"Clap! Clap!"
"Quiet, everyone!" Professor Grimly's voice boomed across the lecture hall the moment he stepped inside.
The first-year students fell silent instantly, sitting upright in their seats. No one whispered, no one dared move.
But today, something felt different.
Professor Grimly's face — usually cheerful, often teasing — was grim. His eyes were sharp, his steps heavy.
"Professor Grimly!"
"Yes," he replied curtly, writing something on the blackboard without turning around.
"Can we ask," a student spoke up bravely, "how the Northern Fortress fell?"
The chalk froze midair. Slowly, Grimly turned to face the class. The silence deepened.
"Because of arrogance."
The room went utterly still. The students exchanged uneasy looks, unsure if they had heard correctly.
"What do you mean, Professor?" another asked.
Grimly walked slowly to the front, his voice lowering, carrying a weight that silenced even the air itself.
"You all know, don't you — that the Alliance of Southern Haven built four main fortresses? Each one guarded by four defensive layers before reaching the capital."
"Yes, we know," answered a student from the middle row.
"The western fortress — Valdora — that's the one most exposed," Grimly continued. "To the east, Aldora. To the south, Vega. And finally, the northern fortress — Orion — considered the safest of them all."
He paused, eyes scanning the class. "Now tell me — if you were the one in charge, which fortress would you prioritize for defense?"
"The Western Fortress!" several students answered in unison.
"Correct." Grimly nodded once. "And what about the North?"
No one answered. Only the faint creak of the wooden floor under Grimly's boots broke the quiet.
"Because it was safe," he said softly, "many civilians with low Ether capacity — under thirty percent — begged to live there. They believed their lives would be peaceful."
He stopped again, gaze sharpening.
"And because of that peace… Orion began to prosper. Towers, marketplaces, luxury districts — all built like a second capital. But…"
"But what, Professor?" a student asked cautiously.
Grimly exhaled slowly. "The more a city prospers, the more it forgets the walls that protect it. The government grew complacent. They thought Orion could never fall. So money and manpower were poured into luxury — not defense."
The class was silent once more. Only the ceiling fan hummed softly above.
Grimly turned back to the blackboard and wrote in bold, deliberate strokes:
"THE SAFEST FORTRESS FALLS THE FASTEST."
Then he faced them again, his voice calm yet laced with sorrow.
"And that… is why the Northern Fortress fell."
"But Professor — what about Captain Solaris?"
"Yes." Grimly nodded. "Maya Haller, Jeremy Hunt—"
"But they're Omega-class supers!" another student blurted out. "They should've been able to stop those things!"
Grimly's expression didn't change, but his tone grew quieter.
"Omega-level supers are extraordinary, yes. But against thousands of Primals, even they're just human. The attack came too fast. By the time all Omegas were summoned, it was already too late."
He paused, his gaze distant.
"Captain Solaris managed to shield a portion of the civilians. Maya Haller and Akasa Lambert joined him, but even with the three of them combined… they couldn't stop the tide."
No one spoke. The weight of his words hung in the air like a shadow.
Then, a boy raised his hand hesitantly. "Professor?"
"Yes, James?"
"I… I grew up hearing stories about those creatures — in books, from people — but every version is different. What's the truth?"
Grimly's eyes softened briefly as he looked at the rows of young faces — students who had been here barely three months. They were still children, he thought. Still clinging to the idea that history was just folklore.
"Sixty years ago," he began slowly, "the world was struck by a colossal meteor. Its impact destroyed nearly forty percent of the planet's surface and dried up much of the ocean. The western lands were hit the hardest."
He turned to the board and sketched a crude map.
"Once, the central and western continents were divided by sea. But after the impact, the ocean floor split open — forming a great passage that now connects them."
"What about the western lands, Professor?" a girl asked.
"Gone," Grimly said flatly. "Completely annihilated. What remains is now the breeding ground for creatures we call Phantoms, Primals, and Origins."
"Were those creatures… from outer space?"
"According to research, the meteor carried something — living larvae. When it crashed, those larvae hatched. Most couldn't adapt to Earth's atmosphere. Some died… others mutated. Those that survived became the Phantoms."
