Dormitory District – The Garden Blacksmith Area
The journey to the dormitory district took Lucien through various parts of the academy he had yet to explore. As the sun sank further into the horizon, the golden light of dusk reflected off the grand Sanctum, showcasing the magnificence of its sturdy architecture steeped in history.
Along the way, towering stone buildings stood firm, adorned with sigil pillars that glowed softly in delicate hues. Some academy corridors were lined with statues of legendary blacksmiths from different eras, each depicted wielding a hammer or a sigil, symbols of their craftsmanship. Their presence served as a reminder that every individual in this academy was expected to forge themselves, tempering their strength and resolve like steel in the flames.
Eventually, Lucien arrived at a large gate adorned with intricate sigil engravings. A faint red glow pulsed from the carvings as if marking the boundary he was about to cross. Above the gate, an inscription was etched clearly:
"Red Garden – Where Fire is Forged."
The sigil bird that had been guiding him suddenly halted in midair, flapping its wings once before its body began to dissolve into fragments of light. Within seconds, the glow vanished without a trace, as if its task had been completed.
Lucien shifted his gaze forward, where a man stood firmly near the entrance. He appeared to be in his early thirties, with short black hair and a thin beard outlining his jaw. His build was strong and well-trained, exuding an aura of discipline and authority. Something subtle yet distinct surrounded him—a nearly invisible wave of sigil energy that hinted he was far from ordinary.
"Welcome to the dormitory district," the man's deep and unwavering voice rang out. "My name is Garrick Fendrel, overseer of the Red Garden Dormitory. From today onward, I will ensure that none of you cause trouble here."
Lucien studied Garrick carefully. There was something strange about the man. Not his voice or manner of speech, but rather an inexplicable sense of familiarity—something beyond words.
Meanwhile, the new students had begun gathering, paying close attention to Garrick's instructions.
"Each of you has been assigned a private room. Do not mistake this for luxury—this is part of your test," Garrick continued, crossing his arms over his chest. "If you can't even manage yourselves, how do you expect to master the Forge Sigil?"
Some students exchanged glances, a few looking uneasy, while others nodded in understanding.
"In your rooms, you will find some basic equipment: a bed, a workstation for forging sigils, a uniform, and a storage rack for materials. The academy will provide a weekly allocation of basic materials, but if you want higher-quality resources, you'll have to find them yourselves."
His tone was cold, filled with authority, leaving no room for debate.
"Don't assume you can relax here. Starting tomorrow, the first test will determine your rank in the academy," he continued, his sharp gaze sweeping over the gathered students. "So make good use of tonight to rest. If you fail, blame no one but yourselves."
With that, Garrick distributed a list containing each student's name and room number.
Lucien stepped forward, retrieved his assignment, and scanned the list.
"Lucien Ashthorn – Room 217."
Without delay, he made his way toward the towering dormitory building ahead.
The Red Garden area comprised three towering main buildings, each housing hundreds of rooms and the necessary facilities for students. The structures were made of basalt stone reinforced with Elemental sigils for temperature control, Temporal sigils for structural longevity, Bestial sigils for security, and Ethereal sigils for spatial stability.
At every corner of the buildings, small towers stood, their walls engraved with sigils that emitted a faint glow, reinforcing the idea that this was no ordinary dormitory.
At the heart of the district lay a vast courtyard, seemingly used for training and dueling—a testing ground for mystic weapons and a place to hone one's skills.
Directly across from it stood a grand forge, the center of student activity for crafting and refining their sigil techniques. Here, students could discuss, experiment, and develop their forging skills.
Lucien glanced again at his assignment list.
"Room 217..." he murmured.
After climbing the stairs to the third floor, he finally arrived at a door marked with the number 217. A faint blue light radiated from the sigil engraved on its surface, casting shifting shadows along the walls.
The sigil had unique golden and blue patterns. When Lucien brushed his fingers against the engraving, he felt an inexplicable warmth.
"Ethereal..." he whispered.
Now he understood why he felt a strange connection to this room. The sigil on the door had likely been attuned to its occupant, resonating with the element that matched his Forge Sigil.
Lucien glanced to his left, noticing a young boy around fourteen standing in front of the neighboring room. His neatly combed blond hair and clear blue eyes, along with his poised stance, suggested noble heritage.
When their gazes met, the boy offered a faint smile and a slight nod of acknowledgment before quietly entering his room without a word.
To his right, another young man stood at his door. He looked older—perhaps sixteen—with a pale complexion and an unnerving expression. There was something odd about the mana swirling around him, shifting in unnatural patterns.
Lucien ignored it and stepped into his own room.
It was simple yet sufficient for a new student.
In one corner, a forging desk stood with heat-resistant sigils embedded in its surface. Several basic materials, including refined metal and flexible crystals, had been placed on top.
