The towers of The Aetherian Heights pierced the clouds like spires from some forgotten age.
Floating walkways shimmered faintly underfoot, suspended in air and rune-thread.
The Cloudspire Quarter was unnaturally serene—so high up, the winds didn't howl; they whispered, like old gods murmuring secrets through the glass-paneled railings.
It was a place built for excellence.
And arrogance.
Only the top fifty students were housed here.
And even among them, only ten held the luxury of the upper floors.
But despite the prestige, it was surprisingly empty this early—just a few scattered first-years darting down the marble paths in full-blown panic.
Their uniforms were slightly mismatched—jackets undone, hair still damp, shoelaces trailing.
They sprinted across floating stairs and rune-lifts, some practically flying with enhancement spells.
Late.
You could see it in their faces. The realization. The doom.
And yet—
Eden Prairie strolled down the curved pathway like time had bowed to his existence.
His steps were quiet, fluid.
A breeze toyed with the edges of his jacket.
The Silvermist uniform suited him far too well—sharp black with that subtle glint of silver lining across the sleeves and collar, the fitted jacket falling just past his hips, giving him that clean, dangerous silhouette.
His shirt was buttoned to the top.
His tie? Slightly loose, just enough to suggest rebellion rather than negligence.
Even his boots thudded with the kind of calm that said: I know where I'm going. Even if the world doesn't.
A few older students glanced at him as they passed, unsure if he was late or late on purpose.
But Eden didn't care.
His thoughts were elsewhere.
"So… that man—or whatever the hell he was—is a descendant of Sanath Nagar."
His voice was low, spoken more to himself than anyone.
{Correct} Echo replied smoothly inside his mind.
{A direct descendant. One of the surviving lineages from Nagar's defiled bloodline.
His presence in that vision
was not symbolic. It was real. It happened.}
'He looked strong,' Eden muttered.
His hands slid into his pockets as he passed beneath an archway shaped like a crescent moon.
The light up here was soft, gold-tinged from the rising sun filtered through magical flux.
He'd already walked about halfway across the Cloudspire Quarter, descending slowly toward the central academy plaza, passing other clustered walkways, shimmering transit runes, and glowing suspension bridges.
He barely noticed any of it.
'No, scratch that. He didn't just look strong. He looked like a problem.'
He paused for a second at a platform edge, gazing down at the world below.
Layers of the academy floated beneath him, each tier of the massive institution like a continent of its own.
'In the game… even the devs didn't explain what exactly Sanath Nagar was.
He wasn't just some god of destruction or wrath or whatever—they never gave him a full title.'
{Because titles would have lessened what he was} Echo replied.
'He was not destruction. He was the silence after it. The void that remembered. His bloodline should not exist.'
Eden exhaled sharply.
'Yeah. And even in the game, people were terrified. Full-grown gamers. Veteran players.
There were forums dedicated to surviving his resurrection, and still half the players got wiped.
That was pixels, Echo.'
His boots echoed lightly as he stepped onto the rune-bridge leading toward the descending lifts.
'Now we're talking about the real thing.
The actual, physical version of that horror.'
He looked over his shoulder, back toward the Heights. His penthouse.
So distant now, like a dream you only half-remember when the alarm rings.
'Shit.'
{The fear is rational} Echo said. {But useful only if it drives action.}
Eden didn't answer.
He simply kept walking.
Down the final lift.
Across the last rune-bridge.
Until his boots touched the stone-paved walkways of Silvermist Academy's central grounds.
Here, the world was louder.
The air buzzed with spell energy and fresh panic.
Students zipped past him, robes fluttering behind them like cloaks in a wind tunnel.
Some sprinted toward their classes; others clustered near the floating screens replaying clips from yesterday's Battle Royale.
He passed a projection—briefly catching a flicker of himself kicking Fenrir Maverick straight into the dirt—and kept walking like he hadn't seen it.
"Let's get this over with," he muttered and tapped the side of his smartwatch.
A pulse of light shimmered across the display, followed by a notification.
---
Welcome, Eden Prairie.
First-Year Class Assignment:
Class A — Celestial Foundations and Core Discipline
Homeroom Professor: Delacroix Valtorien
Location: Tower of First Light, Room A-1
Attendance: Mandatory
"Class A..."
He sighed.
Of course.
Because the universe didn't believe in subtlety.
'It just had to be the main character class, didn't it?'
His voice dripped with the kind of sarcasm that didn't even try to hide its exhaustion.
{Is that a problem, Snowflakes?} Echo asked, her tone politely curious.
:Yes, Echo. It's a very loud, flaming problem.'
He rolled his eyes and began making his way toward the towering silver structure in the near distance—The Tower of First Light.
'That class is where most of the story's plot armor resides. Justin Bridge. Thalia Renwild. Half the cast that survives until the final arcs. Do you know who doesn't survive?'
{You?} she guessed.
'Ding ding. Exactly.'
He kicked a pebble on the path.
'Eden Prairie. Resident nobody. A tragic footnote.
Died in Arc One. Offscreen.
Since I'm definitely sure I'm not making any pact with any fucking demon, I might Probably die in a hallway or something stupid.'
'I'm not safe until Arc Two. And even then, barely.
