Every eye turned to Kaen.

He held their gaze.

"It is tradition," Hiroshi continued, "for a Class Five to be claimed — by a House, a mentor, or a god."

Whispers broke out.

Claimed?

He's not from a House.

Who would dare?

"But this one…" Hiroshi narrowed his eyes, "…has been claimed by none."

Then a different voice.

A woman's.

Cool. Smooth. Dangerous.

"I claim him."

Gasps.

The crowd parted.

And she walked forward.

Lady Ayaka of House Tsuyoi.

Ayaka, always graceful, always watching, possessed a quiet strength few could match. With raven-dark hair tied in a braid and the poise of a scholar-warrior, she rarely raised her voice—because she didn’t need to. What she lacked in power, she made up for in clarity. Her loyalty was unwavering, and her eyes held secrets she never told even her closest friends.

A name that echoed through every hall.

Beautiful, ruthless, wealthy — and rumored to be centuries old.

She wore crimson robes lined with phoenix feathers and a veil of frost around her neck.

Kaen had never seen her before.

But she looked at him like she knew him.

Intimately.

Too intimately.

Master Hiroshi's jaw tensed.

"This is… highly irregular."

"Irregular is what brought him here," Ayaka replied smoothly. "Let me be his mentor. You're all too afraid to touch him."

She turned to Kaen.

"Well, Flameborn? Will you accept my guidance?"

Every instinct screamed no.

But the eyes of the crowd burned hotter than her offer.

If he refused her, they'd label him a rogue.

A threat.

They'd isolate him even more.

So Kaen nodded.

Once.

Ayaka smiled.

And the frost around her neck vanished.

From the back, Reijuu watched everything with narrowed eyes.

Beside him, Meika whispered under her breath.

"This is wrong."

Reijuu nodded. "She never picks unless there's a debt to collect."

Kaen walked toward Ayaka.

As he passed the dais, Hiroshi whispered just loud enough:

"Careful, boy. Her blades don't shine until they've already cut you."

Kaen stopped only once — to look up at the central spire of the Academy.

A mirror glinted there.

Always watching.

And deep inside his chest, something stirred.

Not fear.

Not pride.

But the quiet certainty of a flame preparing to burn again.

Her chambers were warm.

Not from sunlight — but from magic.

The flames in her fireplace moved too precisely to be real.

Too symmetrical.

Kaen stood in the center of the room as Lady Ayaka circled him like a predator studying her next spell.

"Take it off," she said.

Kaen blinked. "Excuse me?"

"The robe," she clarified with a sigh. "The Academy's symbol of equality. It doesn't suit you."

He hesitated.

Then slipped the robe off.

Underneath, he wore his own faded tunic — the one Sayari gave him before he left.

Ayaka smiled faintly.

"That's better. Never trust cloth that hides your scars."

She moved to a lacquered chest and opened it. Inside lay a set of training armor — light, flexible, dark red with obsidian thread.

"A gift. And a symbol."

Kaen frowned. "Symbol of what?"

"Loyalty," she said, then added, "Or perhaps… debt."

Kaen didn't like that word.

But he took the armor.

"Why me?" he asked.

Ayaka returned to her high-backed chair and poured herself tea from a golden pot shaped like a fox.

"I've seen your kind before."

"Fire with no discipline. Power with no leash. You burn hot, but not clean. That's dangerous."

"So you want to… tame me?"

"No." She took a slow sip, watching him. "I want to make sure the flame that shapes as much as it scorches burns for the right side."

Kaen looked away.

"What if it doesn't?"

Then, gently, she placed the cup down.

"Then I put it out."

The training began immediately.

Not with spells.

Not even with a sword.

But with silence.

Ayaka had him stand in the center of a warded circle, unmoving, eyes closed, until the fire within him—not only destructive, but defining stopped reacting to his emotions.

Every flicker of anger, pain, memory — it all triggered sparks in the runes.

It took hours.

But by nightfall, Kaen could finally stand still without the symbols flaring.

And in that silence, he heard her say:

"You're not the first to carry that fire, Kaen.

But you might be the last who controls it willingly."

The next morning, in the garden balcony, Meika waited.

She knew he would come.

And when he did, she didn't speak at first.

Just handed him a pouch of herbal salve for the burns on his palms.

He accepted it without a word.

Then she finally said:

"You shouldn't be alone with her too long."

Kaen stared. "Jealous?"

Meika rolled her eyes. "Cautious."

"She saved me from isolation."

"No," Meika said, voice sharpening. "She marked you."

Kaen frowned.

"What do you know about her?"

"More than I want to. House Tsuyoi doesn't mentor. They collect."

"Collect what?"

"Broken weapons. Forgotten names. Promises."

Not immediately.

Then he looked away.

"Sometimes it's better to be owned… than erased."

Meika's eyes darkened.

"No, Kaen. Sometimes it's better to burn everything around you than kneel to someone who lit the fire in the first place."

She stood.

And before she walked away, she left him with one sentence.

One he wouldn't forget.

"If you want to understand what's inside you — don't ask those who fear it.

Ask those who tried to destroy it."

The Sealed Archives were forbidden to first-years.

