In the broad council room, four figures settled around an ornate oak table. Danagor, the academy's headmaster, sat with arms crossed and a neutral expression. Mael, ever rigid, flipped through a report with impatient eyes. Eirian watched in silence, studying every detail as if everything were a puzzle. Seraphine kept her usual calm, though there was a different gleam in her eyes.
"Weekly reports for the first-year classes," Danagor began, his deep voice resonating through the hall. "Seraphine, tell us about Jon Woodmoon. Is a new evaluation really necessary?"
The elf arched an eyebrow. For a heartbeat, it seemed she might laugh. "Is that a serious question, Danagor? Are you teasing me?" A small smile touched her lips. "Tell me, when was the last time a commoner displayed talent comparable to his? And in the first year, no less?"
Eirian merely narrowed his eyes, saying nothing. Mael, on the other hand, snapped the report shut, irritated.
"That brat is disruptive," he grumbled. "Thinks he's better than everyone else. Typical commoner who doesn't know his place once he gets a little power."
Danagor leaned forward slightly, gaze firm on Mael. "A teacher should not speak that way about a student. Your duty is to instruct, not judge."
Mael huffed but said nothing.
Silence lingered a few seconds before Seraphine gathered the papers before her and stood. "I'll handle it myself."
With steady steps she left the room carrying a document. In bold letters, it read: Reevaluation for Rank S — Jon Woodmoon.
The corridor was quiet when Seraphine reached Jon's door. She raised her hand to knock, but before her knuckles touched wood she heard something odd inside—muffled, halting sounds, almost like moans.
Her heart sped up. "What…?" she murmured, brow furrowing. Did something happen? Is he unwell?
Instinctively, she lifted her hand to unlock the door with instructor authority. But before she could act, the handle turned.
The door opened to reveal Jon.
His clothes were wrinkled, hair tousled, and visible marks clung to his neck. His green eyes were half-lidded, a mix of fatigue and embarrassment.
Behind him, Elara hastily straightened her outfit, cheeks flushed a deep red.
Seraphine froze for an instant. Then a playful smile escaped her, even as a faint blush tinted her own face. "May I come in? We need to talk."
Here I was worried about an emergency… and these two are enjoying their youth. Ahhh… it has been a long time since I had an adventure like that.
Jon scratched his neck, clearly uncomfortable, but stepped aside. "Sure, come in."
The room was slightly messy, but Seraphine made no comment. She sat on a chair by the desk, crossing her legs, and set the document before him.
"Jon, you caused quite a stir this week. Back-to-back arena bouts, techniques unbefitting an average first-year… and a few antics that drew a lot of attention."
Jon sat across from her, doing his best to keep a serious posture despite the awkward air. "I just wanted to test myself."
Seraphine propped her chin on her hand, eyes glinting with amusement. "You've no idea how much you're testing the instructors' patience as well."
He swallowed and looked aside.
"In any case," she continued, sliding the document toward him, "this is a reevaluation. When you return from Riverwood, you'll be formally transferred to the Rank S talent wing."
Jon's eyes widened. "Rank S…? That's…"
"Yes," she confirmed with a smile. "A privilege and a responsibility. You'll have access to resources most only dream of—but you'll also be in the sights of everyone striving to surpass you."
Elara, silent until then, stepped closer. "That means he…"
"Yes." Seraphine cut in, giving her a knowing look. "Your friend's life is about to get even more complicated."
For a few minutes they discussed technical details, schedules, and new responsibilities. Inevitably, a few jokes slipped out.
"You really should tidy your room before receiving visitors," Seraphine teased lightly.
Jon turned red. "I wasn't expecting an instructor to knock like this, right after…"
Elara nudged his arm, equally embarrassed.
Seraphine's soft laugh filled the room. "You two really are young… it's refreshing to see."
When she finally rose to leave, the blush hadn't quite left her cheeks. At the door, she glanced back at Jon.
"The academy will arrange everything. Just come back from Riverwood in one piece. When you return, you can move into the Rank S wing."
Jon nodded, serious despite the confusion swirling inside.
The door closed behind Seraphine, leaving Jon and Elara alone once more.
Mael's chambers exuded luxury and power. Crimson tapestries covered the walls, and at the center of the table rested a black artifact pulsing like a living heart. With each throb, a cold wave spread through the room, making the air heavy and dense.
Mael gripped the object tightly, feeling the dark energy vibrate against his palm. His eyes reflected the artifact's same inky shade, like windows opening onto a bottomless abyss.
Then a voice echoed through the room—not loud, but resonant inside the mind. "How goes the situation at the academy?"
Mael drew a long breath before answering. His voice came out distorted, warped by the power surrounding him. "Danagor remains vigilant. He avoids leaving the academy and watches every move. With his constant presence, I have no options to free the first seal."
The artifact thrummed in disapproval, black runes rippling across the tabletop.
"I need time." Mael closed his eyes for a moment, fighting the crushing pressure emanating from the object. "Even with my resources, I cannot act while the headmaster holds his ground within these walls. One misstep, and everything collapses."
The dark energy pulsed again, as if the entity behind the artifact didn't accept excuses. Mael narrowed his eyes, fist clenching. "Even so… the seal weakens. I can feel it. It's only a matter of opportunity."
Silence retook the chamber, broken only by the artifact's steady throb.
In Aeloria's natural course of events, the first steps of any journey were simple. Destiny led the chosen to know the world—explore villages, face small trials. It was only groundwork, the foundation for a larger story.
The seals—the true threat—were meant to stir only halfway through the journey, when adventurers had the strength and experience to handle them.
But something had changed.
Jon, who believed he still had time to grow stronger, hadn't realized the main events had already begun. While he worried about duels, minor discoveries, and immediate goals, far older forces were already moving in the shadows.
Each act by Mael, each pulse of the black artifact, was a harbinger that the natural rhythm had been broken.
The first seal—meant to slumber far longer—had begun to react.
And Jon, without noticing, was already caught in the whirlwind.