Dawnspire Academy had four main wings.
North Wing for mages.
East for martial artists.
West for nobles and elites.
South for system users, tamers, and healers.
And then there was Wing D.
It wasn't even on the official academy map.
Locals called it The Reject Wing.
Students called it Deadzone Dorm.
But Aeron had another word for it now:
Home.
The place looked like it hadn't been cleaned in years.
Cracked walls. Dust everywhere. A staircase missing half its steps.
The training hall was nothing but weeds and broken tiles.
The only sign of life? Rats. And maybe whatever the hell scratched at his ceiling last night.
Aeron stood in the center of his new dorm room, arms crossed.
No bed frame.
No mattress.
Just stone, a bucket, and a single, dented window that refused to open.
"Cozy," he muttered. "All that noble training and I've upgraded to a dungeon cell."
He smiled. Not because it was funny.
Because it was that—or scream.
His body still ached from the sealing ceremony. Every time he tried to focus, it was like his brain bounced off static.
His core was sealed.
His aura barely flickered.
And his mana… gone. Like a dead river.
But something else had started humming inside him since last night.
Something old. Something… deep.
He hadn't imagined that door.
That black stone beneath the Reject Wing, behind those vines.
He'd touched it. It responded.
That shouldn't have happened. Especially not while sealed.
"You were broken open. Now fill yourself with something new…"
That voice—whispered inside his skull like a memory he'd never lived—still echoed in his head.
He hadn't opened the door yet. Not fully. It felt like it wasn't time.
But it was waiting. And so was he.
A knock broke the silence.
Aeron turned as the door creaked open.
Standing there was a girl with short white hair, baggy robes, and a nose ring.
She had one eye covered with a strip of cloth and a bowl of something steaming in her hands.
"Yo," she said. "You the new reject?"
Aeron blinked. "Wow. Warm welcome."
"Get used to it." She walked in and plopped the bowl onto a cracked stool. "Name's Cora. Cursed bloodline. Don't ask, don't care. We don't do name ranks here."
Aeron raised a brow. "This… food?"
"Technically." She grinned. "It's edible. Kinda. You eat it, and you won't die. Probably."
He eyed the mush. "I'm sold."
He took a bite. It tasted like sadness and clay. But it stayed down.
"So what's your deal?" she asked. "You don't look cursed."
"I'm not. Just betrayed."
"Oh, fun." Cora dropped onto the floor and stretched like a cat. "That makes three of us. You're in the 'Screw My Family' Club now. Membership's free. Emotional damage required."
"Sounds like a party."
"You joke, but there's a guy two rooms over who screams into his pillow every night. Real dramatic."
Aeron chuckled. For the first time in days, it didn't feel forced.
"You're not what I expected from the Reject Wing."
"Yeah? You expected sobbing weirdos with curses on their faces?"
"Pretty much."
"We have those too. Don't worry."
After she left, Aeron sat on the edge of his cot and stared at his hand again.
Still no mana.
Still no aura.
But something else…
He focused.
Instead of trying to summon what was sealed, he breathed slowly.
Centered himself.
Reached into the void left behind.
And there it was.
A pulse.
Not magic.
Not aura.
Something entirely new.
A thread of light—thin, silver-blue, curling through the emptiness inside him like it had always been there, just waiting.
His heart skipped a beat.
He could feel the presence of three separate energies, just faint traces:
One that healed.
One that burned.
One that struck.
"This isn't part of the system," he whispered.
"This… is mine."
That night, he returned to the black stone door.
This time, he wasn't half-dead.
He stood taller. Eyes clear. Steps calm.
The corridor still buzzed with a quiet, ancient energy.
No torches lit the walls. No glyphs guided his steps.
But the door pulsed softly when he neared.
Aeron raised his hand and touched it again.
It felt cold—then warm. Then alive.
The symbols on its surface flickered—faint markings, invisible during the day, now glowing faint gold.
He didn't try to force it open. Not yet.
Instead, he pressed his palm to the center and whispered:
"I'm not here to beg for power."
"I'm not here to replace what they took."
"I'm here to build something they can't take away."
The glow deepened.
Not an answer, but… acknowledgment.
Back in his room, he sketched a crude map on the floor.
Wrote down what little he knew about the Reject Wing.
Then, he began writing something else.
A list.
A promise.
[Targets:]
Thorne Valen – Framed him, stole his heir status
Lord Cyric Valen – His father. His executioner.
Zeke Halmar – Mocked him during the ceremony.
Councilor Velm – The one who authorized the sealing.
Every bastard who laughed
He stared at the list until his eyes burned.
Then drew a single line underneath it.
[First Goal:]
Get strong enough to leave the Reject Wing alive.
The next morning, the academy bells rang across the sky.
Classes had started.
Aeron stood in the courtyard with a borrowed uniform and a stolen book from the trash library.
He didn't plan to join the regular classes. They wouldn't let him in anyway.
But that was fine.
He had other plans.
He was going to build his own path.
His own system.
His own strength.
And when he walked back into the light?
He wouldn't be asking for a seat at their table.
He'd be flipping it over.
[End of Chapter 2]