"And the Primals?"
"They're born from the eggs produced by Phantoms," Grimly explained. "Except for the Origin — that one remains a mystery. No data. No records."
"Are Phantoms strong?"
"Not particularly. But their forms vary — some as small as insects, others as large as buildings. A Rank-3 superhuman could handle one easily."
"Then… what about the Origins?"
Grimly stopped writing. His gaze drifted toward the window, as though seeing something no one else could.
"They are the most terrifying beings of all."
Silence thickened in the room.
"So far, the World Alliance has identified four danger tiers of the Origin," he said at last.
"Fourth tier — Ordinary Origin. Towering up to sixty stories high, often sighted across the central continent. However, they can still be defeated if the entire Alliance mobilizes its forces."
Third tier — Entity Origin. Among the most lethal. They can wipe out an entire city with a single strike. Some can even render their bodies invisible. Fortunately, they rarely appear — often hiding deep beneath oceans, mountains, or the desolate western plains."
Professor Grimly fell silent, his face half-swallowed by shadow.
"The second… and the first tier?" a male student asked softly.
"The second is called Catastrophe," Grimly replied, his voice lowering to a near whisper. "And the first…" — his gaze sharpened — "Apocalypse."
Murmurs rippled across the hall.
"But don't be afraid," he added after a pause. "Since the meteor fell, only once have Tier-One and Tier-Two Origins appeared in the central lands. And according to every record — they only watched. They never attacked."
"Professor!"
"Yes, Olivia?"
"If Origins are that powerful…" Her voice trembled. "…how did they die at the Western Fortress?"
For the first time, Grimly's expression hardened. "Where did you hear that, Olivia?" His voice was suddenly sharp.
"I—I just… overheard—"
"Enough!" he barked.
The hall froze. No one breathed.
"That's enough questions for today," he said, his tone cold but restrained. "And you, Olivia…" his eyes locked on hers, dark and warning. "…watch your tongue."
Silence.
Then the chalk slipped from his fingers and hit the floor with a soft clack, echoing louder than anything else in the room.
------
"How is it?"
"Still no success, Captain. The fog's too dense. The drones can't detect any signs of life within the perimeter. But... according to the data, it's just ordinary mist," reported one of the officers, bowing slightly toward the screen.
Captain Solaris stood tall before the control console, fingers brushing thoughtfully along his chin.
"Any progress?" asked a tall, broad-shouldered man with long, flaxen hair, his tone carrying a lazy drawl.
"The drones found nothing," Solaris replied curtly.
"That's the problem," the man muttered. "We have no idea what's hiding beneath that fog. Charging in blind will only get us killed."
"Maybe we should just drop a few bombs and see what happens," suggested Maya Haller, arms folded across her chest.
"How brilliant of you, Maya. Bombs. Of course!" Redlands scoffed, his laughter sharp and mocking.
"Oh, you think that's funny, Redlands?"
"Enough," Captain Solaris cut them off, his voice slicing through the tension. He stepped closer to the fortress wall, eyes narrowing toward the valley below, now swallowed by a shroud of silver mist. "According to reports, there's been no movement from the Primals for three months. That's not normal. They don't just disappear."
"Exactly," said Tom Redlands quietly. "They're waiting. Keeping still. It's the perfect trap."
"If that's true," Maya murmured, "then this mission's suicide."
Captain Solaris remained silent for a long moment, his gaze distant — as if trying to pierce the fog with sheer will.
"So," Redlands asked finally, "what's the plan?"
"There's no other way," Solaris said at last. "We have to clear the fog first."
"How?"
"We use those with wind-based abilities."
Maya's eyes widened. "That's insane, Solaris. They'd have to go down there to activate it."
"Then we go with them."
Tom Redlands shook his head, disapproval written across his face — but he said nothing more.
Then, without warning, the fog around them seemed to ripple — and from the shifting air, a dark figure emerged. A man with ink-black hair, his presence heavy and calm.
"Strange…" Akasa Lambert murmured. "I can't sense a single Primal down there."
Solaris turned sharply. "What do you mean?"
