Chapter 25
[Embercrown 31st (8th month), Year 1356 of the Arcane Calendar]
| 11:00 AM |
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[Celestara, auditorium ]
Darkness wrapped around us like a living thing, heavy, patient, absolute. The air trembled with the hum of raw magic.
I sat pressed between Dain and Victor, their presence grounding me, though Tina and Dain's earlier jabs still lingered like nettles in my thoughts.
The crowd's restless murmur unraveled into silence as a sudden chill slipped through my cloak, sharp and merciless. My breath curled into mist, vanishing into the void above.
The warmth of the hall ebbed away, seeping from the walls, the floor, the very air, until only the cold remained—quiet, creeping, unrelenting.
Something brushed my cheek—a fleeting touch, delicate as silk, yet cold enough to sting.
Snow.
It drifted from nowhere, each flake soft and weightless, yet biting as it kissed my skin. They lingered for a moment before surrendering, melting into trails of water that trickled down my neck, thin rivulets of winter whispering against my flesh.
It wasn't quite as freezing as Felix's presence, but close enough to numb my fingers. I shoved my hands into my pockets, leather creaking under the strain.
Snow began to swirl, catching the dim glow of lanterns high above. A ripple of awe rippled through the crowd.
The flakes twisted in the air, pulled by a gust that howled through the hall, tugging strands of my hair. The wind shaped them into birds—shimmering, ethereal, their wingtips glittering as they spiraled upward in a hypnotic dance.
My heart hammered as the flock circled tighter, blurring into a radiant vortex at the hall's center.
With a crack like splintering glass, the storm of wings burst apart. Snow scattered like stardust.
Cheers tore through the silence. Fists pumped. Voices clashed in a deafening roar.
"More! More!"
Heat followed—sudden and fierce. A wall of fire surged up from the floor, crimson and gold tongues lashing the air.
The blaze roared so close it seared the damp from my skin, its heat pressing against my face. My pulse jumped with it—too wild, too untamed.
Flames arced into ribbons, weaving like molten steel before collapsing in a shower of embers that winked out before touching stone.
Then came water.
It rose in a gleaming torrent, scattering prisms of light. Cool mist sprayed my lips—salt, faint but undeniable.
The liquid spun into ribbons, serpentine and smooth, before freezing mid-air into crystalline sculptures. They glimmered against the dark for a single breath before shattering into mist.
The chant swelled louder, the crowd's voices hammering the rafters.
"Go! Go!"
From the haze, a tree erupted. Its trunk split upward, bark rough and ancient, branches clawing for the ceiling.
In a heartbeat, it bloomed—petals unfurling with a silken rustle, pink and white blossoms flooding the hall with the faint sweetness of spring.
Countless petals broke free, drifting down in deliberate spirals.
One landed in my palm—velvet-soft, edges curling before dissolving into light.
A high-tier illusion spell?
Others passed through my shoulders, my hair, my skin. The hall fell away. For an instant, it was only me and the beauty cascading down through the gloom.
Then the noise slammed back.
The hall exploded. Students leapt to their feet—shouting, stomping, clapping.
Tina clutched Linda's arm, both screaming with the crowd. Dain let out a low whistle, smirk sharp at the corner of his mouth. Victor's eyes gleamed, predator-bright.
I stayed frozen. Chest tight. My heart is racing like an engine pinned to the red.
And then—light.
Lanterns blazed in a single breath, golden beams slicing through the dark. They converged on the main stage, leaving the rest of the hall in shadow.
A lone figure stood at the center. Straight-backed. Unflinching.
He lifted a device in one hand, its tip glowing faintly as it caught the light.
When he spoke, his voice wasn't just loud.
It rolled.
It boomed.
Amplified and commanding, it surged across the hall like a tidal wave, drowning every whisper, every heartbeat—until only his words remained.
"Welcome, everyone." His voice was smooth, confident, and easy.
A smile tugged at his lips, not forced but natural. "I'm Lucian Decra, your student council president.
"This year too…" His eyes swept across the hall, soft but bright with charisma. "…we'll make history together."
The spell he used is easily a tier above a mid-tier spell(tier-4). The amount of mental strength required to perform a spell at a young age is truly impressive.
"Not just because of the students gathered here, but because of the teachers who guide us, the staff who support us, and the traditions that keep this academy alive. Every one of you matters. Be proud to stand in these halls—because together, we're building something greater than ourselves."
The hall erupted again—cheers exploding louder than before, fists raised in the shadows beyond the stage's glow.
Lucian stepped back, the device in his hand dimming as he gave the crowd a casual wave. His grin lingered like a spark in the dark.
The lanterns shifted, their golden light softening as a new figure ascended the stage.
The Vice Principal. A stern woman with iron-gray hair coiled into a tight bun, robes lined with silver embroidery. She stood ramrod straight, her posture radiating command.
Her voice carried without aid, sharp and clipped, cutting through the hall like a blade.
