The grand palace pulsed with life. Music spilled through the marble corridors like liquid silver, weaving between bursts of laughter and the low hum of hushed conversations. Nobles in silk and steel raised their cups in celebration, their voices mingling with the faint chant of mages who had come to witness the evening's ceremony.
At the front of the great hall, students lined up, their stiff postures betraying nerves despite the grandeur of the moment.
"Where's Rethrus?" the instructor murmured, scanning the line. His voice carried just enough weight for those nearby to stiffen.
Aethra, standing with the quiet confidence of someone used to being noticed, tilted his head. "Still missing," he replied, his tone even, but his sharp gaze flickered with a brief question he didn't voice.
A few students exchanged uneasy whispers. Rethrus should never be late. The top of their class.
At the royal table, the king leaned toward the silver-haired commander at his side. "He isn't here?" the monarch asked quietly.
The man hesitated. "…He said he had something to take care of. He'll arrive." But doubt threaded through his words. His eyes drifted back to the line of nervous students.
The palace doors creaked open with a rush of cold night air.
A young woman slipped inside, her breath slightly uneven from running. The shimmer of her gown contrasted with the tension in her eyes.
"Did you find him?" another girl whispered.
"I did," she whispered back with a faint, uncertain smile.
But still—no sign of Rethrus.
Tok. Tok. Tok.
A rhythmic knock echoed down the empty corridor outside his quarters.
"Rethrus! Sir, the ceremony is about to begin!" a student called. His voice met only silence.
The door opened with a soft groan. The room was clean. Too clean. Quiet. Empty.
Far away, in the princess's chamber, soft candlelight painted Elaina's reflection in molten gold.
"Elaina," her mother, the queen, spoke gently. "Tonight, during the ceremony… you plan to announce your choice, don't you?"
Elaina's crimson lips parted slightly. Her dark gown fell around her like a cascade of shadows, making her white skin seem almost unreal.
"Yes," she whispered, her gaze fixed on the mirror. But her voice wavered as if pulled between two thoughts. "I choose—"
She stopped. Her eyes flickered, caught by a memory she couldn't name.
On a lonely cliff that overlooked the world, the sun bled into the horizon.
A figure sat in silence, watching.
Rethrus.
The wind tugged at his dark cloak. His face, marked by a faint scar across his cheek, was calm but unreadable, like a blade sheathed but not forgotten.
"Rethrus," a soft voice called behind him. A green-haired youth approached slowly, his steps unsure.
Rethrus didn't turn. "Hmm?" he answered, his gaze still on the horizon.
"We're ready," said another—this one a blond young man with a massive claymore resting against his shoulder. His tone was steady, but there was gravity in his words.
For a moment, Rethrus said nothing. He let the last rays of light fade, swallowed by the coming night.
Then, slowly, he stood.
"So this is it," he thought. Not with fear. Not even with regret. But with the calm acceptance of someone who already knew where the path would end.
A goblin grinned, pumping a gauntleted fist into the air. "Nice! We're really doing this!"
A tiny slime bounced excitedly at their feet. "Blob! Blob!"
Rethrus exhaled, a faint smile tugging at his lips—not of joy, but of quiet resolve.
"Let's go," he said at last.