The Library—an eternal monument of knowledge, where shelves rose like cathedrals and books stretched as far as the eye could see. From spell theory to elemental geography, alchemical transmutation to political doctrine, it held the wisdom of generations. The air itself hummed with quiet reverence, as if the walls whispered secrets to those willing to listen.
The students of Class Level 5 filtered in, weaving their way toward the Summoning Section, eager to begin their research.
Rose, ever the perfectionist, moved with purpose—her eyes scanning titles like a hawk. She moved through the aisles with such intensity, it was as if her very future depended on the right book.
Baruss, on the other hand, had made himself comfortable—feet kicked up on a polished table, arms behind his head—while his three loyal lackeys scrambled through bookshelves to find something "worthy" of him.
Gale and Rai stood at the entrance, the very picture of lost sheep.
"Alright. One of us has to pick a direction, and I'm not trusting you again after the 'bathroom-was-a-secret-passage' incident." Gale muttered, narrowing his eyes.
"Rock-paper-scissors then?" Rai beamed.
Gale sighed. "Fine. One round. No cheating."
One match later...
Gale, victorious, chose the side basked in sunlight, filled with recent summoning guides and technique manuals. Rai, shoulders slumped dramatically, wandered into the farthest, dustiest section of the library—a forgotten wing cloaked in shadow and silence. The titles here were different: ancient, cracked spines with names like "The First Pact,""Eyes Beyond Realms," and "Summoning Before Magic."
Rai scratched his head, squinting at the calligraphy. "This place smells like old socks..." he muttered, but continued deeper, unaware that he had just stumbled into the History of Summoning section—one rarely visited, but hiding the oldest truths.
Rai, predictably, is lost.
He was supposed to be researching beginner summoning familiars—low-tier creatures that won't explode on contact or burn a hole in the roof. But the shelves all look the same, the maps are confusing, and the scent of ink and old parchment fills the air, mingling with an overwhelming sense of disappointment.
Yawning, he drifts away from the main section, distracted by a flickering orb of light, teasing him like it's trying to escape. Half-heartedly, he follows it, expecting it to lead him to a bathroom or, at worst, a trapdoor.
But the orb flits away, vanishing between two ancient bookcases. And, like any curious idiot, Rai follows.
He doesn't realize how far he's wandered until the corridor narrows. The stone walls replace the familiar bookshelves, and the air grows heavier, more oppressive.
Then—he sees it.
A door.
Half-sunken into the stone, forged from obsidian and brass, untouched by time. No nameplate. No enchantment markings. Just a faint, rhythmic hum—a distant, beckoning pulse, as if something behind it is… waiting.
And it's calling him.
Rai steps forward, his feet moving without his consent. He knows he shouldn't, but it's too late. The handle is cold, like the edge of a stormcloud. He reaches for it.
The door creaks open.
The room beyond is unnervingly silent.
No air. No wind. Not even the whisper of dust.
Just… nothing.
Rows of stone pedestals stretch across the room—empty, cracked, forgotten. Except for one.
At the center of the chamber, bathed in an otherworldly beam of light that pierces the ceiling like a divine sword, sits a black tome. Its cover, storm-scorched leather, pulses with dormant power. A faint white thunderbolt not like a drawing by real lighting patterns you could see on the sky, is etched into its surface, glowing like a heartbeat.
Rai's chest tightens. He doesn't understand why—but it feels like this book knows him.
Without thinking, he reaches out.
The moment his fingers graze the cover—
The world stops.
A low pulse vibrates outward, as if reality itself hiccupped. The beam of light grows brighter, blinding. The tome snaps open with a gust of wind that shouldn't exist. Pages turn madly, faster and faster—until they suddenly stop.
One page. One script. One voice.
The letters glow in brilliant gold—divine, ancient. Not written in any modern tongue, but in the oldest language in the world.
The lost Dravidian tongue.
Words of thunder. Words meant only for kings.
And Rai—
Rai can read them.
He doesn't understand how. It's as if the words are not being learned—they are being remembered.
His vision flashes.
Screams. Thunder. A crown breaking. Five kings kneeling. A shattered sky.
The room vanishes.
In its place—lightning, fire, ash, shadow.
The sky screams. The earth trembles.
He sees a throne—cracked.
A name lost in time.
And five shadows standing behind it… waiting.
The vision ends.
The light dies.
Rai stumbles back, gasping for breath. His mind is foggy, the weight of the vision still pressing on him.
