The glowing portal hummed faintly as the last students stepped through. Aevion stood still in the threshold, his silver hair shifting gently in the dimensional wind, violet eyes locked on the ancient cover in his hand. He didn't glance back. Whatever he'd felt in that infinite silence — whatever had stirred behind the book's words — it lingered in him now.
He stepped through the portal.
The light bent around him, and in a single moment, the Library of the End was behind him. The academy grounds returned with a dull thrum of magic. Stone pathways. Students talking. Life had continued. But something was different.
Aevion's hand, still holding the book, was colder than the rest of his body.
They were back in one of the lesser halls of the academy — a place for upper-tier dimensional studies. The professor was already addressing the class. "You've now glimpsed a place few will ever enter again. Consider yourselves lucky, or perhaps... cursed."
Some students chuckled. Others didn't.
"Return to your dorms," the professor added, voice clipped. "And whatever you do, don't try to read beyond your understanding. There are orders in this world that predate your birthrights."
Aevion said nothing.
He walked through the corridor, the book pressed under his arm. There was no visible title on its spine — only a soft impression, like it had chosen to hide itself. He glanced down. The words were gone again.
It didn't matter.
The content was burned into him now — how reality bends to unseen frameworks. How cause, effect, and existence themselves answered to a presence beyond logic. The Order of Null Origin didn't rule by force. It simply was. And something about that concept made even death feel small.
As he turned the corner toward the stairwell that would lead him to the courtyard, a low voice stopped him.
"You shouldn't be carrying that."
Aevion looked up.
A boy — tall, maybe seventeen — leaned against the wall, arms folded. He had eyes like molten gold, and a faint shimmer of crimson traced his collar. His presence was sharp. Not like a beast, but like an idea — clear, unshakable.
"I don't know who you think you are," the boy continued, stepping forward, "but knowledge from the Library of the End doesn't belong to someone like you."
A few students in the distance slowed their steps, recognizing the voice.
The boy was known. Powerful. Part of one of the internal academies tied to the outer Rings — places that studied collapse physics and origin runes. His name wasn't important. Not now.
Aevion didn't flinch. "Then take it," he said simply.
Silence.
The boy's mouth curled. "I intend to."
The magic that rose was practiced — formal, laced with rites. It was the kind of energy that came from noble lines. The boy's aura widened as a sigil formed behind him — one of order and blade. Students nearby backed off quickly.
But Aevion's hand didn't go to his sword.
Instead, the book in his left hand... shimmered slightly. And for a moment, something in the air bent. Not violently. Not loud. Just wrong.
The dueling grounds weren't far, and neither one of them wanted to wreck the corridor.
So they walked in silence.
By the time they arrived at the training plaza, most of the nearby students had already gathered, sensing a confrontation. Some were whispering about the silver-haired boy. Others mentioned how strange he'd been since the Library trip.
The instructor on watch frowned but said nothing. If a fight broke out, he'd intervene.
The gold-eyed boy drew his blade — elegant, trimmed in red. It vibrated with an origin-linked resonance. A top-tier sword, forged in one of the academy's core crucibles.
Aevion reached for his own.
The mockery came quickly.
"Seriously? That's the weak thing he forged?"
"I heard it nearly shattered when he formed it."
"Looks like a rusted replica."
But Aevion didn't hear them.
He only stepped forward, his hand tightening slightly as he entered a calm stance — Nellum's Embrace. The same stillness. The same breath.
The sword in his hand, Vexiaris, didn't shine. It didn't cry out.
It merely awaited his intention.
The clash began.
At first, the boy rushed forward with a vertical cut, infused with layered time pulses — a trick to displace reaction. But Aevion leaned into the strike at the last second, brushing the blow with the flat of Vexiaris and redirecting it low.
The boy stumbled, regaining posture.
Now Aevion stepped in.
His blade wasn't fast — not yet — but it was exact. The motion was clean. Controlled. The kind of swing that didn't waste space.
