The evening glow slipped through the glass windows, casting a pale gold light over the long row of tables at the end of the corridor. Distant chatter gradually faded, leaving behind a stillness broken only by footsteps—and the restless heartbeat of those approaching the bulletin board where the annual academic results were posted.
Alaric walked slowly, his eyes distant, as though none of it truly mattered to him. Beside him, Vincent crossed his arms, voice sharp with impatience:
"Hurry up. They just posted the scores. Who's going to take first place this year?"
Behind them, Draven curled his lips into a mocking smile:
"No need to wonder. It surely won't be Alaric. He's kept to himself all year, never cared for rankings."
Vincent shot him a glare, ready to argue, when Lysander suddenly bolted forward. He skidded to a halt in front of the bulletin board, his eyes widening in disbelief.
"Wait… what is this?!" His voice cracked. "Alaric… first place?!"
Vincent and Draven froze, both stunned. Vincent rushed forward, seizing Alaric's shoulders and shaking him hard:
"You've been hiding your strength all along! Always acting so detached, and yet you're the one at the top?!"
Alaric frowned at the shaking, but didn't react otherwise. His gaze drifted over the bulletin board, pausing on his own name. His expression remained unchanged, but deep inside, a strange feeling stirred—both unfamiliar, and yet as though everything had been foreseen.
Draven crossed his arms, chuckling softly:
"First place means you earn the right to join the expedition… to another world. Just the thought of it is enough to drive people mad. Alaric, isn't this exactly what you wanted?"
Alaric lowered his gaze, his voice low and indistinct:
"No… Could it be… they made a mistake?"
The air grew heavy. Even Lysander—usually the most lively—turned serious. Stepping closer, he asked softly:
"Alaric… you don't wish to go, do you?"
Vincent raised a brow, cutting in:
"If you're first, you can't turn it down. This is the only chance you'll get. So many people yearn for it but never even get the right to try."
Draven gave a quiet, humorless laugh:
"Exactly. Don't hesitate. Once you step onto that path… there will be no return."
Alaric said nothing, his deep blue eyes reflecting the dim light of dusk. At last, he murmured, his voice barely louder than the wind:
"I… have yet to meet my destiny…"
Vincent and Lysander exchanged glances, but neither spoke. They knew Alaric was not jesting. Journeys to other worlds were never a game. Not all who left would return.
---
Hours later, the night wind hissed through a half-closed dormitory window. Beneath the warm glow of lamplight, the group gathered around a wooden table. Their shadows stretched across the walls, overlapping in silence.
Vincent propped his chin on his hand, his tone low:
"Truly… Alaric, have you prepared at all? You've never left the academy, never tested yourself beyond the training grounds. Even we can barely believe it."
Draven shrugged:
"He has no need to prepare. Besides…" His voice dropped to a near whisper. "What he seeks… was never to be found here."
The room fell into a quiet heaviness. Lysander broke it with a light chuckle:
"Don't make it sound as though he's marching to his death. Alaric… he's always silent, but when it matters, no one can predict what he'll do."
Alaric raised a brow, his cold gaze flicking toward Lysander, before turning back to the moonlight spilling through the window.
"I will not step back. This time… it will be different."
---
Night descended, the sky a deep black scattered with stars, like countless silent eyes watching the world below. In a lonely corner of the courtyard, Alaric stood unmoving, his shadow stretching long across the gray stone tiles. His deep blue eyes lifted to the heavens, so distant it seemed his soul had already drifted elsewhere.
Soft footsteps approached. Lysander emerged, quietly taking his place beside him. For a long moment, neither spoke; only the wind and rustling leaves filled the air. At last, Lysander's voice broke through, low and hesitant, as though afraid to disturb the stillness:
"My lord… do you regret it? Leaving all of this behind?"
Alaric tilted his head slightly, silent for a moment. A faint smile curved his lips—so fragile no one could tell if it was a mask or a comfort.
"No. I have never once thought to stop. That world… I wish to touch it, at least once."
His gaze slowly settled on Lysander, deep and unreadable:
"And you? What will you do, when I am gone?"
Lysander smiled softly, his eyes distant:
"I will remain here, waiting for the day you return. Wherever you go… please remember, there will always be one who believes in you."
A cold breeze swept past, carrying the damp scent of night. Alaric lowered his eyes, feeling a quiet warmth stir in his chest. He nodded, his voice deep but steady:
"Lysander… thank you. I will not let you down."
---
At dawn, as the first rays of the sun broke over the horizon, Alaric stood before his bloodline. His gaze was resolute, yet shadowed by a quiet sorrow.
Cassandra spoke softly, her tone gentle but tinged with worry:
"My dear, are you certain you are ready? Should you face any danger, use this stone to contact me."
Alaric accepted the stone with a nod:
"I understand. Do not worry, I will be careful."
Beside her, Alistair's voice was stern and commanding:
"Alaric, remember—you do not stand for yourself alone, but carry the weight of our entire bloodline. Survive… and do not forget to uphold our honor."
Alaric bowed his head, voice firm:
"I understand, my lord. I will not bring shame upon us."
Lysander stepped forward, his gaze steady and intent:
"My lord, are you ready?"
Alaric gave a faint, wavering smile:
"I am not certain… But if I do not take this step, I will never know what I am truly capable of."
Lysander placed a hand on his shoulder, his voice unwavering:
"You will succeed. I believe in you. And… no matter what comes, I will remain here, waiting for your return."
Alaric met Lysander's eyes, his own softening for a fleeting moment. He gave a slight nod, emotions stirring within him, unspoken.
Cassandra's voice quivered:
"It is time… You must depart before the gate closes."
Alaric embraced Cassandra, bowed to Alistair and the others of his bloodline. At last, he turned to Lysander. Between them hung a wordless silence.
Alaric whispered softly:
"Farewell… Lysander."
Lysander smiled gently, his voice warm:
"Not farewell. Only… until we meet again."
Drawing a deep breath, Alaric stepped through the shimmering magical gate. A burst of emerald light swallowed his figure. Only Lysander remained, standing alone in the silent courtyard. In the wind, his quiet voice lingered:
"Be strong… My Prince."