Earlier that day, back in the class, although Roy wasn't present, the class was still on. Kael stood in front of the class with a lot of holograms revealing his explanations.
"So, as I was saying…"
He gestured to a rotating projection of a jagged, dark crystal—a Rank 2 monster core, pulsing faintly with blue strands.
"Essence Drift and Core Contamination—this is not just theory. It is a very real, very present danger for reckless mages."
A few students shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Kael's tone sharpened.
"In dungeons, you don't always have time to refine a core safely. You're bleeding out. Your squad is dying. A mutated Lynx is bearing down on you, and the only thing in your hand is the fresh core of the beast you just killed."
He paused, letting the silence hang.
"So, you crush it. Absorb it. Try to use it to refuel. Stabilize. Push for that one last spell."
The hologram flickered. A new one emerged—an outline of a human body, glowing with healthy essence. Then, it jittered. Erratic waves of crimson shot through it like corrupted veins.
"And just like that, your flow is disrupted. Your meridians burn. Your soul core cracks."
Kael let that image linger before turning back to the class. His voice dropped slightly—measured, grim.
"Monster cores—especially from creatures with innate or warped abilities—carry residual will. The imprint of their instincts. Their hunger. Their madness. Some mages can resist that influence... for a time. Others?"
He tapped, and a final hologram appeared—an archival footage clip, security grainy. A student convulsing violently, eyes glowing with a foreign light, screaming in a voice that didn't quite sound human.
"They don't even realize they've been taken."
Silence.
Kael turned off the footage and paced slowly, letting his boots echo against the polished stone.
"This is what we call Essence Drift. The foreign will doesn't just boost your energy. It rewrites it. Think of your essence as a river. Stable. Pure. When you pour in dirty, turbulent water, you get chaos. If the core was from a beast that breathed fire, your flow might flare. Burn internally. If the monster had shadow-binding instincts, your essence might darken. Hide from you."
He stopped, eyes scanning the students.
"And if the creature had a fragmented mind or suffered dungeon mutation…"
Another pause. A long one.
"Then your soul core becomes a battlefield."
He turned back to the board.
"Now, most of you have only trained with stable, academy-issued cores. Or absorbed under supervision. But mark my words—when desperation comes, when you're knee-deep in a dungeon, bleeding and alone—that's when the rules matter most."
He raised a finger.
"Do not absorb unfamiliar cores recklessly. Do not touch cores from mutated monsters unless filtered through a regulator. And never—under any circumstance—absorb cores that display dual auras. That means the monster was either artificially enhanced… or worse, tampered with."
A student in the back raised a hand. "Professor Kael, what if the core is your only shot at survival?"
Kael smiled, grim and slow.
"Then you better pray your will is stronger than the beast's. Or your soul will become its second skin."
His words and lecture imprinted themselves in the minds of the students as they all listened keenly. Eyes were wide, some hands scribbled notes furiously. Even the habitual whisperers sat in silence—until the door slid open with a quiet hiss.
A sudden wave of stillness swept through the room.
Standing behind the door was Denwen, clad in his Crimson academy uniform. The vivid fabric caught the light and cast sharp shadows across the floor—too real to be imagined.
The class collectively froze.
No one had expected him.
No one had dared.
Kael paused mid-sentence as every head turned toward the door. For a brief second, even the ambient hum of the holograms felt muted.
"Good day, sir," Denwen said, offering a slight bow—composed, deliberate, humble.
The murmurs followed like a rising tide.
"Wait… wasn't he expelled?"
"He should still be under investigation—what's he doing here?"
"I heard he—"
The voices swelled, threatening to spiral, until Kael raised a hand—not hurried, but authoritative.
"Enough," Kael said, voice even. "He is here. That is all that should concern you."
His gaze swept the room with that sharp, metallic edge that made silence obey.
"Welcome back, Denwen. Find a seat. Let's continue in peace."
The warning wasn't loud, but it rang loud enough. It wasn't a suggestion—it was law.
Denwen stepped in.
He moved slowly, shoulders relaxed, but his presence was different—firmer, grounded. Each footfall carried the echo of someone who had walked through fire and chosen to come back. Not for pride. Not for attention.
But for purpose.
As he passed Jay, the boy looked up—genuinely surprised—then offered a faint, unsure smile. Denwen returned it easily.
Then his gaze landed on Logan, sitting near Jay trying to blend into the shadows like always. Denwen's eyes widened slightly—he hadn't expected to see him here. Logan just smiled, the kind that was all understanding and no words.
He passed Kara next. She stared straight ahead, back straight, unmoving. But Denwen caught it—the tightness in her fingers, the way her jaw tensed. She knew he was there. She just didn't want to acknowledge his presence.
