The Weakest in the Academy

On the day of the entrance ceremony, my orb went dark in my own hands. In front of hundreds of first-years, the professor said he had never seen such a thing in all his life and wrote the lowest mark there was, an F, beside my name. Then he laughed. The failure of a noble mage house. A half-thing with no magic. They all watched me like a spectacle.

That night, in the forbidden north tower, I met a man. He stood in the dark and yet was strangely vivid. His pale skin was cold as marble drinking moonlight, and beneath disheveled silver hair, his eyes were red as blood. The moment they met mine, my heart sank slow, as if caught in some strange spell. Kael the dark mage struck from every record the school kept.

"You're not the weak one." When he caught my wrist, black flame bloomed from my fingertips. "This school just couldn't hold you. The way it couldn't hold me." The wards of the academy trembled; the moon flushed red. Kael whispered against my ear, "Take my hand." He smiled, dangerous. "I'll wake the monster sleeping inside you."

The next day, everyone learned the truth. The girl they had called an F was the keeper of a forbidden power the school had hidden for centuries.