Edwin Solaris — POV
Something felt off.
I noticed it before I had a reason to notice it—before instinct gave shape to the discomfort, before logic tried to smooth it away.
I was sparring.
Or rather, I had been sparring.
The training hall echoed with controlled impacts, bursts of mana, and the rhythmic clatter of enchanted weapons clashing under reinforced barriers. Sunlight poured in through the high windows, catching on floating dust motes and turning sweat into something almost heroic-looking.
At least, that was what the juniors probably thought.
I exhaled slowly, lowering my sword.
"Again," my opponent said, trying—and failing—to hide his exhaustion.
I shook my head. "That's enough for today."
He looked relieved. I pretended not to notice.
As I stepped back, wiping my brow with the back of my glove, the strange sensation returned.
A tug.
Not on my body.
On my presence.
Like the world had subtly shifted its center of gravity, and I hadn't adjusted yet.
I frowned.
That didn't make sense.
I turned toward the exit of the hall, expecting to see something—someone—that would justify the feeling.
Nothing.
Students continued training. Instructors monitored calmly. Mana flowed evenly through the formation arrays.
And yet—
It was like standing in a room where someone had just left.
Not the echo of sound.
But the echo of existence.
"…Weird," I muttered.
"Did you feel that too?"
I turned.
Sarah stood near the edge of the training floor, arms crossed loosely, golden hair tied back in a high ponytail. She hadn't been sparring—she rarely did anymore unless something truly interested her.
Her brows were slightly furrowed.
That alone was unusual.
"You felt something?" I asked.
She nodded slowly. "I thought it was just me."
That made my frown deepen.
Sarah's perception wasn't combat-focused like mine, but her sensitivity to mana fluctuations—especially irregular ones—was ridiculous. If she noticed something…
"What kind of feeling?" I asked.
She hesitated, searching for the words.
"…Like the Academy breathed in," she said finally. "And forgot to breathe out."
I blinked.
That was… oddly accurate.
"Not an attack," she continued. "Not danger. Just—absence. Like something that's usually there isn't anymore."
A name surfaced unbidden in my mind.
I didn't say it.
Not yet.
We left the training hall together, walking through the wide stone corridors that connected the combat wing to the central grounds. The Academy was alive with activity—students laughing, professors discussing lectures, mana constructs floating overhead like lazy sentinels.
Everything looked normal.
Which somehow made it worse.
"Have you seen Alden today?" Sarah asked casually.
There it was.
"No," I replied. "You?"
She shook her head. "He didn't show up for breakfast. Or class."
That wasn't entirely unusual.
Alden had a habit of slipping through schedules like water through fingers. He attended what mattered. Ignored what didn't. Somehow stayed just competent enough to avoid scrutiny.
But today…
"…He's not even on the grounds," Sarah added.
I stopped walking.
She stopped too, glancing at me sideways.
"You checked?" I asked.
She shrugged. "Instinct."
That word again.
I closed my eyes briefly and extended my senses—not aggressively, just enough to listen.
Normally, Alden felt like static to me. Not loud. Not quiet. Just… undefined. A blind spot my perception slid around instead of through.
Now?
Nothing.
It was like trying to sense a star that had already collapsed.
"…That's not like him," I said.
Sarah studied my face. "You sound worried."
"I'm not," I replied automatically.
She raised an eyebrow.
I sighed. "…Okay. Maybe a little."
We resumed walking, this time toward the outer observation platforms that overlooked the lower city and the distant wildlands beyond.
The wind up here was stronger, carrying faint traces of mana from the surrounding ley lines. Normally, it was calming.
Today, it felt restless.
"Do you think he left the Academy?" Sarah asked.
"Without telling anyone?" I scoffed. "He's not reckless."
She smiled faintly. "Are you sure?"
I hesitated.
Alden wasn't reckless.
But he was decisive.
And that was far more dangerous.
"If he did leave," I said slowly, "it wasn't on a whim."
Sarah leaned against the railing, gazing out toward the horizon. "Do you ever get the feeling that Alden is… ahead of us?"
"In what way?"
She tilted her head, thinking. "Like he's already accepted something the rest of us are still circling."
I didn't answer immediately.
Because yes.
I'd felt it too.
Not in his strength. Not in his mana output or combat ability.
But in his stillness.
Alden didn't strive the way others did.
He moved as if he already knew where he was going.
And that unsettled me more than any ambition could.
"…If he's changed," I said, "we'll notice when he comes back."
Sarah laughed softly. "That's what scares me."
I looked at her.
She wasn't smiling now.
"You don't sense danger?" I asked.
She shook her head. "No. I sense distance."
Distance.
Between Alden and the Academy.
Between Alden and us.
Between Alden and the version of himself we thought we knew.
The wind picked up suddenly, tugging at our uniforms.
For just a moment—only a moment—I felt something brush against my awareness.
Heavy.
Vast.
Gone before I could grasp it.
My heart skipped a beat.
"…Did you feel that?" I asked sharply.
Sarah nodded slowly. "Yes."
We stared at each other.
That hadn't come from the Academy.
Nor from the city.
It had come from far away.
And yet—
It had felt close.
Uncomfortably close.
"If Alden caused that…" I began.
Sarah interrupted gently, "Then whatever he touched acknowledged him."
I swallowed.
That wasn't something a student should be capable of.
We stood there in silence for a long moment.
Finally, Sarah straightened, forcing a smile. "Well. He's Alden. He'll show up eventually."
I nodded.
But my grip on the railing tightened.
Because deep down, I knew—
When Alden returned, things wouldn't go back to normal.
They never did.
And this time…
I wasn't sure whether I should be excited—
Or afraid.