"Students," she began, her gaze sweeping across the sea of faces. "Your presence here is no small feat. Celestara Academy demands discipline, focus, and sacrifice. Our faculty expects nothing less than your best—whether in spellcraft, combat, or scholarship. Failure is not shameful. It is a lesson. Learn from it. Rise above it. This institution forges greatness, but only for those who dare to seize it."
Her words landed heavily. The crowd's earlier cheer ebbed into tense silence. With a curt nod, she stepped aside, boots clicking against the polished stage.
The lamps flared brighter, casting a radiant glow as the Principal approached.
An elf. His lime-green hair cascaded like a forest stream, shimmering as if threaded with emeralds. His face looked no older than thirty, smooth and luminous, but his eyes—ancient, deep, sharp as cut jade—betrayed his three centuries.
He carried himself like a quiet storm. No effort, no strain—yet every breath of his presence commanded the hall. His silken robes shifted like leaves stirred by an unseen wind.
He needed no device. His voice was music—warm, melodic, yet edged with an ageless weight that settled into every bone.
"Welcome, young scholars," said Principal Eryndor. "Celestara is more than a school—it is a crucible. Here, you will forge your strength, sharpen and broaden your minds, and uncover truths about yourselves in this world. Magic is not merely power; it is responsibility. Wield it with care, for it defines your future."
He paused. His gaze swept the hall, steady and deliberate, as though he could peer into every soul. His eyes seemed to follow a precise arc, flowing smoothly across the rows, not lingering on any single student.
Except.
For the briefest fraction of a second—less than a blink—his eyes caught mine.
Even I needed a moment to process what had just happened.
It felt like being pinned beneath a lightning strike. My skin prickled, sweat beading cold at my temples, as though his eyes had cut straight through me. And then—just as suddenly—his gaze was gone, flowing onward as if I had never existed.
I let out a shaky breath, forcing myself not to squirm in my chair.
Liam, sitting a seat above me, turned sharply. His eyes flicked down, sharp and questioning, the faintest trace of suspicion cutting through his usual calm. His brows drew together, narrowing as if he'd caught something I wished he hadn't.
"Newcomers—trust in your potential. Veterans—lead by example. Together, you will shape what comes next."
A faint smile curved the Principal's lips. The air seemed to hum with possibility as he stepped back, the lamps dimming in reverence.
A tap on my shoulder pulled me from my thoughts. Liam leaned closer, his voice low. "What's wrong?" he asked, eyes narrowing further as he glanced at my arms. They were trembling, betraying me despite how tightly I tried to keep still.
I grabbed my right arm, forcing it to stop shaking. "Nothing, just... a slight sudden pain from yesterday."
Let's get some food I said as we walked to the exit from the seats.
Cornelius's chuckle rasped in my ear, low and knowing. "Your principal is pretty curious for his age."
What did he do? It felt like all the veins in my body crawled like a long worm.
Cornelius leaned? In closer, voice dipping to something colder. "He pierced through you. Not just you—your existence. That's how it feels when someone claws at your soul sphere."
My stomach knotted. "So he saw…" I swallowed hard. "…me?"
Cornelius's grin was a blade in the dark. "For a moment, yes."
But don't worry, I'm sure he probably never saw your life as Oliver, only an empty void. Cornelius replied.
Why??
Cornelius currently inverted as if he could walk on the ceiling, "Tell me what you saw in your own mindscape. What did your soul sphere manifest?"
I hesitated, then answered. "An endless black void. Nothing else."
Cornelius hummed, almost pleased.
I pressed on.
When I entered Liam's mindscape, it was fractured—pieces of his home stitched together with other familiar places, broken memories bleeding into each other. Chaotic, but alive.
My hand curled tighter.
Lotar's was different. More stable, but filled with rage. He wasn't a world—I just found him there. Red-faced, fists swinging, trapped in his anger. His dream tried to fight me the second I stepped in.
Cornelius's voice slithered back, satisfied. "Exactly. They're worlds built on identity and memories.
"Their mindscapes form from memory—pieces of home, scraps of fear, a lifetime stitched into a world. Yours…" He let the word hang, like a blade hovering over skin.
"You're not—" he continued, "you're someone who carries knowledge that was never meant for this world. It doesn't fit the rules here. Your knowledge is forbidden to Velmora's patterns. It resists being seen, named, or made real. Even if you tried to explain it out loud, people would hear nothing—just the empty sound of you murmuring. Or they'd hear a shadow of it and forget the rest."
His words hit me like cold water. My mouth went dry.
"How—how is that even possible?" I managed, voice raw. "How can a...—what... are you —be 'forbidden'?"
After sorting my thoughts, I asked, Who decides what knowledge can exist?
"Oliver — I'm tired of explaining. This is the third time."
From now on, I'll just say:
"You'll remember when you need to. If I tell you now, the world will make you forget until the moment it matters."
