The Forsaken Heir

Sunday had passed in a blur for Lorian. It was a day of self-imposed isolation. After everything that had happened, he couldn't bring himself to face anyone. The weight of his actions hung heavily over him, and every time he thought about the fight with the second-years, the whispers in his mind, and the surge of power that had broken through the funnel, it felt like he was on the edge of something dangerous.

He spent the entire day in his room, focusing inward, trying to push his magic against the familiar restraint of the funnel. Every attempt was met with the same result: a brief surge of power, only to be met with the frustrating tightening of the funnel once more.

Each time he tried, he remembered how it had felt in the heat of the fight—the barrier had weakened, widened enough to let his magic flow through more freely than it ever had. But now, every time he attempted to replicate that feeling, the funnel held fast, stubborn and unyielding.

Lorian stood in front of the small mirror by his desk, staring at his reflection. His brow was furrowed in concentration, his hand outstretched as he channeled mana into a small orb of light hovering above his palm. It flickered, wavering as it always did when the funnel tightened. His frustration grew as he pushed harder, trying to force more energy into the spell.

But the more he pushed, the more the funnel constricted. The orb dimmed, flickered one last time, and then sputtered out.

"Damn it," Lorian muttered under his breath, clenching his fists. He sank back into his chair, exhausted. He had been at this for hours, trying and failing to replicate the momentary freedom he had felt during the fight.

By the time the evening fell, he was mentally drained, his body aching from the strain of trying to force his magic through the seal. But the whispers—the whispers were still there, faint but persistent, reminding him of the power he had briefly tasted.

And as he finally fell asleep that night, the same question haunted him: Was this a curse or the key to unlocking everything?

Monday morning arrived with the usual bustle of academy life. Students moved through the hallways in groups, chattering about weekend adventures, assignments, and upcoming classes. The air was crisp and cool, and the sky overhead was a pale shade of blue as the autumn breeze carried the smell of fresh leaves through the academy grounds.

For Lorian, the normalcy of it all felt strange, almost surreal. After the chaotic events of the past week, the return to routine should have been a relief, but instead, it left him feeling oddly disconnected from everyone else. As he made his way through the hallways, he could feel the occasional glance from students—some curious, some cautious. Whispers followed him, too low to hear fully, but their meaning was clear.

The incident with the second-years hadn't been forgotten.

Lorian ignored them, keeping his head down as he moved toward his first class of the day. The usual noise of the academy surrounded him, but his thoughts were still focused inward, turning over the events of the weekend.

Mana Control – Class 5 was his first class. He entered the room and took his place in the back, trying to keep a low profile. Instructor Avren stood at the front, already starting his lecture on mana channeling and external spell control. Lorian half-listened, his mind constantly drifting back to the funnel. He knew he had to pay attention, but the constant struggle with his own magic weighed on him like a stone.

The first exercise involved creating stable mana orbs. Lorian paired with a fellow student and worked through the motions. His control was better today, smoother than the last time he had tried, but the funnel was still there, constricting his flow just when he tried to push further. It was maddening—like there was a door inside him that refused to open no matter how hard he shoved.

Instructor Avren passed by, offering advice. "Relax. Don't force it," he said quietly.

Lorian tried, but as usual, the funnel refused to give way. By the end of the class, he felt drained, his frustration mounting.

After a quick lunch, Tactics and Strategy – Class 2 came in the afternoon. It was a class Lorian usually enjoyed, but today even the strategic discussions couldn't pull him out of his thoughts. Master Arlin was going over troop movements and battlefield tactics, but all Lorian could think about was how to break free of the funnel's restraint.

Master Arlin posed a question to the class about flanking maneuvers, and Lorian answered automatically, his mind on autopilot. His strategy was solid, and Master Arlin nodded approvingly, but Lorian barely felt the satisfaction. His thoughts were elsewhere—on his mana, his control, and the darkness lurking inside him.

The real challenge came later in the afternoon during his cadet class, where he'd face his fellow students in combat drills. Lorian's muscles were still sore from pushing against the funnel all day Sunday, but he wasn't about to back down.

The training yard where Kingdom's Cadet Corps was held resembled a military base more than a typical classroom. The grounds were lined with obstacle courses, combat training dummies, and sparring rings. Off to the side stood a row of neatly organized weapons racks, and students in their cadet uniforms stood at attention in tight lines, awaiting orders.

As Lorian entered the grounds, he noticed the instructor—a tall, imposing man—standing near the front, his posture rigid and commanding. He wore a pristine uniform, the insignia on his chest marking him as Captain Rourke. His sharp eyes swept over the cadets like a hawk surveying the field. His dark hair was cropped short, and his square jaw gave him a no-nonsense air that instantly demanded respect. The rank structure in the KCC mirrored the kingdom's military, and the weight of that authority was palpable in the air.

Captain Rourke stood in front of the assembled cadets and raised his voice. "Listen up, cadets! For those of you who don't know me, I'm Captain Rourke, and I'll be your instructor for Kingdom's Cadet Corps. You are no longer just students. In this class, you are cadets—expected to uphold the highest standards of discipline, respect, and excellence. We follow the same rank structure as the Kingdom's military, and I expect every one of you to understand that failure here reflects directly on your potential as future officers."

