Alistair Von Arden clapped his hands together, his voice echoing slightly in the marble chamber.
"Well then," he said with a satisfied nod, "seems like we've gotten the formalities out of the way. We'll give you time to process everything. And don't worry about your accommodations—we've arranged a mansion for all of you to stay in."
A murmur of relief swept through the group, but before they could speak, Alistair suddenly raised a finger as if remembering something important.
"Oh—almost forgot," he added, a hint of mischief in his tone. "Tomorrow, you'll all be meeting the king. And there's one more thing—you'll have to choose a leader among yourselves."
That caught everyone's attention.
From among the group of observing scholars, one stepped forward slightly, his posture casual and almost lazy. His wavy, obsidian-black hair was streaked with vivid crimson, stylishly disheveled, and one side dipped low enough to shadow one eye. He wore a constant smirk that practically oozed defiance and mischief. His soft grayish-mauve eyes sparkled with amusement, deceptively gentle but hiding sharpness underneath.
Lucien tilted his head, raising a single eyebrow.
"A leader… huh?" he said, letting the words linger in the air.
He gave a slow glance to the side, tapping a finger against his chin in mock thoughtfulness.
"I think… we already have someone for that."
He flashed that infuriatingly knowing smile—the kind that suggested he was already five steps ahead, and he was enjoying watching everyone slowly catch up.
Alistair folded his arms, amused but serious. "Decide it together as a team. That person will represent you all."
He turned to a nearby knight clad in full white armor, a pristine sword at his side. With a nod, Alistair gave the next order.
"Take them to the mansion."
The knight stood tall and firm, his voice steady.
"Yes, Captain!"
He approached a tall white door inscribed with glowing golden symbols and pulled it open with a faint creak. Gesturing gracefully down the hallway beyond—where ornate windows lined one side and polished doors stood on the other—he placed his other hand over his chest and bowed slightly.
"This way, Heroes."
The students, still adjusting to everything, followed silently. As the last of them exited, Alistair watched their retreating backs. Despite the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, a small smile tugged at his lips.
"They're a sharp bunch," he murmured under his breath, just loud enough for himself to hear. "They grasp their situation fast. I'm curious to see what kind of future they'll carve."
His gaze lingered for a moment longer before he turned away.
Back at the mansion, the knight stepped aside as the scholars and students filed in. The grand estate loomed before them—elegant, ancient, and humming faintly with protective enchantments. Once everyone had entered, the knight gave a respectful nod.
"I shall take my leave now," he said, and with that, he disappeared down the hallway, leaving the new arrivals to take their first steps into their strange, new world.
A gasp echoed through the grand hall as Dino , ever the energetic soul, darted forward, his yellow hair bouncing with each step.
"Wooow!" he exclaimed in a suppressed voice, spinning around slowly as he took in the ornate detailing of the chandelier, the marble floors, and the luxurious decor. "Let's go look around!"
The rest of the scholars turned to him with a mixture of deadpan stares and mild exasperation. Kaien blinked, confused by their seriousness.
"…What's up, guys?" he asked, his tone uncertain.
Lucien pinched the bridge of his nose, his smirk temporarily replaced by something resembling irritation.
"You can't be serious right now, Dino."
From behind him, a voice colder than frost chimed in.
"Expecting more from Dino was your first mistake, Lucien."
Seryn Althea Yurei stood poised, her long jet-black hair falling like sheets of ink past her waist, each strand perfectly in place. Her icy silver eyes pierced through Kaien, detached but razor sharp.
A few moments passed in silence, their playful bickering fading as reality settled back in.
---
Within the stately living room of the mansion, the scholars found themselves seated across lavish armchairs and velvet couches. Sunlight filtered through tall stained-glass windows, casting delicate hues over the room's polished floor. The only sound was the low crackle of the fireplace and the faint ticking of an ornate wall clock.
Each scholar sat quietly, the weight of uncertainty pressing on their shoulders despite the beauty around them. Their silence wasn't awkward—it was thoughtful. Heavy.
Elion Thorne, with soft ash-blonde hair that gently framed his porcelain face, broke the silence. His piercing violet eyes flicked between the others, his voice laced with dry wit.
"Soo… are we just sitting here looking pretty, or are we actually doing something?"
Selene Akashiro sat near the hearth, one leg crossed over the other with an air of effortless composure. Her voice came calm, controlled—yet layered with subtle warmth.
"For now… we wait," she said, her dark eyes sweeping over the others. "We'll know more tomorrow once they give us the next update. Let's stay ready."
Her words were met with nods. Though spoken softly, they carried authority.
Dino—slouched in his seat, arms draped over the back.
"They could've just told us everything we needed to know upfront," he muttered.
That's when another girl finally spoke, her voice like ice running over glass.
"So… this is all of us, then?"
She stepped forward slowly, her raven-black hair flowing like obsidian ink, her crystalline-blue eyes observing each of them with cool precision—calculated, almost distant.
Selene met her gaze evenly.
"Yes. We're all here…" She paused, her expression softening ever so slightly as her fingers brushed a necklace at her throat. "…Fifteen. Safe and sound—for now."
"But… aren't we supposed to be sixteen?" asked a girl with streaks of silver threading through her black hair, confusion lacing her tone.
Selene lowered her gaze momentarily. "Yes… it's Haruto. He wasn't at school when we were summoned."
Her hand lingered on the necklace, her voice almost imperceptibly quieter. Her composure never broke, but there was something behind her eyes—something that only those who knew her well would recognize as sorrow.
