Vale wandered through the white halls of the enormous building, his steps echoing softly against the polished stone. The walls, so pristine they almost hummed had begun to catch long, slanted shadows as the sun sank behind the horizon. Even now he wore his tattered black armor, the dark plates whispering against each other with every steady stride.
He scanned each branching corridor and doorframe as he walked, searching for any hint of an exit. The longer he looked, the more certain he became that the building was designed like a labyrinth, straight lines that led nowhere, corners that only folded back into themselves.
'How long will this take?' he wondered, the thought dragging out in his mind like a tired footstep.
Twilight finally surrendered to night, and in response the hallway lights flickered awake, cool white strips igniting across the ceilings and walls. They illuminated the endless white stone and glass with a clinical brightness, but Vale's gaze slid past them, drawn to the windows instead.
Outside, the world felt untouched. The sky was dark, but not dead; the moon glowed with a strange orange warmth, and the stars, thick and countless, glittered like grains of cold fire. Light pollution hadn't yet tamed this corner of the world.
'Not many people here… well, besides this building looming like a giant egg,' he mused, a faint touch to his chin.
Then something caught his attention.
He slowed. Stopped. Stepped back a pace.
Ahead, centered in a circular opening in the hallway, stood a golden statue, massive, dramatic, almost violent in its stillness. He approached it as if nearing a creature that might wake.
The sculpture depicted a colossal dragon unleashing a tide of flame upon the Earth. Beneath those flames, blood spilled from the planet like a warped river turning in the air. Vale stared up at it, this wasn't ornamentation, it was a declaration.
Dagon.
The hero of humanity. The lost saint who returned from a closed Gate after three years, mad, broken, and drowning in blood.
Vale lingered, fascinated and uneasy. That story had the weight of myth and the pulse of tragedy. And yet one detail unsettled him more than the rest: the last words Dagon uttered before he descended into slaughter.
"They are waiting."
Vale whispered the phrase now, with a uncertain expression covering his face.
"...But," he murmured, raising his eyes to the gleaming dragon's face, "who?"
It wasn't believable that Dagon butchered half of humanity for no reason other than madness. Madness doesn't speak in plural. Madness doesn't imply watchers. Or a waiting force.
If someone or something waited in that Gate… what was it? An enemy? A sovereign being far beyond their understanding? And if it alone had been enough to unravel a savior… why?
The questions whipped through Vale's mind like a quiet storm, but no answers came. Only the statue's silent radiance.
He sighed eventually, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "There isn't enough information to draw anything solid. All I can do is keep asking."
His gaze drifted, and landed on something beside the statue. A glass case, its interior lit faintly. Inside were countless identical books arranged in meticulous rows.
He stepped closer and opened the glass door with a soft click. One book slid into his hand effortlessly, as if it had been waiting to be taken.
He read the title aloud under his breath.
"The Great Dragon of Calamity: The False Savior Dagon."
A heavy, almost ceremonial title, perfect for a tale so soaked in awe and horror.
He tucked the book under his arm and continued through the hall.
'They must be free copies,' he thought. Not exactly scripture, but close enough to feel like a message someone wanted to spread. A reminder of what, he wasn't sure.
He read small fragments as he walked, letting the words thread through the sterile air. Occasionally a person passed him, moving briskly in the opposite direction, but he never stopped anyone for directions. Something in him preferred wandering to asking.
Eventually, the path opened into a space he recognized.
White, stark and busy.
Doctors and nurses crossed between rooms like purposeful birds, tending to unseen patients. His memory stirred, this was the medical wing. The place he had awakened in for the first time.
He scanned the room until his gaze halted on a desk tucked near the far side. Behind it sat a woman with soft grey streaks woven through her hair and a pair of elegant glasses perched on her nose. She was hunched over a stack of documents, her expression tired but focused.
Bianca.
He watched her for a moment longer than he meant to, and eventually she looked up, surprised.
"Vale? What are you doing here?" she asked, her voice calm but worn around the edges.
Vale hesitated, shifting the book in his hands. "I was trying to find a way outside," he admitted, his tone slightly awkward, "but I can't seem to find one."
