Morning arrived with sluggish weight. Elarion departed his house, bag slung across his shoulder, fingers absently tracing the tender spot near his eye. Duskmire's streets already bustled with life—carriages cutting through the mist, workers calling to one another, students hurrying past.
At the academy gates stood Vaelreth, leaning against the iron fence with arms crossed, his face bearing its customary serenity.
His keen eyes immediately assessed Elarion. "You're late," he remarked, then narrowed his gaze. "What happened to your arms?"
Elarion blinked. "What?"
Vaelreth gestured toward the faint cuts along his forearms—remnants of last night's "practice."
"Oh, that," Elarion forced a nervous laugh. "I was cleaning my backyard and fell. No bullies this time."
"Cleaning? At midnight?" Vaelreth raised an eyebrow.
"Couldn't sleep," Elarion muttered, averting his gaze.
Vaelreth sighed, obviously dubious but chose not to pursue it. "Fine. But if someone's troubling you, I'll—"
"I said it's fine," Elarion cut him off, perhaps too hastily.
Silence hung between them momentarily. Then Vaelreth simply nodded and began walking. "Alright," he said over his shoulder, his tone low yet gentle. "Let's go, then."
Elarion fell into step beside him.
The city fog had thinned that morning, yet even in the pale sunlight, his left eye throbbed faintly—a pulse synchronized with his heartbeat.
Though he failed to realize it then, as he glanced at Vaelreth, he caught something peculiar—a subtle shimmer surrounding him, a silvery thread dancing along the contours of his form.
It vanished when Elarion blinked.
But it had been there.
Something within him had transformed.
Something had awakened.
The remainder of the day dissolved into a haze of words and sounds that barely registered with Elarion.
Halden droned through his lectures, chalk scraped against boards, and finally the bell rang—mercifully concluding another day that stretched beyond its hours.
As usual, he avoided lingering to chat with classmates.
While other students flowed toward the courtyard, laughing and calling to each other, Elarion turned away—toward the library.
The corridors there stood quiet, dust particles floating like specters through beams of pale light.
The aroma of aged parchment and ink soothed him. Books never judged, never whispered the word "Blank."
His fingers traced along a shelf until a particular spine caught his attention. Bold letters across cracked leather made him pause.
"I Got My System Late, But I'll Become Beastgod."
He stared at it momentarily, his lips twitching.
"Ridiculous title... but perhaps it contains something useful."
He pulled it free, settled at a nearby desk, and began reading.
The tale followed Aamir, initially powerless, who received a mysterious "system" and ascended to godhood through countless trials. It brimmed with wild, impossible battles—a fantasy Elarion could never indulge.
Yet something in the narrative tightened his chest. Aamir's isolation. His desperation to prove himself. His conviction that fate had erred in overlooking him.
Time slipped by unnoticed. When he finally closed the book, the world outside had dimmed to orange twilight.
"Not bad," he murmured. "But I doubt this helps my situation."
He carefully returned the book between two ancient tomes. As he turned to leave, a voice startled him.
"Do you enjoy fantasy stories?"
He froze.
A girl stood nearby, her hair the shade of soft ash, her bright grey eyes steady, curious, and vibrantly alive. She appeared his age, perhaps slightly younger, wearing the identical academy uniform.
Elarion blinked, completely disarmed.
Someone—besides Vaelreth—was addressing him.
"I—uh—well," he stammered, suddenly tongue-tied. "I suppose... I don't dislike them?"
The girl tilted her head, offering a faint smile. "You look like you've been caught stealing rather than reading."
"No," he shook his head quickly. "It's just... unusual. People rarely speak to me."
"Because you're a Blank?" she asked, her voice free of judgment.
He hesitated, then nodded. "Yes."
She shrugged. "So what? My mother was a Blank. You're human too. Honestly, Blanks are the most normal people here."
Elarion studied her, expecting the familiar smirk or pity—but found neither. Only calm certainty.
"You're right," he said softly. "But I don't particularly favor fantasy. I was searching for something else, though some stories are worthwhile."
"What were you looking for?" she inquired.
His mind seized. I can't reveal the truth. He couldn't admit he sought clues about his dreams, his pain, the Eye that haunted him.
