On getting home to the cottage, Azrael called out for his uncle, his voice echoing faintly through the quiet space.
"Uncle Ellis?"
The word lingered in the air longer than it should have.
No answer.
Azrael stood at the doorway for a moment, listening. The cottage was exactly the same as he had left it—neat, familiar, ordinary. He stepped inside anyway, checking the small living space, the kitchen corner, the storage room. Nothing. He went around the back, scanned the clearing, even looked down the narrow path that led away from the cottage.
Still nothing.
A faint frown formed between his brows. He told himself not to overthink it as his uncle often stepped out without saying anything. Maybe he went to the market or someone had asked for his help. He'll probably be back before dawn.
Returning to the cottage, Azrael decided to distract himself. His awakening ceremony replayed in his mind—the shock, the murmurs, the stunned silence. Darkness. Wind. Two elements. Blue grade.
He sat down and tried to meditate, just like he'd been taught. He slowed his breathing, focused inward, waited to feel something—anything.
Nothing happened.
He opened his eyes and stood, stretching his fingers slightly, trying to sense the darkness around him. The shadows didn't respond. The air didn't stir. He tried again. And again.
Still nothing.
Doubt crept in quietly, worming its way into his thoughts. What if the ceremony had been wrong? What if the stone malfunctioned? What if—
He shook his head, annoyed with himself.
Exhaustion came faster than he expected. His body, worn down by the day's events, finally gave in. He fell asleep where he sat.
—------
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Azrael stirred.
The sound cut through his sleep, pulling him upward abruptly. He blinked, disoriented, then sat up as realization struck. Morning light filtered weakly through the window.
Hope flared in his chest, sudden and instinctive.
"Uncle…?" he muttered, already on his feet.
He rushed to the door and opened it—
And the hope vanished instantly.
Standing outside weren't just one representative, but all of them. Every academy envoy who had been present at the awakening ceremony. Their expressions were polite, composed, curious.
Azrael's shoulders sagged before he could stop himself.
The representatives noticed the change in his expression—the brief flicker of disappointment—but they didn't understand its cause and chose to ignore it.
They greeted him courteously, their tone respectful despite his age. His awakening had elevated his status far beyond that of an ordinary junior. One of them stepped forward and asked if he had consulted his uncle yet—and which academy he intended to join.
Azrael hesitated.
"My uncle…" he said slowly. "He hasn't returned since yesterday."
That gave them pause.
They exchanged glances, brows furrowing slightly. After a moment, they offered to help search for him, splitting up to ask around the city.
Left alone again, Azrael made his way to his uncle's room, the unease in his chest tightening into something heavier. This time, he searched with purpose—not just looking for his uncle, but for answers.
A note. A message. Anything.
That was when he noticed the portrait.
It hung in its usual place, a painting of his parents. He had seen it countless times before, grown up with it. Yet now, something about it felt… off. The image itself hadn't changed, but the feeling it gave him had.
It felt distant. Elevated. Almost unreal.
Like it wasn't just a painting anymore.
Confused, Azrael stepped closer. His hand lifted hesitantly, fingers brushing the surface—
And the world vanished.
He was pulled into darkness.
Not darkness like a room without light—but absolute nothingness. No color. No depth. No edges. Azrael raised his hand in front of his face and saw nothing. Not even the faintest outline of his palm.
He tried to speak.
He couldn't hear his own voice.
Panic stirred immediately. His heart raced as he realized he couldn't sense anything at all. No air. No ground. No direction.
He tried walking.
Or at least, he thought he did.
There was no resistance beneath his feet, no sensation to tell him whether he was moving or standing still. He turned, stopped, walked again—if that was even what he was doing.
Forward. Backward. Left. Right.
Everything felt the same.
He tried to orient himself, to find some point of reference, but there was nothing to latch onto. No sound. No light. No sense of space.
Unease crept in slowly, coiling around his chest.
How long have I been here?
Seconds? Minutes? He couldn't tell. Time felt meaningless in this place. The silence pressed in on him, heavy and suffocating, as if the void itself were watching him.
Then he felt it.
The temperature dropped.
Not the kind of cold that froze skin or numbed limbs—but something deeper. A cold that seeped into his very being, brushing against his soul. Fear rose instinctively, sharp and unexplained, making his entire body tremble.
A sigh echoed through the nothingness.
Cold. Distant. Disappointed.
"How are you this pathetically weak?"
Azrael stiffened.
The fear didn't disappear—but irritation flared, cutting through it sharply. Not anger. Offense.
What do you mean weak? he thought bitterly. I just awakened my powers, which I already consider a miracle, and I also happen to be a dual elementalist with a blue grade talent—and you say I'm weak?
The voice continued, even colder than before.
"You are unfit to bear my name. Unworthy of the power that sleeps within you."
Azrael stared ahead, confused. "W-what are you talking about…?"
Silence lingered for a moment and a quiet sigh echoed in his mind before the voice spoke again.
"Unfortunately, I no longer have the luxury of choice."
The silence that followed pressed against him before the voice finished,
"Do not bring shame to our name." and with that a streak of gray light tore through the darkness at terrifying speed, striking his forehead and carrying an overwhelming chill that pierced straight through him.
The void shattered.
The darkness vanished and Azrael collapsed to his knees, his heart pounding violently. He sucked in air as if he'd been drowning, his body trembling from the lingering chill.
The portrait hung quietly on the wall, ordinary once more. The strange, ethereal presence it had carried moments ago was gone, as though it had never been there at all.
Azrael remained where he was, staring at it, a faint unease settling deep in his chest as the realization slowly sank in that something had changed—something had acknowledged him—and whatever it was, it wasn't impressed.