The tome closes gently, almost reverently. Silent once again.
But something has changed.
Inside Rai, the chant still echoes. It pulses, a deep, ancient rhythm in the back of his mind.
A voice, soft and ancient, whispers from the dark corners of the room:
"The lost king remembers…"
"Let the world tremble once more."
Rai, still dazed, picks himself up from the mysterious room. His mind is clouded, struggling to grasp what just occurred. The memory of the ancient language still clings to him like a shadow, and the vision of the crown breaking, kings kneeling, and the shattered sky haunts his thoughts. Despite the gravity of the moment, he feels disconnected from it, as though it was someone else's memory.
He brushes himself off, trying to dismiss the weight of what he's just experienced. As he leaves the room, the door and the entire chamber seem to vanish behind him, like they were never there to begin with.
Rai walks back down the dark hallway, still lost in thought, the room fading into a distant memory he can't fully reach. When he finally reaches the library's main hall, Kromus is there, standing by the entrance, announcing the end of the class.
"Alright, students, that's enough for today," Kromus says with his usual authoritative tone. "Head back to your dorms. Tomorrow, you will summon what you have chosen today. Be prepared."
Rai remains silent, his mind still replaying the strange encounter in the secret room, the whispers from the dark corners, and the echo of the words from the lost Dravidian tongue. His friends notice the shift in his behavior immediately—Rose, Gale, and Baruss exchange concerned glances, sensing that something has changed in Rai.
As the group walks back to their dorm, the usual banter and lighthearted teasing fall away. Gale is the first to break the silence once they're inside their shared dorm. "Yo, man, what's wrong with you today?" Gale asks, looking concerned.
Rai, still distant, simply shrugs it off. "Nothing. Let's just go to bed." His voice is quieter than usual, and Gale knows better than to press him further, even though he isn't convinced.
Meanwhile, Rose, who is in her own dorm, lies awake in bed, her mind racing. Her initial anxiety about the day has only deepened, now consumed by worry for Rai. She can't shake the feeling that something's wrong, that Rai is carrying a weight he's not sharing. And even if he won't say it, she knows it's more than just the usual clumsy antics.
The sun rose over the academy, casting long shadows across the arena. It was the day of summoning.
Excitement, anxiety, and restless anticipation filled the air as the students gathered once more in the grand summoning colosseum. Kromus stood at the center, arms crossed, eyes sharp. His Leviathan loomed beside him like an ancient glacier come to life.
"Alright," Kromus called out, voice echoing across the arena. "Who wants to go first?"
Silence.
A thick, awkward silence.
Then—the Leviathan turned its head and stared directly at Baruss.
The whole class turned with it.
Kromus smirked. "Alright then. Baruss, you're up."
The Leviathan chuckled mockingly, like a glacier enjoying a joke no one else understood. Baruss grit his teeth, glaring back at the creature with forced dignity. He stepped forward—reluctantly, of course—and raised his hands.
Taking a deep breath, Baruss channeled his mana. His eyes ignited in a shimmering green glow—the mark of wind.
A summoning circle blazed into existence at his feet, etched in dancing glyphs and spiraling wind motifs. A droplet of his mana fell into its center.
"By eye's flame and soul's cry," he declared, voice rising with the wind around him,
"let thy name echo through realms unknown—O Vayuvira, heed my call!"
The air split with a deafening boom.
From the center of the circle rose a colossal figure—a warrior formed of howling winds and boiling storm clouds. His body shimmered and shifted, ever-changing, cloaked in violent weather. Lightning eyes burned through the mist, and his ethereal armor pulsed with wind's primal energy. In one hand, he held a massive, translucent spear made of compressed air, whistling with barely contained power.
The arena gasped. Even the Leviathan raised a brow.
Baruss stood tall, trying to suppress the tremble in his knees.
And for a moment, he almost looked… cool.
Immediately, Vayuvira and Glaceryon locked eyes.
The summoning arena dropped into silence, as a cold wind coiled around the stadium. A chilling breeze clashed against a rising gale. The two titanic familiars faced each other—one, a leviathan of frost and oceanic rage; the other, a living storm wrapped in wind and wrath.
Glaceryon narrowed his icy gaze, a low, amused growl rumbling through his massive form. Vayuvira didn't flinch. His stormcloud body crackled, the lightning in his eyes flaring brighter—answering the challenge.
It was a clash of legacies, a silent declaration.
