Lioraen immediately lay down on her bed upon arriving at their dormitory. Their semester break was over, and she returned once again to being the cold version of herself—just like her friends. Everyone in the room practiced black magic. Though their territory wasn't officially recognized, they weren't forbidden from entering the Academia. Still, they had to be cautious. There were only a few of them who wielded black magic, and if a fight broke out, they'd surely be the ones to fall.
Lior sat up and turned to her companions, who were busy arranging their belongings in the cabinets. They'd been gone for two months, so the room was a mess. There were cleaners assigned to the dorms, but their room was always excluded—because people considered them 'evil.'
"Aren't you going to clean your space, Lior?" one of her companions asked, seeing her just sitting on her bed.
She shook her head. "I'm feeling lazy…" she replied simply.
Among her companions, Lioraen never pretended to be cold. She showed who she truly was—cheerful, lighthearted, and radiant. But whenever they entered or exited the room, she quietly hid her light. Her white hair, like moonlight, and her angelic appearance were things she kept to herself.
She learned to hide her angelic form when she was young, thanks to the former leader of the Hollow, who taught her how to become one of them—how to embrace the Black Blood. She didn't need to change her heart, but she learned to wrap it in shadow to protect herself.
Their room felt like a small home. It had six bedrooms for each student, a spacious living area, and a kitchen filled with the scent of herbs and old books. The dormitory's design was intentional—six rooms, one for each element, according to ancient lore. But it wasn't confirmed. There were no documents, only stories passed down by elders.
Despite the mystery, the symbolism remained. Six rooms. Six paths. Six forms of power. No matter what the other kingdoms did, the history of black magic sorcerers would never be erased. It would remain what it was—even in the present. The world would not forget.
"Lior…" A cold voice pierced the silence of the room, quickly snapping Lioraen out of her daze. She jumped up from her seat, hiding her laziness as she hurried to clean her space.
Soft laughter followed from her companions—not out of anger, but because it was a familiar scene. If not for her respect for Kira, she wouldn't have moved so quickly. She wasn't afraid, but Kira had a unique presence—a quiet authority, like a mother who never needed to raise her voice to be obeyed.
In the room, Kira was the silence that carried weight. One glance from her was enough to remind everyone of their duties. And for Lior, it was a reminder that even light must move within shadow.
Once they finished cleaning their rooms, all six of them sat on the sofa in the living area. Their bodies were exhausted. Even though they were used to long hours of movement, they were still mortal beings who grew tired.
The silence was broken by an announcement:
"By decree of the Council and the will of the Arcane Eye, all students are to gather at the central spire immediately. A revelation awaits—one that may alter the course of your studies, your allegiance, and your fate. The Starwalk is open. Let none delay."
The six of them exchanged glances, unsure whether to go. If they did, judgment would surely follow—just like the last gathering, which nearly erupted into conflict due to the tension.
"It must be important…" Lior was the first to break the silence. She stood and began to change into her attire.
A black sleeve dress, black leggings underneath, and black boots. They all wore black, but she stood out—she was the only one in a dress.
When they stepped out of their room, eleven men were already waiting for them. She didn't smile. She simply frowned and walked ahead, like a leader guiding her group.
As they passed other groups, they were met with disgusted and judgmental stares. But they didn't care—especially with Lior leading the way. They arrived at the Arcane Eye and took their seats, ignoring the couples who stared at them.
Soon, everyone had arrived and taken their seats. When the royalties entered, everyone stood and bowed in greeting—except for them. It wasn't new. They didn't serve anyone but themselves.
Once everyone was settled, the Archsage stood at the center of the stage and captured the attention of every student. Before he began his announcement, he glanced toward Lior's group, making her frown.
"Good evening, royalties…" He looked at the prince and princess and bowed, his voice steady and solemn. "Good evening, dukes and duchesses…"
He paused, letting the weight of tradition settle like ancient dust upon the Arcane Dais. Then he turned to the gathered crowd—students, mentors, elemental guardians, and noble heirs.
"Good evening to all present souls. I call you not only to mark the beginning of a new semester, but to awaken your vigilance."
He stepped forward, his cloak stirring with unseen wind, the lanterns above flickering as if listening.
"This semester shall not be ordinary. The Veil trembles. The scrolls whisper. And the flames have spoken." A hush fell over the hall.