An empty shelf stood by the wall, ready to be filled with sigil materials acquired over time. Not far from it, the academy uniform hung neatly.
Lucien exhaled deeply and let himself collapse onto the bed.
He absently reached for the bottom button of his shirt, using it to steady his thoughts. Meditating before sleep had always been his habit. Sometimes, the scent of death and destruction still haunted his dreams. And above all, Lucien hated dreaming.
---
Lucien opened his eyes. He was awake.
He wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep, but the fact that he had awakened—without a nightmare—suggested that this dormitory was responsible. The room's sigil system had been reinforced with Ethereal energy, removing discomfort while resting and isolating it from external disturbances.
The ceiling was the first thing he saw as his consciousness fully returned. Silence filled the room, offering a brief reprieve before he finally rose from the bed and turned to the window.
Dawn had broken. Sunlight seeped through the glass panes, casting an amber hue into the room. Morning dew clung to the surface of the window, slowly melting away—a sign of a new day beginning.
Knock! Knock!
A soft tapping sound came from outside the window, but not from human hands. Lucien turned his attention to the source and found a star-shaped paper fluttering in the air, its edges flapping like tiny wings. He approached, unlatched the window, and opened it slowly. Instantly, the paper darted inside, spinning through the air before hovering before him.
A telepathic voice resonated directly in his mind.
"Proceed to the academy square."
Lucien blinked a few times, processing the message. Then, he turned his gaze outside, observing the academy stirring to life. From afar, he could see groups of students gathering in the square.
"Alright," he muttered, closing the window.
He quickly prepared himself, splashing cold water onto his face to dispel any lingering drowsiness. As he lifted his head, he met his own reflection in the mirror.
His red eyes appeared darker than usual, slightly weary as if carrying an exhaustion that hadn't completely faded. Droplets of water trickled from his chin, falling into the sink below.
After taking a deep breath, he began dressing.
Now standing before the full-length mirror, he examined his appearance in the neatly donned academy uniform.
A white long-sleeved shirt with folded cuffs, a blue tie adorned with elegant sigil patterns, and dark blue trousers paired with a simple leather belt. Flexible leather shoes completed the ensemble, providing both durability and sophistication. Finally, he draped a navy-blue robe with unique white patterns—adding a distinct touch to the standard academy attire.
He looked sharper than he had minutes ago. His black hair was now neatly arranged, slightly parted at the forehead. His crimson eyes still carried a piercing gaze, though faint traces of fatigue remained.
From a general perspective, his figure was quite striking. By imperial standards, he could easily be considered a young man who would one day become the center of many girls' attention. However, there was one thing that might be seen as a shortcoming—his height.
At the age of thirteen, he stood only 5.3 feet (about 160 cm) tall. Slightly shorter than most of his peers. Even so, Lucien didn't mind too much. He knew his growth hadn't reached its peak yet, and height was not the primary factor in determining one's strength. In fact, in certain situations, a smaller physique could be an advantage.
—
When Lucien arrived at the academy square, he found the place already packed with students.
Everyone seemed to be waiting in anticipation. Young faces were adorned with expressions of curiosity and nervousness. They all wondered—what kind of ranking exam would be held this year?
In previous years, the initial test was conducted by distributing cores from Lesser Spirits to each student. However, Lucien doubted that the same method would be used again. Aldric had once mentioned that such a system was no longer effective, and the academy had likely prepared a new, more challenging approach.
Lucien slipped into the midst of the crowd, trying to blend in among the students without drawing too much attention.
Then he noticed something.
The students had begun forming their own groups, building social networks early on. This was not surprising—it was one of the predictions the Old Man had told him before.
"That's how the world works," he thought to himself.
Among the sea of gathered students, Lucien remained an inconspicuous figure. Although his past had once been the center of attention in the empire, five years had passed since the great tragedy that shook the entire nation. Hardly anyone recognized him now.
The Ashthorn family, once honored, had long since faded into history.
However, they were not the only noble family that perished on that fateful night. Other families, with even higher status and greater influence, had also been wiped out. Perhaps that was why Lucien's existence was overshadowed by the weight of a greater catastrophe.
And honestly, that was an advantage.
Minutes passed in a silence filled with tension. Then, suddenly, a tear in space appeared above the main stage of the square.
An overwhelmingly powerful aura radiated from the rift.
From within, a towering man stepped out. Vulcan Draegor, the Grandmaster of the Academy, emerged with an imposing charisma. His hand gripped a star-forged dagger, a weapon that gleamed momentarily before slowly fading away, vanishing as the spatial tear behind him sealed shut.
His gaze swept across the entire square before a faint smile appeared on his face.
"Good morning, my students!" his deep voice echoed across the square, reigniting the spirits of those who had been waiting in anticipation.