Bianca tilted her head, thinking. A small quiet settled between them as she considered him, then she bent down and reached under her desk.
"I think this should help you," she said, placing a small metallic device onto the desk. "It's a cellphone. It has built-in navigation for every area in the academy. If you get lost, just ask it."
Vale stepped closer and reached out, inspecting the device with pale, curious eyes, like he was holding a puzzle that hummed with secrets.
Bianca continued watching Vale with a faint crease of confusion between her brows. He, meanwhile, was busy turning the new cellphone over in his hands, poking at its screen, tilting it to catch the light, like someone inspecting a small, tame creature for the first time. His pale eyes flicked back to her when he finally noticed her lingering gaze.
"Is something wrong?" he asked, tilting his head in a way that made the question sound almost childlike.
Bianca hesitated, studying him a few seconds longer before answering. "It's nothing," she said softly. "I just… expected you to be less capable. Given the memory loss. But it seems you've lost your personal memories, not your practical ones."
Vale blinked, absorbing that. His mind wandered back to the information she'd shared when he first awoke, the scattered personal details she'd woven in between diagnostics. One detail in particular resurfaced.
"You have a son, right?" Vale asked gently. "Korin… I think that was the name?"
Bianca's expression warmed, the corners of her lips lifting into a small, tender smile. "Yes. Korin. He's about your age now. And he studies here, in this academy."
There was a softness in her voice that hadn't been there a moment ago, a slight brightening, like sunlight returning between passing clouds.
Vale stepped a little closer, the phone forgotten in his hand for the moment. "May I ask what class he's in?"
"Of course," she said, letting out a mild chuckle, amused by his earnest curiosity. "He's in the combat department. Class Ten-X, to be exact."
Vale froze for a heartbeat. Ten-X? The one reserved for outcasts, unstable talents, and individuals whose connections were too volatile or dangerous to control. He had heard about it before and formed his own conclusions.
"I'm… sorry," Vale said slowly. "Isn't Ten-X supposed to be the class for outcasts?"
Bianca's expression dimmed at once, like a candle cupped during a sudden wind. She lifted her gaze, now shadowed by a sorrow Vale hadn't seen before.
"Well… Korin is a special case," she said carefully. "He's an anomaly, like you. But unlike you, and unlike everyone else, the enigma of his plane is missing."
Bianca her words fell heavy, like metal on stone.
Vale sensed the weight of the topic, yet curiosity tugged at him with a silent persistence.
"What do you mean?" he asked, voice soft, respectful.
Bianca inhaled deeply through her nose, as if gathering strength. "You're aware of Sir Tharion's ability to access other planes, yes?"
Vale nodded once, attentive.
She continued, her voice lowered. "Every plane has a lord, an enigma, an entity that governs its nature and anchors it. Without the enigma, the plane should collapse." Her fingers tightened slightly on the edge of her desk. "But Korin's plane… still exists. The lord of it is simply gone. Not dead. Not active. Just… missing."
Vale felt something cold settle in his stomach. Bianca pressed on.
"Because of that absence, Korin's plane is in perpetual disorder. Chaotic, Unstable. And his powers reflect that. His abilities demand a much greater price than they should, and they react unpredictably to his emotions, his health, even his sleep." Her eyes softened with something halfway between fear and maternal worry. "Every day he stands on ground that shifts."
Silence lingered between them, long and fragile, almost echoing.
Vale glanced down at the floor, thoughts swirling like dust caught in sunlight. He'd heard Evelyn and Rose mention planes and enigmas in passing, and he'd formed crude theories. But this, this pulled the rug out from under most of what he thought he understood.
After a pause that felt like a held breath, he finally asked, "Is it… alright for you to tell me all this?"
Bianca managed a faint smile, gentler than before. "It's not a secret," she assured him. "And I hoped that since both you and Korin are anomalies, maybe the two of you could understand each other. He doesn't have many friends. His situation… scares people."
Vale's eyes widened just a little with curiosity.
He bowed his head slightly, a gesture of respect more instinctive than learned. "I understand. If I end up in Class Ten-X… I'll try to befriend Korin."
Bianca's smile returned, fragile but grateful. "Thank you," she whispered.