Dino spoke again, slower this time.
"It was something about his mother, right?"
Lucien's smirk faded, replaced with a rare flicker of seriousness.
"Yeah… she passed away."
The room fell silent again. Not out of discomfort, but respect.
Fifteen chosen. One missing.
And all of them—thrust into a world none of them had asked for.
The grand dining hall was illuminated by soft amber candlelight, casting warm shadows against the ivory-white and gold walls. The long table stretched out like a river of memories, adorned with polished silverware, crystal goblets, and dishes filled with fragrant delicacies that steamed gently in the night air.
It had been months since they were all together like this. Laughter echoed faintly, but it was soft, fragile—like glass held too tightly.
Selene Akashiro sat at the head of the table, posture graceful and proud. Her long, silky black hair was tied in a high ponytail, swaying gently as she turned her gaze from one classmate to another. She wore a formal black and violet dress, mirroring her composed expression—but her violet eyes betrayed her. They flicked toward the empty seat beside her. Haruto's seat. Her fingers brushed the edge of her glass as though reaching for something not there. Something she wished she'd held onto.
Across from her, Celeste Vermillion sat perfectly still, crimson eyes reflecting the candlelight like rubies. Her hands were folded on her lap, but her gaze lingered on Selene—analyzing, understanding, but never judging. Her mind spun, calculating the weight of silence and the ache of absence. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper. "He would have liked this meal. The spices... the layout. He always noticed the details."
Eira Solvang leaned back in her chair, arms crossed loosely. Her platinum-blonde hair fell over one shoulder, and a lit cigarette sat between her fingers, the tip glowing faintly in the dim room. "He'd have mocked half of us for getting emotional," she said with a smirk. But it wasn't cruel—it was fond. Real. She took a quiet drag, exhaled slowly. "Then probably saved our asses five minutes later."
Lyra Vermillion reached over to pluck a strawberry from a nearby plate, her rosy-pink hair bouncing as she moved. Her amber-gold eyes sparkled even in sadness. "I left a poem on the windowsill again," she said, voice soft. "Maybe the wind will carry it to him."
Seraphine Altharia remained still, her modern black qipao giving her a regal silhouette under the golden light. She didn't speak for a long time. Then, quietly, almost like admitting a sin, she said, "He would've made a better king than most men I've known."
Lazriel Caen broke the silence that followed with a quiet chuckle. His rose-pink hair fell into his eyes, but he didn't push it away. "I still owe him a drink," he murmured, swirling the wine in his glass. "Or maybe a game of cards. One he actually wouldn't win."
Silence fell again. Heavier this time.
Selene looked at them all. Her people. Her friends. Her heart. She stood slowly, raising her glass, her voice clear despite the tremor at the edge. "To Haruto Satoru," she said. "May he find peace... if not here, then in the stars."
They all raised their glasses.
But none of them noticed the faint ripple in the candlelight—or the softest echo of a familiar presence, watching from the shadows.
And for just a moment... Selene smiled.
As all the students drifted off to sleep, the scene shifted far from the safety of the academy.
Nestled in a harsh and unforgiving valley, the military encampment sprawled across cracked, dry stone. Jagged mountains loomed in every direction, casting long shadows under the silver moonlight. The wind howled occasionally through the narrow passes, carrying with it the scent of dust, ash, and faint traces of blood from old battles fought here. The land was ancient—scarred by war, magic, and time itself.
Fires crackled in scattered rings around the camp, their orange glow casting flickering shadows on armored tents and weather-worn banners. Knights clad in varying sets of polished or battered armor lounged around the flames. Some leaned back on crates or logs, others sat cross-legged on the cold ground. Laughter filled the air, loud and raw, as they shared drinks from dented flasks and retold stories from past campaigns—exaggerated with every retelling.
Above them, the night sky stretched wide and clear, countless stars glittering like shards of crystal scattered across black velvet. The moon hung low and heavy, painting everything in silver and lending a surreal calm to the otherwise harsh environment.
In the largest tent at the heart of the camp, Actheria and Kieran stood over a wide wooden table. The surface was cluttered with maps, enchanted markers glowing faintly, and carved miniatures used for planning formations. A thin stream of magical light hovered above the table, casting a soft blue glow on their focused faces.
Actheria, her expression unreadable as always, pressed her gloved finger to a marked point on the map—near the edge of a dense, sprawling forest etched in ink and labeled The Webbed Expanse.
"This is where the spiders are," she said, her tone calm and steady. "It'll take us two days to reach this area… assuming they don't attack first."
Kieran leaned in, arms crossed, a teasing smile curling on his lips. "There's no chance of that. They're strong, sure—but not the smartest monsters out there." She chuckled. "Besides, they wouldn't dare try something bold while we're prepared."
Unseen by those below, in the dark reaches of the cliffs above, a shadow lingered among the trees. Silent and still, it observed. A massive spider, its eight crimson eyes glowing faintly, watched the camp from high above. Its body was covered in dark chitin, blending almost perfectly with the night. After a long moment, it turned and crept back into the deeper forest with unnerving grace—vanishing like mist in the dark.
Actheria stepped out of the tent a short while later, the flap swinging shut behind her. The cold air met her face, but her eyes were already on something distant. She stood still, her cloak gently rustling in the wind, staring toward a mountain ridge to the north.
"…Huh," she muttered under her breath, narrowing her eyes. Something felt off. The air was too still now. The kind of silence that only came before a storm.