Rolin headed toward the Geography and Survival Techniques classroom.
He knocked gently.
"Enter."
He opened the door and stepped inside.
The old man sat behind his desk, his glasses lowered on his nose, ancient maps scattered before him.
Slowly, he raised his eyes.
"Why are you here, boy? You still have an hour before departure."
Rolin closed the door behind him.
He took two steps forward.
"I have a question."
A faint smile appeared on the old man's face.
"Students usually run from my questions… they don't come looking for them."
He pulled an old map from beneath a pile of papers.
"The Ruins," Rolin said directly.
The old man's hand stopped.
"What about them?"
"If someone is placed randomly inside… what's the first thing they should do?"
A brief silence.
Then the old man removed his glasses.
"Finally. A proper question."
He rose slowly and walked to a side cabinet, retrieving a small leather scroll. He unrolled it across the desk.
An incomplete map.
Twisting corridors. Areas shaded in black ink.
"First… do not move too quickly."
He raised a finger.
"The Ruins are not an ordinary labyrinth. Some corridors move."
"Move?"
"They change direction. Or close. Or return you to where you started."
He paused.
"Second… do not assume silence means safety."
He looked directly at Rolin.
"In the Ruins… silence is often a sign of observation."
A faint chill crept over Rolin's skin.
"And the controlling entity?"
The old man did not answer immediately.
"Reports differ. Some say a shadow. Some say a voice. Some say nothing at all."
"Why?"
"Because they did not return."
Silence.
The old man stepped closer.
"Most important… never enter a wide hall without testing the ground first."
"Traps?"
"Not only mechanical ones."
He lowered his voice.
"Some places respond to intent."
Rolin stiffened slightly.
"Intent?"
"Fear. Greed. Rage. If you rush forward with blind killing intent… you may find yourself somewhere without exit."
Silence.
Inside him—
Likath spoke quietly:
"Places that feed on what's within… unpleasant."
The old man glanced at the black chains wrapped around Rolin's wrists.
"A new weapon."
"Yes."
The old man nodded slowly.
"Flexible… suitable for narrow passages."
Then he added,
"Do not swing it carelessly. The walls are sometimes closer than they appear."
He returned to his desk.
"And finally…"
He stopped.
"If you feel the place… pulsing."
Rolin's eyes widened slightly.
"Do not try to find the source immediately."
Silence.
"Withdraw. Observe. Learn its rhythm."
Outside the window, the first light of dawn was beginning to rise.
Rolin stood straight.
"Thank you."
The old man waved a hand dismissively.
"Come back alive… so I can finish your lesson."
A faint smile.
"I do not wish to explain it to students less perceptive than you."
Rolin turned toward the door.
Before he could leave—
"Azier."
He stopped.
"If you are forced to choose…"
A brief pause.
"Choose survival. Not heroism."
Rolin did not reply.
But he understood.
He turned back and embraced the old man.
"I'll miss your lessons, Master."
The old man stiffened for a moment, then placed a hand on Rolin's head.
"Just don't die."
He stepped back.
Time—
was running short.
The old man slowly approached his old wooden cabinet.
From within, he pulled out a small bag. Its leather was dark and worn at the edges, yet it radiated a strange sturdiness.
He walked toward Rolin and handed it to him.
"What is this?"
He placed it firmly in Rolin's hands.
"An infinite storage."
Rolin blinked.
"It does not operate on aether… nor on conventional magic. It cannot be disabled by energy interference, nor suppressed by restrictive fields."
He looked directly at him.
"Hold it and say 'Bind'… it will connect to your mind and soul."
"And then?"
"You store what you wish… and retrieve what you wish… with a mental command."
Silence.
Rolin examined the bag.
"Infinite…?"
The old man smiled faintly.
"There is no such thing as true infinity."
He stepped closer.
"It does not limit you by space… but by mental capacity. If you attempt to store something beyond your ability to comprehend… it will refuse."
Inside him—
Likath spoke slowly:
"This… is no common artifact."
"I know."
Rolin lifted his gaze.
"This is more valuable than a weapon."
"Far more."
Silence.
"Why give it to me?"
The old man did not answer at once.
Then he said quietly:
"Because you are my dearest student."
He paused.
"You are… my son."
He tapped his staff lightly against the ground, as if dismissing his own words.
"Students fill their packs with tools… and throw half of them away after two days."
His eyes shifted to the bag.
"With this… you will never have to choose between what to carry and what to abandon."
His voice lowered slightly.
"And if you find something that should not be left behind…"
He did not finish the sentence.
Rolin stared at the bag for several long seconds.