"I sent several shadows below. Nothing. No energy signatures, no movement. It's as if—"
He stopped mid-sentence. Everyone's eyes turned toward the fog below the battlements.
The city of Orion — once bright and alive — now lay smothered beneath a pale, silver haze. Only the tips of its spires pierced through the cloud, ghostly reminders of what had been.
Captain Solaris stepped back, then turned away from the edge. Below, thousands of soldiers — a coalition of Southern Haven's army and private corporate forces — stood ready, awaiting his command. And yet, within Solaris, a heavy silence pulsed. Even as an Omega-ranked superhuman, his heart beat faster than he'd like to admit. The next order he gave might lead them all into a slaughter.
"This is too risky," Solaris said softly, his voice low but firm.
"What if we advance in waves?" suggested Tom Redlands, grasping for a compromise.
"The problem," Solaris replied, "is that there's only one descent route — the main ramp beneath this wall. One wrong move, one sound too loud, and the Primals will notice. Even staggered entry won't change that."
"Solaris?" Akasa Lambert called, studying the commander's face.
Solaris turned to him.
"We move now," he said simply — the words calm, yet weighted with doubt.
"You sure about this?" Maya asked, her gaze fixed on the ocean of fog below.
"I don't know," Akasa murmured. "Something's off down there. I can feel it."
"What do you mean?" Maya pressed.
"Death," he whispered. "A lot of it."
"Whose death?" Tom Redlands scoffed, irritation lacing his tone.
"I think…" Akasa hesitated, voice dropping to a hush. "All the Primals in that zone are already dead."
Tom Redlands barked a laugh, rough and loud. "Ha! The great Shadow King's intuition! Fine then — Solaris, let's charge in!"
Captain Solaris gave a slow nod. But inside, the storm raged. His instincts screamed caution, yet duty chained him to the command he must give. He looked down at the soldiers — their faces painted with both hope and fear. His voice came out steady, though his heart was anything but.
"Alright…" he breathed.
-----
"Remember — you are all under Maya Haller's command. If orders come down, be ready!" barked an officer in combat rig as he faced the line of third-years.
"We'll be using the devices on your belts. You've been trained on them. Do not make mistakes—if you do, you will die before you reach the objective. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!" the students answered in unison, the sound ringing across the open ramparts.
"Hey…" Lucia smiled, pale but bright-eyed as she glanced at the faces to her left, right, and behind. "May we all come back in one piece."
"We will — may we all come back," another voice repeated, and a chorus rose from the ranks, Mirabel and Aisan Drank among them.
The lights along the battlement began to pulse. From the front came the low hum of movement orders. Mirabel, Aisan, Lucia and their classmates watched, wide-eyed — awe braided with fear — as the vanguard of supers took to the air, one by one, lifting above the wall.
"Check your gear now!" the officer snapped, his voice cutting through their thudding hearts like a blade.
"Come back safe, Aisan," Lucia said, voice small.
"You too, Mirabel," Aisan replied.
-----
Meanwhile, at the western stronghold of Valdora, Elara Queen walked alone — her strides long and unhurried, her eyes tracing the towering stone walls that rose like the jagged teeth of the city.
Valdora, that morning, was silent. No engines. No voices. Empty streets, glass towers staring mutely into the pale sky — the kind of quiet Elara cherished, for it allowed her to stop and listen to the pulse of the world itself.
She drew a deep breath, the cold air filling her lungs.
"Peaceful," she murmured to herself, her voice flat, unreadable.
But the stillness shattered in an instant.
The sirens atop the watchtowers wailed — a metallic scream tearing through the dawn.
Elara didn't panic.
A faint, almost indifferent smile curved her lips. Her sharp eyes flicked toward the wall, following the shifting shadows.
"Have you come for revenge?" she whispered, her voice no louder than the wind.
Beyond the ramparts, the fog thickened and began to churn. Slowly — as if something ancient were rousing from a long slumber — the mist took shape: a bulge, a brow, then the hollow darkness of eyes.
A giant head began to rise, its size dwarfing the towers, its skin layered like pulsing stone. The air trembled around it; the scent of ozone and burnt metal filled Elara Queen's lungs.