The golden-eyed boy blocked, barely.
There was a small pause. Confusion.
And then the second motion came — a ghost of a swing, not from the sword, but from the stance itself. A ripple that broke timing.
The boy fell back a step.
"You're not using any amplification spells," he growled.
"No," Aevion said softly.
Their blades locked again.
And this time, the boy surged with fury, surrounding his weapon with resonance. But in that moment, Aevion's eyes narrowed. His left foot slid half a step.
A shadow pulse erupted behind him — not from magic, but from alignment.
The stance and the sword synchronized.
Something ancient stirred.
It wasn't visible. But a few students watching felt it in their gut.
Aevion moved again — a single horizontal line, so light it looked unfinished.
And the boy's aura cracked. Not shattered. Just… fractured. Like something brushed against its foundation.
He stepped back, hand trembling slightly.
"I've had enough," he muttered, feigning indifference.
The match ended.
Some students looked around confused. Others stayed quiet.
Aevion said nothing as he turned and walked off, the book still in hand. The crowd parted.
No one mocked his sword this time.
He returned to his dorm as the sun began to dip beyond the cliffs surrounding the upper academy tiers.
The night would be quiet.
But in the distance — far beyond space, in a place where nothing had the right to look — something blinked.
It had noticed.
And for the first time since its own beginning, it turned ever so slightly toward the one who dared to read its name.
The room was still. Moonlight seeped in faintly through the curtains, casting pale lines over the simple wooden floor.
Aevion lay on his cot, the weight of the day settling into his bones. The Library of the End's silence still lingered in his mind—a vast emptiness filled with more questions than answers.
His eyes closed, his breathing deepened... until the world shifted.
A voice broke through the quiet, gentle but undeniable.
"Aevion. Wake."
His eyes snapped open. The room was bathed in a strange, ethereal glow. His Nexis stirred beneath his skin—a soft pulse echoing the summons.
The summoning stone on his bedside table flared, projecting a holographic sigil. It was a call from the Grandmaster himself.
Without hesitation, Aevion rose, his movements fluid and deliberate. No trace of panic, no hesitation.
Moments later, he stood in the Grandmaster's office—a vast chamber crowned with towering bookshelves, arcane relics, and glowing constellations mapped across the ceiling.
The Grandmaster awaited him, seated calmly behind an ancient desk, his eyes deep wells of countless ages.
"Sit," the Grandmaster said.
Aevion obeyed.
"There is much you have uncovered," the Grandmaster began, voice smooth yet edged with weight. "The Library of the End is no mere archive—it is a crucible. You took something from it."
Aevion's gaze flicked to the book at his side—the Order of Null Origin. He said nothing.
"You will face consequences," the Grandmaster continued. "But first, you require guidance. What you carry is dangerous, yes. But the danger lies not in the knowledge alone, but how you wield it."
A shadow moved behind the Grandmaster.
A tall figure stepped forward, eyes sharp and unreadable. The presence was cold, precise.
"This is Serivian," the Grandmaster introduced. "Your instructor. Your judge."
Aevion's lips quirked in the faintest hint of a smile, but his eyes remained calm.
"I don't fear judgment."
The Grandmaster nodded slowly.
"Good. You will train under Serivian's watchful eye. Your growth will be rapid, but harsh."
Aevion nodded once.
"And the punishment?" he asked, voice low.
"You will answer for taking the book without permission. Rules exist for a reason, even if many forget why."
The Grandmaster waved his hand.
A shimmering document appeared—a formal notice of reprimand and restriction, marked with the academy's seal.
"It is up to you how far you fall."
Aevion took the document silently, folding it carefully.
The Grandmaster stood.
"Go now. Rest. Tomorrow, your training begins."
Aevion turned, walking toward the exit without a backward glance.
The door closed behind him with a soft click.
Outside, the night held its breath.