Technically, forbidden to anyone without Council clearance.

But Kaen was tired of waiting for permission to know who he was.

So he went at night.

The halls whispered.

Not from wind — but from wards.

They warned of intruders, but only if you didn't know the rhythm of the torches.

Fire always danced to a pattern.

Kaen had learned its pulse.

And so he passed through undetected.

The archive door was tall, cracked with age, and sealed with a rune that shimmered as he approached.

Then whispered, "Ash remembers that remembered the pain and forged the will."

The rune blinked.

And let him in.

Inside, the air was thick with dust and magic.

Shelves stretched impossibly high, bound in ironwood and shadow.

Some books writhed in chains.

Others pulsed like hearts.

Kaen ignored them all.

He wasn't here for spells.

He was here for blood.

His.

Section 9.

Old War Records.

Battle archives. Roster scrolls. Tribunal documents.

He traced his fingers over the leather spines until—

A symbol.

A burning hand gripping a broken blade.

Not the Academy's.

Something older.

Something from his dream.

He pulled the book.

It opened itself.

Pages fluttered.

Stopped.

And stared back at him.

Dert Kaelus. Flameborn. Exiled Commander of the Red Legion. Status: Erased.

His breath caught.

Dert.

That was the name the dying god whispered in his vision.

The name Sayari had never spoken.

His father's name.

He turned the page.

There was no portrait.

Only a list of charges:

Defied Royal Mandate.

Wielded forbidden magic.

Burned allied outposts.

Protected a demon-blooded wife.

"Treason."

"A bloodline too dangerous to record."

And at the bottom…

"Son: unconfirmed. If found, to be purged."

Kaen stared at the words.

Long.

Too long.

Behind him, a whisper.

"You shouldn't be here."

He turned sharply — hand sparking.

But it wasn't a warden.

It was Reijuu.

Standing in the shadows between shelves, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.

Kaen's voice was a growl. "You followed me?"

"No," Reijuu said. "I expected you."

Kaen stepped back.

The book clutched in his hand like a weapon.

"I'm not hiding," he said.

"You should be," Reijuu replied.

Then, surprisingly, he stepped forward — slowly — and looked down at the page.

"So it's true," he whispered. "The son of the traitor walks our halls."

Kaen tensed.

Ready.

But Reijuu didn't draw his blade.

Didn't shout.

Didn't even smirk.

He just looked… curious.

"What do you want?" Kaen asked.

Reijuu's answer came without pause.

"To see if the fire you carry is his… or yours."

Then he walked away.

Kaen stood alone in the Archive.

Book still open.

Name still glowing.

And for the first time…

He wasn't sure which part of him burned more — the flame that shapes as much as it scorches in his blood, or the truth it was trying to silence.

Lady Ayaka didn't ask where he'd been.

She waited in her private study, seated on a throne of shadowbeast hide, surrounded by scrolls scented with southern incense and soft, glowing glyphs that hummed like lullabies.

Everything about her presence was designed.

Except the words that came from her lips:

"So… the boy found truth buried beneath ash."

Kaen stood at the threshold.

Not stepping in.

Not bowing.

Just… watching her like a blade half-drawn.

Ayaka met his eyes.

Unflinching.

"You looked into the forbidden archives," she said softly. "Saw the name. The charges. The fire they tried to drown."

She took a step closer.

"Do you hate him?"

She nodded to herself. "Good. Hatred makes flame obedient. Love…" she tilted her head, "…makes it blind."

She descended from the dais, her bare feet silent on the obsidian floor.

"Your father was powerful. Too powerful. But he lacked the instinct to kneel. You, on the other hand…"

Her smile returned — cold and sharp.

"…you can be more."

Kaen narrowed his eyes.

"More than him?"

A pause.

"Or more useful to you?"

Ayaka laughed — not loudly, but like a candle flaring just before it dies.

"Both."

She reached into the folds of her robes and pulled out a single strip of blood-woven silk.

Dark. Shimmering. Branded with the same sigil from the archive — the burning hand holding a shattered blade.

She held it out.

"Tie this around your wrist. As mentor and apprentice, our bond becomes formal. Magical. Protected under Academy law."

"What's the price?"

"There's always a price," she said. "But sometimes the debt is better than the silence."

He stared at the cloth.

It pulsed.

Warm. Alive.

And somewhere, deep in his chest, his flame shivered.

Not from fear.

But from memory.

He didn't take it.

Later that day, Kaen found Meika alone in the greenhouse.

She was tending to a plant that shimmered with violet fire — a spiritvine. Rare. Illegal. Beautiful.

"Did you do it?" she asked, not looking up.

Meika smiled faintly.

"Good."

Kaen watched her for a moment.

Then asked, "Why do you care?"

She didn't answer right away.

Then — softly — she said:

"Because I know what it means to carry a cursed name."

Kaen blinked.

"You?"

She nodded once.

"My mother wasn't a noble. She wasn't even full human. She was a Seer… half-beastkin. When the war ended, they hunted her bloodline like rats in a flooded temple."

Kaen's breath caught.

"But the records—"

"Faked," Meika interrupted. "House Zerin took me in. Covered the shame. But not for free."

