Silas and his undead bear tore through the forest. The darkness was nothing to the creature—its claws shredded through flora as it rushed forward, clearing a path with sheer force. Branches snapped like brittle bones beneath its feet, damp moss flung into the air, and startled birds screeched before vanishing into the treetops.
Then, light appeared—a sign that Silas was finally reaching a clearing.
Golden rays pierced through the canopy, splitting shadows apart as if the forest itself feared the thing he rode.
The bear leapt into the air, bursting out from the shadowy treeline, with Silas riding it, smiling and laughing. Its muscles rippled under rotting fur, and a gust of wind followed in its wake, leaves scattering like confetti.
"And here we are!"
Silas shouted, the bear landing with a massive thud. The ground trembled beneath its weight, sending tiny shockwaves through the tall grass and loose stones.
The students in the clearing stared in horror, hands outstretched as magic flared to life—ready to unleash a barrage of spells. Their uniforms fluttered from the impact, faces pale and eyes wide as they instinctively backed away. The air buzzed with raw energy, unstable and defensive.
Silas leapt from the bear's back, hands raised in mock surrender. His feet barely touched the ground before his smirk bloomed—swagger oozing from every gesture.
"Woah… everyone relax," he chuckled, recognizing the students' faces—especially Cynthia.
Her expression was a complex mixture—half-relief, half-bewilderment—as though her brain struggled to file this moment under anything logical.
What a coincidence... It's my own class.
The professor looked utterly bewildered—a mix of outrage, shock, and disbelief at seeing a student emerge from the Forest of Trials unscathed… and riding a giant undead bear.
His jaw slackened, lips twitching as though caught between shouting and stammering.
"M-Marcus...?" the professor stammered, his hand instinctively conjuring a protective barrier between the students and the creature.
The barrier shimmered faintly, pulsating with bluish light—a line drawn not just in magic, but in sheer, desperate caution.
"Am I late?" Silas asked nonchalantly, playing it off with ease.
His tone was casual, but his eyes glittered with mischief, scanning the group for reactions like a stage performer gauging applause.
Cynthia's voice came from the background, confused and incredulous.
"Weren't you... sent to the other side of the forest?"
Silas shrugged, face relaxed, feigning ignorance.
His shoulders rolled back as if stretching off a mild workout, his confidence completely at odds with the blood-stained beast behind him.
"Well... I was just close by, so why not say hi to my classmates and dear professor?"
Cynthia looked puzzled. Only a few students ever survived the Forest of Trials—fewer still escaped without help.
She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing, as if trying to discern whether he was a fluke or a threat.
"You're quite something, aren't you?" she said with a faint chuckle, still processing the scene. Her voice was light, but her stance was alert—one hand idly resting near her wand, just in case.
From the sidelines, the professor cleared his throat, trying to regain control of the situation.
"Fir—"
Before he could finish, the counselor appeared beside him, patting his back casually. She materialized as if conjured by the forest itself—one moment absent, the next completely present, her posture unreadable.
"Been a while since we last talked, right, Oswald?"
The professor—Oswald—turned his head in shock at the sudden appearance of the guidance counselor, caught off-guard by yet another surprise. His barrier flickered briefly, destabilized by his own disbelief.
"What...? Juna? What's the meaning of this?"
The guidance counselor—Juna—leaned in close, whispering to Oswald's ear. Her tone was light, but her eyes carried the weariness of someone juggling far too many fires at once.
"Just let this kid join class again... even I don't understand this brat," she said, patting his back once more, laughing awkwardly to mask the tension.
"Well… off I go!" she waved to Oswald and the students, her form slowly fading away with a sigh.
Sparkles of magic drifted from her shoulders as if she were dissolving into stardust.
"Now for those other three brats…" she muttered, not bothering to hide her disdain for her job.
Oswald scratched his head. Why was a delinquent—sent to the Forest of Trials twice—being allowed back into class like nothing happened?
He stared at the empty space where Juna had been, then at Silas, then back again, lips thinning with suppressed frustration.
But he sighed, unable to argue with the counselor's word. His shoulders slumped slightly, like a man already resigned to chaos.
"Okay, let's get back to the main topic," he muttered, defeated, casting a side-eye toward Silas—now casually chatting with other students near the bear, bragging about his new pet.
"Woah... you're able to reanimate the dead?"
"Isn't that kinda… not allowed?"
Whispers scattered among the group like wildfire—half admiration, half fear.
Students spoke among themselves and toward Silas, completely ignoring the professor.
Several had gathered near the undead bear, noses wrinkled but curiosity winning over revulsion. One even crouched near its paw, sketching the glyphs that bound it.
Oswald sighed and snapped his fingers, deciding to issue a lesson of his own. The sound cracked like a whip through the clearing, silencing a few voices—but not enough.
"Fine. If you kids think you're good enough to ignore your professor, then I'll let you handle your first night here... alone."
He said sternly, snapping his fingers again as a glowing rune formed beneath him, transporting him out of the forest in an instant. The rune pulsed in angry orange and white, then vanished like smoke—leaving only a scorched ring in the dirt where he stood.
Silas stared at the professor's now-vanished form, a smirk tugging at his lips. He folded his arms behind his head, the very image of smug satisfaction.
As tradition—making instructors walk out on the first day.
The students continued to circle the undead bear—some disgusted, others amused. A few even studied it or tried to reverse-engineer the rune Silas had used to bring it to life.
The creature stood still as a statue, its exposed ribs shifting faintly as dark magic throbbed inside like a second heartbeat.
Cynthia approached Silas, her tone slightly tired but firm.
Her expression had shifted once more—cool, composed, and not at all like the shy girl from earlier.
"While I appreciate your lighthearted nature, we're still here to learn… and I'm afraid we can't do that with the professor gone."
She gestured to the empty spot where the professor had vanished, her eyebrows raised. Her stance was assertive, feet planted, finger tapping lightly against her hip as if expecting resistance.
The timid, late, shy-girl persona had slipped away without warning.
Was she always like this in the original game's plot...? Silas wondered, his gaze analyzing Cynthia.
"So take responsibility for helping us in today's lesson, got it?" she laughed softly, her voice commanding yet warm, pressing a finger firmly against Silas's chest.
The contact was gentle, but the look in her eyes was anything but playful—she meant it.
What in the...