"The halls of Arcantheneum do not simply echo with footsteps—they remember. They watch. And they reward those who dare to dream beyond the veil. You must be prepared—not just with scrolls and sigils, but with spirit. This semester shall test your resolve, your wisdom, and your will to rise."
He raised his hand, and the school's crest shimmered above the crowd—an emblem of unity, power, and prophecy.
Then his voice deepened, and the air grew heavy.
"Four unknown figures were seen trespassing within the sacred heart of the Palace of Ignetharion—where no soul without rite may tread. They sought something. What, we do not yet know. But the embers stirred, and the wards flared. This was no accident. This was intent."
He looked toward the black magic group, as if implying they were responsible.
A flickering sigil of flame hovered above the stage, casting shadows that danced like warnings.
"To all students and staff: remain alert. Strengthen your wards. Sharpen your glyphs. The chaos that stirred in the Palace may ripple outward. And when it does, it will seek the unprepared."
He looked across the hall, meeting the eyes of every elemental house.
"Let this semester be one of learning, yes—but also of readiness. You are not merely students. You are sentinels of the arcane. Protectors of the sacred. Heirs to the elemental thrones."
He lowered his hand, and the sigil faded into the air like a breath held too long.
"Let this be the beginning of your legend. Let the semester begin. Let the magic rise."
Before the Archsage could step down from the Arcane Dais, Lior stood up.
"You don't mean my people were the ones who broke into that palace, do you?" she asked. All eyes turned to her.
The Archsage cleared his throat before answering.
"We do not simply curse the Unseen, Princess."
The atmosphere grew heavy as Lior stared at him.
"I'm no princess, Archsage…" she said—and in the blink of an eye, she vanished from her seat and reappeared in front of him. No one noticed. Not even her friends.
"I can smell lies…" She said in a warning tone " Thren'valaen kai'sereth. Enai veyrhalem. Veyar lun thal'vireen. Threnhal kai'venar.."
After she uttered those words, it was as if she suddenly awakened into a reality that felt like a dream—a dream she couldn't remember. Yet the language had flowed from her lips like a soul's forgotten song.
Though she herself was puzzled, she didn't show it. She walked away in silence, leaving the Archsage standing at the center of the hall—stunned, speechless, as if the wind had erased all his knowledge.
When the students returned to their rooms, the Archsage quietly made his way to the Aetherion Archive. There, he retrieved a book—the Book of Ancient Language, wrapped in dust and time.
Though he couldn't fully understand the words written within, one question burned in his mind: how did the girl know that language, when it had never been taught to anyone? No one in the academy knew it—except for the first fairfolk and elemental spirits of the world.
According to legend, it was the first language spoken by the beings born at the dawn of creation. A powerful, sacred tongue, nearly forgotten by time. It was known as… Virellian.
In the silence of the chamber, as the fire of his questions continued to blaze, the Archsage gently closed the book.
Outside, the wind seemed to shift—as if something long asleep had awakened. He didn't know how the girl had spoken that language.
But one thing was certain: Virellian had returned. And if the legends were true…
When the ancient tongue is spoken once more, the world begins to change.
The Archsage snapped back to himself when Elthara—the girl with moonlit eyes—suddenly ran toward the secret chamber. It was as if something had pulled her—a call that could not be heard, only felt.
As they entered, the Book of Prophecy hovered in the center of the room, surrounded by a light that came neither from fire nor sun. Words rose from its pages, rippling through the air like whispers from the fairfolk.
On the first page, the ink was nearly unreadable—hidden by time, like a secret unwilling to be revealed. But when moonlight slipped through the window, a single line slowly emerged, written not by hand, but by the breath of the wind itself:
"With the return of the nameless tongue, those who sleep beneath the earth shall awaken.
The blood of the fairfolk shall flow once more through words no longer spoken."
The Archsage swallowed hard. He didn't know if it was a warning, a prophecy, or a reminder. But something stirred within him—a memory that wasn't his, a voice he couldn't hear, yet somehow understood.
Beside him, Elthara remained silent, but her eyes blazed—like fire that did not burn.
The room fell quiet. But within that silence, something had awakened—not eyes, not minds, but the memory of the world itself.
The unease that swept through them passed like a cold wind carrying a question. And in a single instant, the word Lior had spoken—the language never taught, yet suddenly spoken—brushed across the minds of all who were present.
They looked at one another. No one spoke, but the suspicion was shared:
The girl was not ordinary.
Virellian was no longer a secret.
And the prophecy… had begun to live.