She looked him in the eyes now.

No defiance.

Just truth.

"You're not the only one who walks this school like a shadow in borrowed skin."

The silence between them stretched.

Then Kaen said quietly:

"I saw my father. Not just in the book. In my mind. Like… a memory not mine."

Meika straightened.

"And did he speak to you?"

[Kaen's Thought] Kaen hesitated.

Then whispered:

"He said my fire… doesn't belong to me."

Meika's expression darkened.

And for the first time, she looked afraid.

"Then whatever's inside you, Kaen… it's not just inheritance."

The alarm bells didn't ring.

They screamed.

Not metallic. Not magical.

Primal.

A sound used only once before — during the Black Siege.

Kaen was in the outer courtyard when the sky split.

A red tear — long and jagged — opened above the forest line, and from it spilled creatures born of char and bone.

Not beasts.

Not demons.

But something else.

Ghosts made flesh.

Reijuu was the first to draw his sword.

Meika followed, her runes already glowing.

"Initiates stay inside!" a Captain shouted.

Because they weren't attacking just anyone.

They were coming straight for him.

One of the creatures — tall, limbed like a corpse draped in ash — stepped forward and hissed:

"Kaelus… blood of fire… we remember."

Kaen's breath froze.

But recognition.

The others backed away.

Even Reijuu faltered.

Meika turned sharply. "Kaen, get back—!"

Too late.

The nearest creature lunged — claw outstretched, fangs gleaming.

Kaen raised his hand—

And the world detonated.

The flame didn't come from a spell.

It came from beneath his skin.

A roar of crimson-black fire exploded outward, swallowing the courtyard in a perfect sphere.

Everything inside the ring — the creatures, the stones, even the air — turned to ash in seconds.

When it cleared…

Kaen stood alone at the center.

His right arm glowing like molten metal.

His eyes dimly red.

Breathing hard.

Still burning.

The others stared.

Not in awe.

Lady Ayaka arrived moments later, robes untouched, as if she knew exactly when to appear.

She walked through the scorched ground without blinking.

Glanced at the ashes.

Then at him.

Then, softly:

"So. It chose you."

Couldn't.

He didn't understand what just happened.

But the fire did.

It purred under his skin.

And whispered:

"We're not alone anymore."

From above, a single figure watched from the central tower.

A teacher?

A spy?

No.

A woman with silver hair and golden eyes.

A cloak of faded battle banners around her shoulders.

She turned to the shadows beside her and said:

"He's waking up. Just like the last one."

And somewhere, deep in the Forbidden Wards…

A sealed door pulsed once.

As if… answering.

He didn't sleep.

They didn't let him.

Kaen sat in a silver-bound chair inside the Chamber of Wards, surrounded by mages in black and blue, all bearing the sigil of the Council.

His wrists were glowing with containment runes.

Not chains.

But warnings.

One flick of power, and they would crush his mana flow instantly.

He didn't test them.

The fire inside him… wasn't quiet.

It was waiting.

"State your name," one of the Councilmen said.

Kaen didn't blink.

"Kaen."

"No family name?"

Then: "Not one that was ever mine."

"Do you deny using forbidden magic?"

Kaen looked up — eyes glowing faintly still.

"I didn't use anything. It used me."

Murmurs in the chamber.

Whispers behind curtains.

Meika burst into the chamber without permission.

"I was there!" she shouted. "It wasn't a spell — it was a defense surge! The creatures went for him — not the Academy!"

A senior mage stepped forward. "Meika Zerin, you are not permitted—"

"He saved all of us!"

Another pause.

Then a quiet voice said:

"And in doing so… revealed a truth we have tried to bury for twenty years."

Lady Ayaka.

Standing at the back of the room, robes flowing like dusk.

She stepped forward with graceful authority, placing a single scroll on the table before the Council.

"A Bloodflare Manifestation. Like the one seen during the Red Purge."

The words hit like stone.

Ayaka continued:

"Recorded only twice in Tsukiharan history. Both times… involving the Kaelus line."

One of the Councilmen whispered, "Impossible. The Kaelus bloodline was eradicated."

"No," Ayaka said calmly. "They erased themselves. But blood doesn't forget. Nor does fire."

She looked at Kaen now.

Not as a boy.

Not even as a weapon.

But as a secret finally uncovered.

Reijuu stepped forward then — slowly — and pointed to the scorched skin along Kaen's arm.

"There's a brand," he said.

Kaen looked down.

He hadn't noticed.

A sigil — faint, glowing — was burned into his skin.

The same sigil from the archives.

The Burning Hand.

The Red Legion's mark.

"Do you even know what you are?" someone whispered.

Kaen stood.

The runes flickered dangerously.

Meika stepped toward him, but he raised a hand.

Then answered, quietly:

"No.

But I'm done letting you decide that for me."

The chamber held its breath.

But behind her eyes, for the first time—

Doubt.

That night, Kaen stood alone on the highest balcony of the Academy.

The wind whipped against him.

Below, the torches flickered.

Far above, the stars pulsed faintly.

And behind him, from the shadows, a voice spoke:

"You remind me of someone I once failed to protect."

And saw…

The silver-haired woman.