"I can't accept—"
The old man raised a hand, cutting him off.
"It is not a gift."
Rolin's expression hardened.
"Then what is it?"
"A loan."
A faint smile.
"I am old. I will not enter the Ruins again."
He pointed a finger at him.
"But I wish to know… what lies within now."
Silence.
"You will return it… along with a story."
Rolin exhaled slowly.
Then he gripped the bag firmly.
"Bind."
A cold sensation ran across his palm.
Then—
calmness.
No glow. No light.
Only a subtle feeling… as if an empty space had opened behind his thoughts.
"Interesting…" Likath murmured.
Rolin opened the bag.
It appeared empty.
He closed it.
He thought of the training weapon resting on the table—
—and it vanished.
He opened the bag again.
The same emptiness.
Yet in his mind—
he could sense it there.
He thought of retrieving it—
—and it instantly reappeared in his hand.
Silence.
The old man nodded slowly.
"Good."
Then he stepped closer.
"Remember… if you die…"
He paused.
"Every chance to learn what lies inside will die with you."
It was not a joke.
Rolin closed the bag and secured it to his belt.
"I will return it."
The old man smiled faintly.
"Return first."
Outside the classroom—
the humming sound was rising.
Aether charging.
Time was nearly up.
And the Ruins—
were no longer far away.
Finally…
Rolin headed toward the History and Knowledge classroom.
This time, he didn't knock.
He opened the door and stepped inside.
The hall was dim, dawn light slipping through the high windows.
And on the front table—
Black clothes.
Not an academic uniform.
A combat suit.
The fabric was a deep dark shade, appearing rigid on the outside… yet flexible along the edges and joints.
Light reinforcement lined the chest and shoulders.
A narrow belt was fastened tightly around it.
And above it—
A medium-length sword.
Its sheath was plain black.
The hilt wrapped in dark leather.
Rolin approached slowly.
He didn't touch anything yet.
"I knew you would come."
Latifia's voice came from behind him.
He turned.
She stood near the window, wearing her long coat, her hair tied back firmly this time.
Her usual smile was gone.
She stepped toward the table.
"The Academy provides standard equipment… but I don't trust standard."
Her eyes shifted to the sword.
"It isn't made of Ethereal alloy… don't worry. You won't be competing with your professor in debt."
Rolin didn't smile.
"I'm not good with swords."
"I know."
She lifted her eyes to meet his.
"That's why I put it there."
Silence.
"Chains are excellent in mid-range combat."
She gestured toward the map hanging on the wall.
"But the Ruins… are full of narrow angles. Moments where there's no room to swing."
She paused.
"I don't want you unarmed if someone gets closer than they should."
Rolin looked at the sword.
"I won't rely on it."
"I'm not asking you to."
She stepped closer.
"I'm asking you to keep a choice."
Silence.
"And the clothes?"
"Fabric treated against moisture and rot. The Ruins aren't clean."
She hesitated briefly.
"There's also a light layer resistant to low-grade energy. It won't save you from a killing blow… but it might buy you a second."
Silence.
Rolin stepped closer to the table.
He ran his hand over the fabric.
Light.
Lighter than it looked.
Inside him—
Likath spoke quietly:
"Everyone is investing in you today."
"I know."
Rolin looked at Latifia.
"Why?"
She didn't answer immediately.
Then she spoke in a tone different from her lecture voice:
"I teach history."
She paused.
"And I know the difference between a name written in the registry of the missing… and a name that returns to write its next chapter."
Silence.
Rolin picked up the clothes.
Then he took the sword.
Its weight… felt familiar.
Not an extension of him like the chains.
But not entirely foreign either.
"I won't lose it," he said quietly.
She looked at him for several long seconds.
"Don't promise me."
A very faint smile finally appeared.
"Promise yourself."
That smile shifted.
A sad one replaced it on her beautiful face.
"Well… I suppose it's time to say goodbye."
She suddenly stepped forward and pulled him into a tight embrace.
Rolin froze.
"Whatever happens… when you return… do not join the Association."
Rolin was about to ask—but she continued.
"You were a great student to me. I hope I gave you something useful… forgive me."
"Wait. What does that mean?"
Outside—
The humming intensified.
Aetheric light began to glow through the windows.
Activation time was close.
Latifia stepped back.
"Go. There's no time."
Rolin wanted to question her—but there was no time.
He turned and ran out.
She whispered weakly behind him:
"I hope you become capable… of challenging the Swords."
Near the courtyard—
Rolin fastened the sword to his side,
secured the small bag at his waist,
and the black chains settled around his wrists.
Three professors.
Three wagers.
And a gate—
about to open.