I don't get cutscenes. I don't get divine artifacts or legacy bloodlines. I get a locker and an accidental death by proximity.'
{And yet... you are now central.}
Eden's smartwatch buzzed again.
Another notification.
---
[QUEST TRIGGERED]
> Event: A Veil in the Dawn
One of the main heroines is about to be targeted for assassination during class transition.
❖ Objective: Prevent her abduction.
❖ Reward: ???
❖ Failure: Severe timeline disruption.
❖ Difficulty: High
❖ Status: Optional
❖ Accept? [Y/N]
---
He didn't blink.
Didn't flinch.
He just exhaled.
And tapped [N].
{Snowflakes—} Echo began, but Eden cut her off.
'No.'
He started walking again, heading toward the Tower of First Light.
{You realize rejecting a system quest could lead to unknown consequences}
she pressed, her tone calm but edged with something faintly insistent.
'Unknown consequences?'
he scoffed.
'Echo, breathing in this world has unknown consequences.'
{Still—}
'No. Look— I've got enough on my plate already. I'm not even supposed to be alive.
I'm in the middle of a timeline I was never meant to survive.
That man—' he paused, eyes narrowing slightly, '—that thing from the revelation?
That wasn't just a 'cool cutscene.'
That was a god-tier threat looming over the world.
We've got that to worry about, and you want me to run around playing classroom assassin hunter?'
{This heroine—}
'Justin will save her.'
{Are you certain?}
'I'm sure enough. This is his moment. He saves her in the game, and they bond over it.
They even have a whole shared questline that activates in Chapter Three.
Unless the guy suddenly grew two left hands overnight, he'll pull it off.'
{And if he fails?}
'Then one of the other sixty main characters can fill the role.'
He stopped at the base of the tower and tilted his head slightly, sarcasm dripping from every word.
'We're not exactly short on heroes, Echo.
If I try to 'help,' I could get stabbed and die for someone else's cutscene. Again.'
He stepped inside the tower, the sound of softly echoing footsteps filling the crystal-paneled corridor.
'Let them play their parts. I'll play mine. Quietly. Away from the spotlight.'
{…You are angry.}
'I'm realistic.'
He looked at the ascending staircase to Room A-1 and forced a breath through his nose.
'And honestly? I'm too damn tired to be noble right now.'
The doors opened, and Eden Prairie walked in.
He didn't rush.
He didn't glance around nervously or apologize to the towering professor drawing on the glowing chalkboard.
He simply walked—unbothered, almost bored.
His boots echoed once against the stone floor, and that was all it took.
Every head turned.
The amphitheater-style classroom had at least hundred students seated in tiered arcs.
The space defied its exterior size, clearly enlarged by spatial magic.
The ceiling above shimmered like a living sky, rune-woven stars twinkling faintly across its surface.
Floating glyphs drifted through the air like lazy fireflies, illuminating the blackboard at the base.
At the center stood Professor Delacroix Valtorien, unmoving.
He was tall, elegant, and carved from that impossible elven marble that never aged.
His hair—ice-white and silk-bound—rested neatly behind him.
His robe bore no frill, only silver geometric embroidery around the cuffs.
His posture was straight, his presence absolute.
And when his emerald eyes met Eden's, the temperature in the room seemed to drop a degree.
"Ah," Delacroix said smoothly, voice low and clear.
"The infamous Eden Prairie. You're late."
Eden didn't stop walking. "I'm here. That's what counts."
A murmur rippled through the class.
Some students exchanged glances.
Others leaned closer, whispering like the air had turned electric.
"That's him—"
"The one from the Battle Royale?"
"I heard he's classless—"
"No, cursed. Or maybe a Ghost."
"He fought Valois Laurent barehanded."
"Still… he's kind of hot though."
As Eden moved down the central aisle, the reactions were mixed—curiosity, fear, awe, jealousy.
Some avoided his gaze entirely.
Others studied him like he was an anomaly under a divine microscope.
And then he saw his sister.
Glory Prairie.
Seated near the center, third arc.
Her posture perfect, expression unreadable—save for the subtle wave she gave him with two fingers, followed by a quick point at the empty seat beside her.
Reserved.
For him.
She hadn't said a word, but the message was clear.
In a room filled with politics, power, and egos… she had made space.
Eden didn't smile.
But a flicker of warmth touched his eyes, barely visible, like a crack of light behind a stormcloud.
Even in this world, he thought, some things still bring a smile to my face.
He slid into the seat next to her.
Said nothing.
She didn't look at him, but she pushed a small, wrapped cookie across his desk like she'd been waiting to do it all morning.
Behind and around him, the pressure hadn't gone away.
Justin Bridge stared down from above, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.
Thalia Renwild lifted her chin slightly, cold gaze flicking toward Eden only once.
Cassia Virelle Duskmoor twirled a pen between gloved fingers and smirked like she'd just found a new plaything.
Selene Vaelthorn offered a glance—bored, calculating, then dismissed him without a second thought.
Other students he didn't recognize murmured quietly, trading theories, assumptions, and battle footage replays in half-sentences.
Some admired him.
Some hated him.
Most simply didn't know what to make of him.
But the seat beside his sister was the only place in the room where none of that seemed to matter.