He chuckled softly to himself and kept moving.
But then… Angus.
The prankster. The loudmouth. The one always looking to rattle him.
Denwen turned, expecting a smirk, a jab, something sarcastic—
Instead, Angus just gave him a thumbs-up.
"Welcome back, bro," he said casually, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Then he turned back to his notes, calm.
No tease. No insult. Not even a fake laugh.
Denwen blinked.
That's not right, he thought.
His steps faltered just a little as he reached his seat. But even as he sat, his eyes remained fixed on Angus—who now had a slight, quiet smile on his lips. Not mocking. Not even playful.
Just... thoughtful.
Something's changed.
The murmurs didn't rise again. The class sat quietly, as if Denwen's return had thrown their mental rhythm off just enough to keep them silent.
Kael resumed his lecture, but not without a final glance at Denwen—brief, appraising, almost... approving.
-----
The holograms fizzled out one by one as the class came to a close, their glowing light fading into the air like dust. Students rose from their seats, voices returning to fill the room with scattered chatter.
Kael gave a final nod to the class before turning and exiting, his robes trailing behind him.
As Denwen began packing his things, Logan and Jay approached his desk, faces lit up with a mix of curiosity and relief.
"So," Jay began, leaning casually on the desk, "how was the suspension? Didn't expect to see you in crimson this soon."
Logan added with a small grin, "You missed a lot. And not just theory. Your Room A has sure been wild."
"Oh?" Denwen asked, raising a brow.
Logan chuckled and tapped the emblem on his wrist device—a different hue, a clear indicator of his promotion. "Got bumped up" he mentioned with a smile as Jay interrupted"
"You should've seen it— the way he took on Kelvin, Briggs and Nero during their duel, I myself would be careful when facing him."
Before Denwen could react, the sound of approaching footsteps broke their little reunion. Kara appeared behind them, arms folded, eyes forward like she wasn't part of the conversation at all.
"They didn't even rough you up properly," she said casually, though there was the faintest tug at her lip—something between teasing and restrained concern.
Denwen smiled faintly, catching her tone. "Good to see you too."
Just then, Angus walked over from the far side of the room—uncharacteristically quiet, without a smirk or insult in sight. He dropped a small, circular device on the desk with a soft clink.
"Take that," he said bluntly. "Contains all the lectures you missed. Two months' worth. Didn't think you'd want to start from scratch."
The group went quiet.
Denwen blinked. "You… compiled this?"
Angus didn't answer. He just gave a short nod, turned to leave—and at the door, he glanced back. His gaze met Denwen's for a brief, meaningful second. Then he smiled, calm and unreadable, before walking away.
Kara broke the silence with a slight frown.
"Well, he's been acting strange lately… but this is something else."
As if summoned, Mellissa strolled over, her silver hair catching the light, eyes locked on the device Angus left behind.
"Looks like he's turned a new leaf," she said with a smirk. "Let's make sure we maximize it." She tapped the device, then crossed her arms.
Denwen shook his head, amused but thoughtful.
"Solid advice… but something else is bothering me."
He looked around at all of them.
"Yesterday, the principal personally came to tell me to resume classes. But I haven't seen Roy anywhere."
The air shifted.
Jay looked down. Mellissa's lips tightened. Kara folded her arms more tightly, turning away.
It was Mellissa who finally spoke.
"You'll find him in the principal's training hall," she said, avoiding his gaze. "He's been spending most of his time there ever since… well, you know what."
She didn't need to say the word.
Funeral hung heavy in the silence between them.
Denwen nodded, the pieces beginning to form a bigger picture. He stood and picked up the device from the desk, giving each of them a thankful look.
"Thanks… for everything."
They nodded, and one by one, drifted off—each heading their own way as Denwen exited the classroom.
________________________________________
The walk to the principal's training chamber was quiet, the halls echoing with only the sound of his footsteps and the faint hum of nearby training rooms.
As he approached the chamber, a wave of raw essence slammed into him—like stepping into a stormfront. It pressed against his skin, crackled in the air, and pulled at something deep in his core.
"Wait… is that—?" he muttered, stunned. "A breakthrough?"
The door creaked open just then, as he was still analyzing the sudden surge.
Inside, Roy stood amidst a swirling storm of radiant energy, sweat glistening on his brow, his aura luminous—unstable, yet regal.
Their eyes locked.
Roy's breathing steadied, his expression unreadable—caught between fatigue and determination.
Before Denwen could say a word, a familiar hand landed on his shoulder.
He turned to see Dvalin, the Principal, eyes sharp yet warm.
"Welcome back, son," the dwarf said, voice low and steady.
Then he walked past Denwen and disappeared down the corridor—leaving him at the threshold, face to face with Roy, and a flood of words yet to be said.