Student versus teacher. Summon versus summon.
And not a single word needed to be spoken.
The tension shattered as the students erupted with excitement. One by one, eager to prove themselves, they stepped forward to summon their chosen partners.
Rose was next.
Her eyes shimmered scarlet, fire coiling around her pupils. She raised her hand, her circle glowing beneath her as she whispered:
"Flame that dances between heartbeats, heed my call—Ignis Cervus, come forth."
A flicker. A flare. Then fire burst forth from the circle.
From its center stepped Ignis Cervus, the Blazing Fawn.
Elegant. Ethereal. Small, like a newborn deer—but divine in presence. Its fur rippled with flames, flickering and leaping with every graceful movement. Its ember-like eyes glowed with calm fury, and its antlers, twisted like ancient branches, burned steadily at their tips. The air shimmered around it, casting wavy distortions of heat across the arena.
Even Glaceryon shifted slightly—perhaps impressed. Baruss looked unimpressed, though his left eyebrow twitched in silent protest.
Then came Gale.
He didn't speak. Didn't smirk. Just closed his eyes, focused, and let the wind guide him. His circle activated quietly, wind swirling at his feet.
And then, without warning or sound, Vayunirad appeared.
The Silent Tempest.
A ghostly bird of wind and memory, his translucent wings spread wide like clouds parted by storm. His body shimmered, his presence light—barely visible, like a whisper between gusts. Glowing patterns shifted across his feathers, dancing like wind-blown runes. When he flapped his wings, the air itself distorted—ripples bending light, space, and silence.
Now, three majestic familiars stood in the arena.
Each one—a mirror of their summoner's soul.
And somewhere among them, unnoticed but waiting…
Rai's turn was coming.
Arietta was next.
A light magic user with an aesthetic that turned heads and hearts alike. Her bright opalescent eyes shimmered with a rainbow hue, constantly shifting with her mood—like crystals drunk on color. Her pale golden hair, sometimes braided, sometimes chaotic, was laced with ribbons and charms that pulsed with light. She wore flowing jackets with constellation patterns and fractal motifs, and her boots? Yeah, they lit up with every step.
Purely aesthetic, she swore.
Still, Arietta practically glowed.
Like someone had turned her soul into glitter and forgotten to tone it down.
She raised her hand gently, eyes focused. Her lips moved, soft and clear:
"By soul's shimmer and light's embrace, come forth, Luminae."
A gentle hum echoed.
From the circle, a small orb of light flickered into existence, shifting in shades from gold to white to pale blue. It danced around her like a firefly with a personality—glowing brighter when she smiled, dimming when she grew nervous.
Luminae. A playful companion, more emotion than form. It pulsed to Arietta's heartbeat, humming with her soul.
Then came Aromas Verdantveil.
Towering. Muscular. Intimidating… until he bowed politely to a nearby potted plant and apologized to the grass under his feet. He walked like a boulder in monk's robes, calm and graceful. His voice? Gentle. Poetic.
He once told a tree, "You have stood longer than kingdoms. I honor you."
Yeah. That kind of guy.
Aromas stood tall in silence, took a breath, and placed his palm over his heart.
"By root and branch, by sky and soil, awaken—Vithagura."
A deep, rumbling sound followed.
The ground beneath the summoning circle bloomed with vines and moss, as from it rose a colossal, tree-like titan.
Vithagura, the Verdant Behemoth.
Its body was a fortress of bark, twisted vines, and living foliage. Eyes like glowing emeralds, limbs entwined with flowering vines, and a back that bloomed with an entire living garden—flowers of every hue growing in harmony across its surface.
Each step it took left behind a trail of grass and blossoms, as though life itself sprouted in its wake.
Arietta's shimmer danced beside Aromas's towering behemoth—a contrast of light and nature. Beauty and stillness. Glitter and growth.
The summoning arena falls into a hush.
One by one, magical prodigies have called forth their bonded creatures—flames danced, storms raged, ancient beasts roared. Each summoning dazzled the crowd more than the last.
Then…
The final student steps forward.
Rai.
No aura.
No summoning circle.
No magic.
Whispers ripple through the students. A few snicker. Some exchange smug glances.
"He's really trying?"
"What a joke..."
Kromus watches with arms folded, silent but sharp-eyed.
In the stands, Rose, Gale, and Baruss grow tense. Rai hasn't said much all day—no banter, no loud declarations, no ridiculous confidence. Just silence. The kind of silence that's unnatural for Rai.
