Two boys stood at the far end of the academy’s courtyard, their voices tense and urgent despite the calm of the morning.
They both wore the official academy uniform: dark navy coats with silver trim, fitted vests beneath, and long white sashes tied at the waist. The insignia of their year glinted on their collars, catching the light. Noah’s coat was slightly wrinkled from movement. Cael’s was immaculate.
"I’m telling you, Cael, we have to act now," Noah said, his voice sharp as he stepped closer. "You didn’t want to go to the auction, fine—but then we need to stop this some other way. You know what’ll happen if we don’t."
Saphielle stood nearby, unseen, unable to move or speak—trapped within the memory like a phantom.
’So his name is Cael... I’ve never seen him before, not once in two years at the academy. Is he some kind of transfer student?’
Cael folded his arms behind his back, his expression calm and unreadable. His white hair was slightly windswept, eyes a pale blue that held no urgency.
"Calm down, Noah," he said in a steady tone. "We’re doing this in the most efficient way possible. No need to panic."
"Panic?" Noah’s jaw tightened. "You know what happens when she summons him. No one can bring back the dead—no one. It’ll go out of control. You’ve seen the outcome. There’ll be a catastrophe. People in the city will die."
Cael glanced upward, unbothered. "You’re exaggerating."
Noah took a breath and forced it out through his teeth. "We don’t have time. We’re going. Now."
Cael finally nodded. "Fine. Let’s go."
Noah exhaled, relieved. "Thanks for finally listening. Let’s move—quickly."
The two turned and began walking across the stone courtyard, heading toward the academy’s gates.
Saphielle stared after them, her pulse quickening.
’How do they know what I’m planning? I haven’t even done it yet. Why do they sound so sure I’ll fail...?’
The rooftops of the outer districts shimmered in the afternoon light, distant but approaching fast. Noah and Cael moved quickly down the winding path that led beyond the academy gates, past the training fields and into the low hills that bordered the city outskirts. Despite the growing urgency, Cael maintained a steady, almost casual pace, hands behind his back, expression unreadable.
Noah, in contrast, looked increasingly agitated. His eyes stayed fixed on the horizon, fists clenched at his sides.
"Can’t you move faster?" he muttered. "We don’t have time."
Cael offered only a small shrug, his steps unchanging.
Saphielle followed behind—though not of her own will. The memory dragged her forward, invisible and powerless to interact, only able to observe.
’They’re heading toward the city...’
Her eyes shifted to the weapons each boy carried.
Noah had a white training sword—unadorned, standard-issue steel, the kind students used during practical exams. But Cael—
’That’s... that’s the Staff of Whispering Nature.’
The polished wood and glowing crystal core were unmistakable. Its delicate carvings shimmered faintly with runes of Gaia, the elemental domain.
’That staff belongs to House Valenhart. I’ve seen it before—Amelie Valenhart carries it. She’s a year below me, but I know it’s hers.’
She narrowed her eyes at Cael.
’So why does he have it? What is this memory showing me?’
The boys continued forward, the hills gradually leveling out into flatter terrain. A breeze swept through the grass. There was tension in the air—like something terrible was about to happen.
A blast of light surged in the distance. The sky rippled with the shock of an explosion.
Noah came to a sudden stop, eyes wide.
The explosion echoed like thunder across the hills.
A pillar of dark smoke rose in the distance, spiraling into the sky. The shockwave rattled the grass at their feet. Noah stared at it, frozen, his eyes locked on the origin of the blast.
A mansion—torn apart, reduced to rubble and fire.
Saphielle’s blood ran cold.
’That’s... that was my home.’
A massive shadow stretched above the ruins, spreading slowly like an inkblot across the sky.
’Why... why did it explode? And who is that up there?’
Hovering above the debris, a lone figure emerged from the dark mist. His silhouette was unmistakable—long robes, hands raised, and eyes glowing with eerie power.
Saphielle’s heart jumped.
’Master...? That’s... him. It worked? Then that means I really did it... I brought him back.’
A smile touched her lips—brief, unguarded.
From behind the figure, dozens—no, hundreds—of black shapes poured into the sky. Flying carcasses. Bone beasts. Twisted undead with wings of torn flesh and broken bone. Below, from the cratered earth, skeletal figures began to rise in waves. Rotting wolves. Reanimated beasts. Entire groups of undead marching toward the city like a swarm of insects.
Saphielle took a step back, her breath hitching in her throat.
’No... what is this? Why is he—?’
The figure above her former home raised both arms, and the horde let out a deafening, unholy cry.
’Stop! Please—STOP!!’
She tried to run, to scream, to cast anything—but her body didn’t respond. The memory held her prisoner.
All she could do was watch as her nightmare took form.
Saphielle fell to her knees—though her body never touched the ground.
She wasn’t really there.
The world around her trembled. The wind howled with the cries of the dead. And above it all, her master—reborn, twisted—looked down on the land he once vowed to protect.
His eyes...They were empty. Void of warmth, humanity, or recognition.
The truth slammed into her like a blade to the chest.
’That’s not my master.’
The horde advanced toward the city, unstoppable.
Saphielle tried to shut her eyes, but the memory wouldn’t let her.
She was forced to watch.
And then—through the chaos—she saw him.
A boy stood among the city guards, blades drawn, already clashing against the front line of monsters. His black hair moved wildly with the wind, and his crimson eyes burned with fury and resolve.
Saphielle’s breath caught.