So he offered a partial truth. "I was researching stories about people who perceive... things that don't belong in this world. Nightmares. Techniques from another era. That sort of thing."
Vellora thoughtfully tapped her chin. "I don't know any exactly like that, but I can help you search. I practically live in this library."
She extended her hand with a small, confident smile. "I'm Vellora. Vellora Grayheart."
Elarion paused before accepting her hand. Her palm felt warm, soft—strikingly real compared to the cold metal of his usual isolation.
For a brief moment, something within him softened.
"So this is what a girl's hand feels like," he muttered involuntarily.
Vellora blinked—then laughed with genuine amusement rather than mockery. "You're peculiar."
Elarion's face warmed. "Sorry. I just—I'm Elarion."
"Elarion," she echoed, as if testing the name. "Pleased to meet you."
Her smile lingered, gentle yet knowing, before she turned toward the rows of books. "I'll inform you if I discover any stories resembling your... nightmares."
Elarion remained still momentarily, watching her disappear among the shelves.
For the first time in what felt like forever, someone had addressed him without contempt or wariness.
He couldn't explain why that mattered so deeply—but it did.
As he stepped into the fading light outside the library, his left eye pulsed again, faint and golden.
He failed to notice.
But the nearest lamp flickered once—not from the wind, but as though something inside it had blinked.
Elarion stepped out of the library and made his way toward the academy grounds. Evening had settled—pale clouds draped across the sky while fading orange sunlight brushed the ancient stone walls. The last class of the day awaited. Dozens of students already filled the grounds with their laughter, nervous whispers, and that quiet tension that always precedes something significant.
Choosing a secluded corner, Elarion stood silently, assuming, as always, that no one would notice him. He was a Blank—people rarely cared about Blanks. Today, however, that small hope proved wrong.
A group of boys spotted him, their faces twisting with familiar disgust as they approached. Their leader, Denny, stepped forward and called out, "Oi, Blankie! What are you doing here, huh? Trying to get sympathy again?"
Without looking up, Elarion replied, "Mind your own business, Denny."
"Oh? You talk back now?" Denny laughed loudly. "Looks like someone's grown a spine today!" He grabbed Elarion by the collar and snarled, "Seems your wings have grown too big, Blankie. Let's clip them for you."
Elarion remained calm, closing his eyes to recall the movements he had practiced for so long. In an instant, he freed himself from Denny's grip.
"Oh, so you've become faster," Denny said, surprise evident in his voice, "but do you think a little speed makes you stronger? Wait, I'll show you the difference."
He raised his hands. Small stones around him lifted into the air, spinning rapidly and reshaping into sharp, needle-like shards. His companions stepped back, grinning in anticipation.
"Let's see what happens to someone with no power," Denny said, flicking his hand to launch the stones.
But before he could strike—
Thud!
A solid punch landed on his head. The stones clattered to the ground as Denny staggered back, eyes wide with shock.
Behind him stood Veron—the strict, renowned instructor of Umbreal Academy and one of the strongest Wanderers in Duskmire. His mere presence made the air heavy.
"Denny," Veron said coldly, "do you come here to learn, or to brawl? Get back to your place. Class is about to begin."
Denny froze momentarily before muttering, "Yes, sir," and running off with his head down.
Turning to Elarion, Veron studied him carefully. "Your speed was decent... but you lacked control. What's your ability tier?"
Elarion hesitated. "Sir, I'm... a Blank."
Veron's eyes narrowed slightly. "A Blank? With that speed?" He paused, as though something had just clicked in his mind. "Hmm. Interesting. Anyway—pay attention today. This lesson might matter more than you think."
As Veron walked toward the center of the field, a soft voice came from behind Elarion.
"Hey... Elarion, are you okay?"
He turned to find Vellora Greyheart—the same girl he'd met earlier in the library. She held a few notes in her hand, her expression calm yet curious.
"Yeah, I'm fine," Elarion replied awkwardly.
Vellora tilted her head. "Do you know what today's class is about?"
Elarion shook his head. "No... not really."
"Everyone's going to awaken their familiars today," she explained with a faint smile. "It's supposed to decide the direction of our true Path. Pretty big day, huh? Don't worry too much."