His gaze lingered on Lorian briefly before continuing. "As cadets, you'll be challenged physically, mentally, and magically. You'll follow orders, you'll lead when required, and you'll learn to think as soldiers, not just students."

Lorian kept his face impassive, though he could feel the weight of Captain Rourke's words pressing down on him. The man radiated authority, and Lorian had the distinct feeling that slipping up in this class would result in far more than a verbal reprimand.

After delivering the initial briefing, Captain Rourke began assigning cadets to squads, each one led by a senior cadet acting as a Squad Leader. Lorian stood quietly as names were called, but just as Captain Rourke finished assigning the last squad, his eyes flicked back to Lorian, and his expression hardened.

"Cadet Aeloria," Captain Rourke called, his voice carrying a distinct edge. "With me. The rest of you, to your squads."

Lorian swallowed hard and stepped forward, following Captain Rourke to the edge of the training yard. The other cadets moved off to their assigned stations, leaving Lorian alone with the Captain. His heart pounded in his chest, though he kept his expression neutral. This didn't feel like it was going to be just a regular talk.

Once they were out of earshot of the others, Captain Rourke stopped, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared down at Lorian. His sharp eyes were piercing, and there was a distinct tension in the air.

"I'll get straight to the point, Cadet," Captain Rourke began, his voice low but firm. "You're not in trouble with the academy for what happened on Saturday, but don't think for one second that you're off the hook."

Lorian's jaw clenched. He had expected something like this, but hearing it confirmed still made his stomach twist.

"The only reason you're not facing immediate disciplinary action," Captain Rourke continued, "is because of two things: first, academy rules protect lower-class cadets from retaliation by upper-year students. Second—and frankly more importantly—Princess Selene went out of her way to advocate on your behalf."

At the mention of Selene, Lorian's chest tightened. He hadn't expected her to step in like that, and the thought of her going out of her way to defend him left him feeling both grateful and… guilty.

"But," Captain Rourke said, his voice hardening, "just because you're not getting expelled or suspended doesn't mean you're free from consequences. What you did was reckless, and it put other cadets in serious danger. You lost control, and that's unacceptable. I'm not interested in excuses."

Lorian swallowed, keeping his gaze steady. "I understand, sir. It won't happen again."

Captain Rourke raised an eyebrow, his skepticism clear. "No, it won't. Because I'm going to make damn sure you remember that lesson." He took a step closer, his voice dropping lower. "You're going to make up for this, Aeloria. And we do things the military way here."

Lorian braced himself for what was coming next.

"Starting today, you're on extra PT duty. For the next week, you'll report to me an hour before sunrise for physical training. I want you running laps, doing pushups, squats, the works. And if you're late or slack off, we'll extend it. Understood?"

Lorian nodded, knowing better than to argue. "Understood, sir."

Captain Rourke's eyes remained hard, but he gave a curt nod. "Good. Now get back to your squad. And don't think for a second that your little incident has been forgotten. You'll be watched closely from here on out."

With that, Captain Rourke turned on his heel and marched back toward the training grounds, leaving Lorian standing there, the weight of the punishment—and the expectations—settling over him like a heavy cloak.

Lorian took a deep breath, forcing himself to shake off the nerves. This was it—his chance to prove that he could keep control, that he wouldn't let whatever was lurking inside him take over again. He couldn't afford to mess up, not with so many eyes watching him now.

He made his way back to the squad, slipping into his place among the other cadets. His body still ached from the relentless practice against the funnel over the weekend, and now with the added physical training, he knew the next week was going to be grueling.

As Lorian glanced around at his squadmates, he quickly realized that he didn’t know many of them. Most were second-years, a few third-years, and at least one fourth-year—older, more experienced cadets who likely had already established themselves in the program. There were murmurs between them, casual conversations, but the moment Lorian stepped in, a few of them glanced his way with raised eyebrows. The fight with the second-years hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Standing at the head of the group was their squad leader, a fourth-year cadet with a serious expression. His uniform was impeccable, the lines crisp, and his bearing commanded attention even without him having to say a word. His short, dark hair and sharp green eyes added to his no-nonsense appearance.

The squad leader noticed Lorian’s arrival and stepped forward, arms crossed.

“You’re the new one, right? Aeloria?” His voice was firm, but not harsh. There was a quiet authority in it that made it clear he was someone who took his responsibilities seriously.

Lorian nodded. “That’s right.”

The squad leader gave a curt nod in return. “I’m Sergeant Quinn, your squad leader. And these are your squadmates.”

Quinn gestured to the rest of the group, and Lorian took in each face in turn.

The first to introduce himself was a tall, broad-shouldered cadet with light brown hair and an easy grin. He seemed relaxed, as if the military structure didn’t faze him in the slightest. “Ren,” he said with a casual wave. “Second-year. I’m the muscle of the group.” He flexed exaggeratedly, earning a few chuckles from the others. Despite his playful demeanor, Lorian could tell Ren wasn’t someone to underestimate—there was a solidness to his presence.

