Chapter 9 – Ash and Spire
Leonhart fell into the city's rhythm as though he'd always belonged. Dawn found him training. Daylight, walking dusty alleys. Dusk, sitting quietly beneath tavern lanterns. Every ache, every bruise, pressed the reminder deeper: he was forging himself in stone and sweat, not noble comfort.
Into Shadow
Drawn by a pulsing echo of ether beneath his skin, he ventured out one twilight toward the Forbidden Verge, where monsters roamed and academies seldom sent their best—or their worst. His Ghost Eyes traced threads of glowing energy, leading him deeper than he'd intended. Trees arched overhead like ancient sentinels; wind was a distant echo.
There, concealed by roots and moss, lay a yawning cave mouth. He entered with careful steps. Walls glowed with runes that whispered. And at the heart of the cavern, set into the stone: a gate of impossible scale.
Nine locking arms radiated from it like a spider's legs, each pulsing lightly. Beneath them, inset—the keyslots: a book, a flame, a water droplet, a spiraled eye, a sword, a broken crown, a mask, folded wings, and a cracked heart.
His breath caught.
"Nine keys… nine locks… what lies beyond?" he murmured.
He sketched the shapes once, twice—let the question settle in his mind—then backed out quietly. He didn't glance back. Not yet.
Quiet Reflections
Night at the inn found him sprawled on the bed, notebook in hand.
"Nine locks… then what is behind it?"
He tapped his chin, unsure if he sought answers… or simply sown more questions. The Ghost Eyes' burn faded but lingered welcomedly. Sleep came slow—but came at last.
Fifteenth Sunrise
At dawn, Leonhart awoke to a mirror that showed change.
He adjusted the collar of his warm coat. Fifteen now. Official. The scar at his ribs from his second Verge duel caught the morning light.
He left without delay.
Recognition
The innkeeper paused as he passed in the hallway.
"You look different," she said, eyes sharp.
Leonhart met her gaze steadily. "Maybe I do."
He walked on. No answer needed.
First Steps into Aetherhold
The Academy district shimmered under morning haze. Students gathered under bridge arcs, fine robes gleaming. Banners snapped, carriages rolled—each crest confidently asserting lineage. He moved toward the gate alone, coat plain, boots still marked with Verge dirt.
A robed official scanned him and simply said, "Leonhart Elgrave. Age confirmed. Cleared for the Fifth Circle exam."
The gates parted without ceremony. Ahead, a stone path stretched between silent statues and tall lanterns lit by slow pulses of ether.
He entered.
The Final Farewell
Inside the vaulted Examination Hall, students took their places. Underneath curved statues and silent watchers, anticipation whispered off the walls.
Leonhart moved toward the stairway marked V. Behind him, a familiar voice:
"Thought you died out there."
Clara Wensmoor leaned against the railing, composed, self-contained.
He stopped and faced her.
"You've been gone a month. No letters. Just rumors… of a boy from a fading house surviving the Verge."
She studied him, calm.
Leonhart drew a slow breath. "Well… it was me."
Clara nodded faintly. "I hope you pass the exam." Her lips curved. "Good luck, Leonhart."
He offered a brief nod.
"Thank you."
She didn't stay. She turned from him and disappeared into the crowd.
Into the Circle
Leonhart stepped forward under the archway of V, amber lantern light illuminating his path. His coat brushed the stone floor. His heart beat steadily beneath the weight of blades and purpose.
He didn't know what awaited him — tests of knowledge, ether, combat, or worse.
But he'd survived the Verge.
He'd stand in the Academy.
He squeezed the sword at his hip once.
Stone whispered beneath him.
And the hall watched his first step.
End of Chapter 9