Elarion gave a small shrug. "A good day, huh? We'll see."
Vellora laughed softly before returning to her spot.
Moments later, Veron's voice echoed through the hall. "Students! Today's lesson is a special one. You will awaken your Familiars."
The room filled with murmurs—excitement mingled with unease.
Veron lifted his hand, drawing glowing symbols into the air. "Familiars are divided into five categories," he explained as five emblems formed behind him:
A red spiral—Ambermark,
A shadow curve—Umbramark,
A green vine—Verdantmark,
A silver loop—Chainmark,
And a golden eye—Mindmark.
"Each familiar belongs to one of these categories," Veron continued. "And the more lines engraved on its mark, the stronger it is. The highest known so far—five lines. Rare, but real."
"Sir," a student raised her hand, "what if a familiar doesn't belong to any of these categories?"
"That's never happened," Veron replied with a faint smile. "Every mark fits somewhere. Now—focus."
The air grew still. The Mirror Vein—a rune circle at the center—began to glow. One by one, students stepped forward.
The first student summoned a fox made of fire, its fur flickering with three bright lines on its mark. Cheers erupted throughout the hall.
Next came a green-winged bird that hovered above another student's hand, four glowing lines circling its chest.
"Four lines! Incredible!" someone shouted.
Then Vellora stepped into the circle confidently. The Mirror Vein shimmered blue beneath her feet, and moments later, a beautiful azure butterfly appeared, wings glittering with green energy.
"Verdantmark," Veron said approvingly. "Three lines. Well done."
The butterfly fluttered around Vellora once before vanishing into her mark.
After her came Vaelreth. As he entered the circle, the air grew heavy, the light dimming to a dark violet hue. Black chains erupted from beneath his boots, coiling upward. Between them formed a shadow—the shape of a hound made of smoke, its eyes burning with violet fire.
"Umbramark," Veron announced. "Four lines. As expected."
The room murmured in awe. Vaelreth's familiar was clearly among the strongest in the class.
And then—Elarion's turn.
He stepped forward slowly. The air shifted—colder, quieter. The Mirror Vein glowed beneath him but, instead of brightening, began to flicker... then fade. Strange static emanated from the instructors' instruments.
Veron frowned. "What's going on...?"
Inside Elarion's mind, a whisper echoed—"Remember..."
He gasped.
A faint wisp of smoke formed before him, swirling gently—and in its center, a golden eye opened.
Silence fell over the hall.
"What the hell is that? His familiar's... smoke?" someone snorted, triggering widespread laughter.
"Quiet!" Professor Halden barked, pulling out his scanner. The moment he activated it, sparks burst forth and the device shattered. Glass hit the floor as the room lights flickered violently.
Everyone froze.
"That's... not normal," Vaelreth muttered, his expression darkening.
The smoke wisp—later known as Remn—shimmered faintly. Then Elarion heard a voice only he could perceive—soft, ancient, echoing directly into his soul: "You've found me again... just as before."
Elarion's heart pounded. A golden glint flashed in his right eye before vanishing.
Halden stumbled backward. "That mark... it doesn't belong to any category!" He tried his scanner again, but it sparked and died once more. "In all recorded history... this mark has never existed," he whispered.
The laughter had long since died. Now, only unease lingered. Even Denny looked uncertain.
"Elarion, meet me after class," Veron said, stepping forward. "We need to test this further."
Vaelreth approached quietly. "If that thing isn't what it looks like... don't keep it near you alone," he warned in a low voice.
Elarion nodded silently.
Remn pulsed once more, then faded into mist.
As students filed out of the hall, whispers trailed behind them—fear, curiosity, envy.
"That was... strange," Vellora said softly as she approached. "But for some reason, I wasn't scared. Your familiar—it feels... different. Maybe even special."
"Special? Or dangerous?" Elarion attempted a smile.
Vellora looked at him for a moment. "Sometimes, they're the same thing," she replied before leaving.
Elarion stood alone, staring at the empty space where Remn had appeared. The air still hummed faintly—"Remember..."
Outside, the mists of Duskmire crept back across the city. Lamps flickered weakly, and somewhere in the distance, beneath the hum of night, a whisper stirred—"Time begins again."