Next to Ren was a smaller cadet with dark hair pulled back in a tight bun. She had a focused, no-nonsense expression and was sharpening a dagger with practiced efficiency. “Sera,” she said without looking up. “Third-year. Weapons expert.” There was something intimidating about the way she carried herself, a precision that made it clear she was used to hitting her mark.

On the other side of the group stood a quiet figure, tall and lean, with short-cropped blond hair and sharp blue eyes that seemed to be constantly scanning their surroundings. He gave Lorian a brief nod. “Cecil. Second-year. I handle recon and stealth ops.”

Finally, there was Nia, a third-year with fiery red hair and a quick smile. She looked younger than the others, but the way she carried herself showed she had plenty of confidence. “Support magic and healing,” she said brightly. “If you’re ever in need of a patch-up, I’ve got you covered.”

Lorian nodded to each of them, feeling the weight of their scrutiny. It was clear that they were all sizing him up. After all, he was the newcomer, and his reputation had preceded him.

Sergeant Quinn’s sharp gaze landed back on Lorian. “So, Aeloria, I’ve heard about your little… incident on Saturday.”

Lorian stiffened slightly, knowing where this conversation was headed.

“Word travels fast around here,” Quinn continued, his tone neutral. “But whatever happened is behind us now. I don’t care about what you did before. What matters is what you do from here on out. You’re part of this squad now, and I expect you to pull your weight.”

Lorian nodded firmly. “Understood, Sergeant.”

“Good,” Quinn replied. “We run things tight here. No slacking, no excuses. If you have a problem, you bring it up with me, and we’ll deal with it. But don’t think for a second that I’m going to go easy on you because of your status. You work just as hard as everyone else—or harder.”

Lorian met Quinn’s gaze, his own resolve hardening. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

Quinn held his stare for a moment longer, as if assessing the truth of Lorian’s words. Then, satisfied, he gave a small nod. “Alright, let’s move out.”

As the squad began their training drills, Lorian found himself paired with Ren for the first exercise, a series of strength and agility drills designed to build teamwork and cohesion. Ren grinned at him, clearly enjoying the challenge.

“So,” Ren said as they jogged side by side, leaping over low hurdles. “You really took on three second-years at once, huh?”

Lorian grimaced slightly, focusing on the obstacle course ahead. “It wasn’t something I planned.”

“I’d hope not,” Ren laughed. “Still, you made quite the impression. Just don’t try that on me, alright? I don’t need my face rearranged.”

Lorian managed a half-smile, but he could still feel the tension in his chest. The incident was fresh in his mind, and he didn’t need a reminder of how dangerously close he had come to losing control.

As they reached the end of the course, Sergeant Quinn called the squad into a circle for the next set of instructions. “Listen up, cadets. The next drill is going to test your ability to work together in combat situations. Pair up and rotate through offensive and defensive roles. Remember: precision and teamwork. That’s what keeps you alive out there.”

Lorian ended up paired with Sera, the quiet weapons expert. She barely spoke as they moved through the drill, her movements efficient and calculated. She wielded her daggers with deadly precision, and though she wasn’t physically imposing, her strikes were fast and sharp.

“You’re good,” Lorian commented as they exchanged blows, his sword meeting her daggers with a sharp clang.

Sera shrugged, her eyes never leaving him as she blocked his next strike. “I practice.”

Lorian nodded, impressed by her focus. She didn’t waste energy on unnecessary movements or words, which made her a formidable opponent.

By the end of the drills, Lorian was exhausted but determined to keep pushing through. The physical training was tough, but it was the mental battle—fighting against the whispers and the tightening funnel—that drained him the most.

After a long session of drills and exercises, Sergeant Quinn finally called for a break. The cadets dispersed, finding seats on the edge of the training field or grabbing water to rehydrate. Lorian sat down on the grass, his muscles aching from the exertion.

As he rested, Cecil, the quiet recon cadet, sat down beside him. “Not bad for your first day,” Cecil said quietly, his eyes scanning the training grounds.

Lorian raised an eyebrow. “You sound surprised.”

Cecil shrugged, a faint smirk on his lips. “Let’s just say I’ve seen plenty of new cadets crack under the pressure. But you held your own.”

“Thanks,” Lorian replied, though his thoughts remained clouded by the struggle with his own magic.

Cecil’s eyes flickered toward him, as if sensing something was off. “Keep your head down, and you’ll be fine. Just don’t let the pressure get to you.”

Lorian nodded, appreciating the advice but knowing that the real battle he was fighting was one he couldn’t share with anyone—not yet, at least.

The rest of the training session passed without incident, and by the time Sergeant Quinn dismissed the squad, the sun had dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the academy grounds.

On his way back to his room, Lorian's thoughts churned. Meeting his new squad had been a brief distraction, but the weight of the funnel, the whispers, and the expectations still pressed down on him. As soon as he reached his room, he crashed onto his bed, exhaustion tugging at him. Just as his eyes started to close, a knock sounded at the door.