My chest tightened. "What—no. What do you mean, third time?" The words slipped out too fast, too sharp.
And too loud.
The crowd moving toward the doors slowed. Heads turned. A couple of students gave me side-eye as if I'd just yelled at a ghost.
"Third time what?" someone muttered.
Heat shot to my face. I slapped a hand over it, mumbling through my fingers. "Nothing. Forget it. Please—I said nothing!"
Snickers rippled through the group. One guy smirked, shaking his head like this idiot. Another shot me a look more judgmental than curious, as if I'd just stamped myself weird on my forehead.
I hunched my shoulders and kept walking, staring hard at the floor until the chatter moved on. Lunch couldn't come fast enough—anything to wash off the sting of those looks before we had to file back into the auditorium.
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"Excuse me—"
Shit.
The hall was a furnace, packed shoulder to shoulder—heat pressed in from every side, each breath thick as steam. Sweat slid from my hairline down my temple as I craned my neck, searching the parchment.
There—thirteenth slot. I'd just spotted it when an elbow slammed my ribs, shoving me forward.
"Reis, Dain—slot thirteen!" I shouted over the noise.
"Alright. We've got time," Reis said.
"Liam and Victor are in the fifth. Felix and Tina are ninth. Let's watch them first."
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[ Malvo ,Habitable zone-3 ]
"Help me—save me, Mommy! Daddy!"
The scream tore through the smoke like jagged glass. Small. Fragile. Too raw for this world. Too innocent for a battlefield drenched in fire.
He was back there. Back in the war. Every sense screaming in warning.
Stone barracks shattered under falling fire, iron braces twisting with tortured screeches. Beams snapped, sparks raining like deadly confetti. Smoke clawed at the sky, blotting out stars, swallowing the moon. Every breath burned—razor-sharp, laced with ash. Blood pooled in grooves of cobblestones, sluggish rivers reflecting firelight like molten metal.
Above, winged horrors swarmed. Grotesque shapes, too many eyes, too many teeth. They dove in packs, tearing men apart, claws lifting soldiers into the air and letting them fall screaming into the blaze.
On the ground, heavier shapes prowled. Pikes shredded. Jaws crushed before screams could escape.
Steel clanged. Orders barked. And through it all, a single, unending chorus: terror—human, raw, relentless. Sobs, pleas, screams, all swallowed by fire and smoke.
Then, rubble shifted.
His gaze snapped. A boy crouched in the wreckage. No older than his daughter. Hours ago, laughter had lived in that face. Now soot streaked it. His right arm was gone at the elbow. Blood soaked the dirt where he knelt, blackening the earth around him.
The boy's lips trembled, whispering the same words over and over. Each syllable cracked like shattered glass:
"Help me… save me… save my mommy… they're here, I can see them—she's stuck—help me…"
His remaining hand trembled, pointing into the rubble. He followed it. Two hands jutted out from beneath broken stone—one broad, one slender.
A man's. A woman's.
The boy's voice broke into a high, jagged scream, a pain deeper than the missing arm, deeper than loss itself. "That's them! That's my mom and dad! Please—help me!"
His lips quivered. The truth weighed heavily—but the boy knew it too, deep down.
Still… he had to call to him. Had to give him hope, even if it was false. "Come here!" he shouted. "I'll… I'll save them—but first, come to me!"
Pulse thundered in his ears, each beat echoing against the chaos. Gloves slick with blood. Around him, most of his comrades vanished into the inferno, swallowed whole. The stench of burning flesh and the roar of wings filled every corner of his mind.
BOOM!
The world fractured around him, smoke and fire and screams colliding in a storm of chaos. And still, the boy's trembling hand pointed—silent, desperate, unwavering.
Then came the blast.
The building across the street erupted in fire, hurling him back against a wall. Vision fractured into white, ears ringing like struck metal. He forced himself upright, lungs heaving, eyes burning.
The boy stumbled toward him, a smear of blood and soot, reaching out with his left hand as if salvation was only one step away.
The man surged forward—
—and the Beast came.
From the smoke, a maw of fire. A single breath. The child vanished in a burst of flame, his scream cut short, leaving nothing but cinders curling in the air.
The man staggered, chest hollow, sword slipping in his grip. Ash stung his eyes. His hand stretched out, too late, grasping only smoke.
Then—silence.
His eyes snapped open.
The fortress-manor's dining hall spread around him: iron-braced beams, banners swaying against stone walls, soldiers' boots clattering down the corridors. The smell of oil lamps and boiled grain. Reality.
But for one heartbeat, the nightmare stayed.
The banners above the table flickered as though fire still licked their edges. Through the arrow-slit windows, the training yard swam red, strewn with broken bodies where drills should've been. The world overlapped, present and past bleeding into one seamless horror.
Calix froze, jaw tight, lungs dragging air in shallow bursts.
It wasn't a dream.
It was a memory. A memory that refused to stay buried.