The knock came just after sunrise.
Three slow, deliberate taps on the old wooden door. Not enough to wake the whole house—just enough to make Karl's breath catch in his throat.
He opened the door.
Elder Haren stood there, robed in dark green, his eyes sunken like they'd seen the weight of too many years.
"Karl Valen," he said. "You've been summoned."
Karl blinked. "To the shrine?"
"No," Haren said.
"To the council."
Minutes later, Karl stood in the center of the stone hall beneath the shrine. Mira was beside him, whispering wild theories under her breath.
"Maybe they found out you've been talking to ancient spirits. Or stole from the sacred garden. Or—wait, did you blow something up?"
"Mira," Karl muttered.
"Just checking."
The room quieted as Elder Mareth stepped forward, leaning on her cane.
"You carry a bond," she said. "One older than any we've seen in centuries."
Karl didn't speak.
"It has marked you. Watched you. Protected you. But now…"
She looked toward the door—just as it opened.
Liraen stepped inside.
Composed. Silent. Silver hair falling like a blade down her shoulder.
"I can take him," she said simply.
"He won't be safe here much longer."
"Take me where?" Karl asked.
Liraen met his eyes. For a moment, her expression almost softened.
"To Valdros Academy."
The words felt heavy. Final. Like stepping through a door that couldn't be closed again.
"And if I refuse?" Karl asked.
Liraen raised a brow.
"You won't."
And she was right.
Because something inside Karl was already pulling him toward the unknown.