Still, he steps forward.
His footsteps echo as he enters the arena, but his mind is somewhere else entirely.
That room.
That door.
Those voices.
He closes his eyes.
And he sees them again.
Five colossal figures, cloaked in both light and shadow, towering like echoes of a memory not his own.
Suddenly—his heart skips.
Lightning crackles beneath his feet.
Just once.
Enough to silence every whisper in the crowd.
Something… stirs.
Not just around him—but within.
Something old.
Something buried.
Something that remembers.
Rai's breathing hitches. His body tenses. The summoning arena begins to feel… thin, like a veil ready to tear.
And from somewhere deep inside—deeper than blood or soul—a voice speaks again:
"The lost king remembers."
The arena fell into a thick, expectant silence. Every student scanned the space, their eyes wide as they tried to pinpoint the mysterious voice. But no one spoke. Nothing moved. Then, with a cocky swagger, a student from the Maverick Clan, the elite clan of earth magic users, stepped forward.
His name was Thano Maverick. His slicked-back blue hair gleamed beneath the light, and his pristine academy uniform, tailored to perfection, draped over his frame like a symbol of superiority. He sneered as he crossed his arms, eyes glinting with mockery.
Thano: "Well then, Rai... what are you going to summon, meat?"
His laughter rang out, joined by the snide chuckles of his pompous peers. The sound echoed through the arena, but Rai did not react. His posture was stiff, his eyes closed, as if he were in a trance. The friends who stood closest to him—Kromus, Gale, Rose, and Baruss—watched in concern, sensing that something was wrong. Rai was not his usual self. He was distant. Quiet. Something had shifted in him.
The crowd's attention drifted back to him, now waiting in strained anticipation.
And then… something changed.
The atmosphere in the arena shifted—heavy, electric, sacred. Something ancient stirred in the air, a whisper from the bones of time itself. All eyes turned to Rai, who stood motionless at the heart of the summoning circle, his head bowed, his breath still.
Then came a whisper. Barely audible, yet it echoed louder than thunder in the ears of all who listened.
Rai (whispering):
"Naan thaan thodakkam… naan thaan mudivu..."
("I am the beginning... I am the end...")
"Pirappirkku munnaana maunam... theerpirkku pin minnal..."
("The silence before birth... the lightning after judgment...")
The circle beneath him flared to life, etching itself in radiant gold and white. A low wind stirred, wrapping around him in spirals, tugging at his clothes, pulling the dust into dance. Golden-white lightning cracked at his feet, illuminating his face—no longer dull and uncertain, but filled with strange purpose. His eyes, once ordinary, now burned like divine embers.
His voice deepened. It was no longer the voice of a twelve-year-old boy—it was the voice of something eternal. Of someone remembered by the world's bones, even if forgotten by its people.
Rai (with growing intensity):
"Avan sindhanai en viruppam..."
("His will is mine...")
The summoning circle surged outward like a pulse of light, radiant veins tearing across the floor in a spiderweb of power. The wind howled, no longer playful but reverent—mourning and celebrating in equal measure. Ethereal feathers drifted down from nowhere. Shadows stretched impossibly long, cast by a light that no sun gave.
"Marakkappatta mannargal ezhumbatum..."
("Let the forgotten monarchs arise...")
From the glowing cracks, phantom silhouettes began to kneel—five warriors, proud and regal, followed by a legion that shimmered like fading memories. They bowed before Rai, unseen by most, but their presence chilled the blood of all.
"Moodappatta kathavugal thirakattum..."
("Let the sealed gates shatter...")
A titanic boom split the arena as an invisible door opened behind him. A throne room, majestic and infinite, unfolded like a memory restored. The arena trembled. Ancient wards—placed to contain all magic within these sacred grounds—flickered… then shattered.
"Puraanathil azhaikkappadaathavargalai... ninaivil konduvaa!"
("Call forth those erased from legend!")
A storm of golden light erupted from Rai's form. Above, the sky warped and bent into a massive, swirling eye-shaped spiral. The heavens seemed to peer downward, watching.
The circle pulsed one final time.
And then—eruption.
Five colossal golden pillars rose from the earth behind Rai. Each was etched with symbols no scholar could recognize, yet each felt intimately familiar—like a forgotten name on the edge of memory. Runes ignited across their surface, burning with ancestral force. The wind whispered names lost to time, echoing like prophecy.
Bolts of divine lightning split the sky, slamming into the arena with blinding force. Students screamed, shielding their eyes. The very ground seemed to crack beneath Rai's feet. The storm was alive—and he was its heart.
At the edge of the platform, Kromus stood paralyzed, a man unshaken for decades now visibly trembling as Rai's power surged outward like a tide none could resist.
And then it came.
A voice—not of rage, but of divine sovereignty. A king's voice—not just heard, but felt.
Rai (roaring with divine authority, eyes glowing pure golden-white):
"Ezhundhirungal, en por veerargale!"
("Rise, my warriors!")
"Ungal arasan thirumbi vandhirukkiraan!"
("Your king has returned!")
"Ulagam thudikkattum, bayaththaal alla... magizhchiyin karanamaa!"
("Let the world tremble once more—not in fear, but in joy!")
Behind him, five golden thrones emerged from the ether—vast, ornate, and impossible. They hovered in place, exuding authority like an unspoken law. The runes at Rai's feet crackled white-hot... then faded into stillness.
"Indha vaazhkaiyil tholvigalukku edam illai..."
("In this life, there is no room for failure...")
"Naan thirumbiyirukkiren..."
("I have returned...")
"Oru murai innum..."
("One more time...")
And then—
They came.
Five kings—each resplendent in royal attire that shimmered like woven starlight—stepped from the golden light and took their thrones. Their presence was calm, yet crushing. Behind them, their legions arrived in formation, blades and banners gleaming, parting to make way for one.
And then, a sixth throne rose—more magnificent than all the others combined. Its ascent felt like the rise of a forgotten sun.
Rai, his voice calm but thunderous, began to walk.
"En simmaasanaththai meettavaaa!"
("Shall I reclaim my throne!")
The legion roared in reply, their chant growing louder with each step:
"Va! Va! Va! Va! Va!"
("Come! Come! Come! Come! Come!")
He walked through them, each soldier stepping aside as if by divine decree. The rest of the class watched from the entrance of the throne room—silent, stunned, unable to move or speak. They were witnessing history—or perhaps, the return of something far older.
And then he sat.
He ascended the final steps, turned to face the hall of kings and warriors, and seated himself on the throne that belonged to none... but him.
The cheers erupted like an avalanche.
The kings descended from their thrones and kneeled. The legion followed.
And then—
A deafening thunderclap split the sky above the academy.
And silence.
No soldier. No king. No light. Nothing.
Only Rai remained. Chest heaving, hands trembling. Alone once more.
The throne room, the thrones, the kings—all vanished like mist caught in sunrise.
Kromus, pale as moonlight, could only whisper—his voice dry, his thoughts scattered.
"That wasn't a summoning..."
"That was a coronation."
And then— a blinding flash.
Reality rippled like a mirage.
A moment passed.
Then another.
And just like that… it was gone.
No thunder.
No thrones.
No summons.
No memory.
The crowd blinked. Confused for half a second—then laughter broke out. Loud. Cruel. Unaware.
All they saw was Rai standing in the center of the summoning circle. Alone. Powerless. A spectacle.
Kromus frowned. Something itched in the back of his mind, like a dream forgotten the moment he woke up. His instincts screamed that something was wrong, but the thought slipped through his grasp like smoke.
Gale sighed, shaking his head—not in ridicule, but quiet worry. He feared this would crush Rai's spirit, though a part of him hoped it wouldn't.
Rose's lips tightened. She said nothing, but the disapproval in her eyes was clear. Her head tilted down, disappointed—not in Rai's failure, but in his supposed delusion.
Baruss's reaction was stranger still—his arms folded, brows furrowed in what looked like restrained anger. Unlike the others, he wasn't just disappointed… he was frustrated. As if some part of him knew this was how it would go.
Around them, the elite students laughed, mocked, scoffed. Only Arietta and Aromas stood still—watching Rai in utter silence, eyes unreadable.
And then, hidden beneath the noise and cruelty—
The summoned beasts.
Each one, majestic and terrifying, still stood… but something in their posture had shifted. Their magic wavered. Their gazes—locked. Fixated. Terrified.
They stared at Rai not with curiosity, not with superiority, but with fear.
Real, primal fear.
Kromus noticed. He stared at the beasts, then at Rai. A chill crept down his spine. His mouth went dry.
He didn't know what he had just forgotten.
But he was absolutely sure…
Something had happened.