The bells tolled like distant thunder.
Cold, reverent, and hollow.
From the highest eaves of the Silk Pavilion, white banners drifted on the wind like spilled parchment—each embroidered with the sigils of the graduating clans. Silver-threaded emblems, ghostlight kanji, blood-inked seals that shimmered and pulsed when touched by the dying sun. The graduating class stood beneath them in perfect rows, black uniforms sharp as razors, collars high, buttons polished to reflect the sky itself.
And in the center—alone, always alone—stood Naku Ren.
He did not flinch as the wind tugged at his coat. He did not blink when the Mi Clan elders spoke of honor and sacrifice. His beasts, Aenor and Baelgor, curled like shadows beneath his skin, alert but silent. They could feel what he felt:
This ceremony was not a celebration.
It was a test.
A performance.
And above them, the crows circled.
Always circling
———————————
Graduation from the Hidden Academy of Seoul was not marked by music or applause. There were no parents, no invitations, no joy. The world could not know what they were becoming.
Instead, each graduate stood beneath the black flame brazier, the flickering light of their soul magic made visible for the final time. After today, they would return to the veil of secrecy. Invisible to mortals. Tools of the clans.
The Headmaster—a blind old man with crimson prayer beads—read their names in reverse order of merit. The worst students first. The best, last.
Ren stood for hours.
He didn't mind.
He liked the silence.
He liked not being seen.
It was the only time no one expected anything from him.
When his name was finally called—"Naku Ren, top of class"—there was no cheer. Only stillness. His footsteps echoed across stone as he approached the brazier. The moment he placed his hand into the black flame, lightning cracked the sky. A brief flash of white, and the scent of ozone.
The Mi Clan elders looked up.
Not at the flame.
At him
He could feel them watching from the high balcony. All four stood behind carved ivory screens, cloaked in their family's ceremonial white and gold robes. But Ren didn't need to see them to know who was who.
He had studied them his whole life.
Mi Jinsung, First Prince
The heir apparent. Tall, merciless, and gleaming. His wind magic sliced, clean and clinical, like a surgeon's blade. Known for cleansing entire clans who disobeyed. His faction was the strongest—nearly half of the ruling council belonged to him now. If Ren chose him, he would be rich, protected, feared.
But he'd also be a slave.
Jinsung didn't need allies. He needed hounds.
Mi Kyungho, Second Prince
The tactician. Smiles like he means it, lies like he doesn't. Kyungho ran the intelligence division, trained illusionists and spies. Charming, but cold-blooded. Rumored to use Soul Magic in secret. Choosing him would make Ren invisible—an assassin buried behind veils and chains.
He'd be dead within the year. His own clan would forget his face.
Mi Daehyun, Third Prince
The warlord. Loud, brutal, beloved by soldiers. Wind magic infused with fire, he burned towns when negotiations failed. Had once dueled an entire mercenary guild in a subspace and left no corpses intact. He offered glory.
Ren had no need for glory. No thirst for blood not yet drawn.
Daehyun was too loud. Too proud.
Too predictable.
Mi Hyunsu, Fourth Prince
The boy with no army.
No powerful supporters
No rumors of cruelty or brilliance or ambition.
Just silence.
Ren had seen him once. Alone in the garden after a council meeting. Feeding crows from his hand like it was the only thing that mattered. His wind magic barely stirred the air, but it carried a softness. Controlled. Suppressed.
Leashed.
Hyunsu did not want to rule.
He just didn't want to die.
And that made him dangerous.
Ren smiled—just a little—as he pulled his hand from the black flame.
He bowed once.
Then turned to face the four screens.
"I choose the Fourth Prince," he said, voice steady.
The crowd stirred.
Not gasps. Not shouts.
Just the shifting of silk and the tightening of hands.
A political earthquake masked in formal silence
—————
The Fourth Prince stepped out alone.
He didn't bow. He didn't speak right away. He only looked at Ren like one might look at a reflection in a broken mirror—curious, uncertain, familiar.
"Everyone thinks you made a mistake," Hyunsu said, his voice soft as wind through pine. "Even I do."
Ren's eyes flicked upward. "Then why did you come?"
Hyunsu shrugged, barely perceptible. "Because I was curious. And because… maybe they're all wrong."
He held out his hand.
Not to command.
To invite.
Ren took it.
The pact was sealed
—————————
The walk from the Pavilion to the Fourth Prince's estate was not long—but it felt like crossing between worlds.
The palace grounds of the Mi Clan were divided by more than stone and silk; they were divided by intention. Each prince's domain reflected their nature—sprawling complexes disguised as homes, crafted as weapons.
Ren had only seen them from a distance.
The First Prince's court was a fortress of glass and sky-bridges, built like a bird of prey stretching its wings—arrogant, high, impossible to reach without being seen.
The Second Prince's territory was a garden of mirrors and spirals, every wall enchanted to mislead, every corridor designed to misremember. Visitors forgot why they came before they left.
The Third Prince's manor wasn't a manor at all, but a military fortress—half buried, half open, ringed with towers and training fields. The air there always smelled of ash.
But the Fourth Prince—
Ren's steps slowed.
He stared, blinking once.
The Fourth Prince's estate was barely a house.
It had no guards, no towers, no flickering seal wards. No intimidation. Just an aging courtyard, a moss-covered bridge over a dry stream, and a gate left unlocked.
It was like walking into a poem no one finished writing.
A servant bowed to them and vanished before Ren could study his face. They passed under the gate. Hyunsu said nothing. He moved like he always had—soft, silent, and strangely unafraid
Ren was led to a modest room with paper walls and a low writing desk. His bag, packed by someone else, had already arrived. No guards. No magical locks. Just a pillow, a plain black uniform, and a set of darkwood beads tied with thin blue thread.
He sat, waiting.
Minutes passed.
Then the door slid open.
Hyunsu stepped in without ceremony. No attendants. No formal declaration of rank.
Just tea.
He poured for both of them.
Ren watched the steam curl and didn't touch the cup.
"I don't like people watching me," Hyunsu said quietly.
"I noticed."
"You could have chosen any of them."
"I noticed that too."
Hyunsu studied him. "You're not here to make me king."
"No."
"Then why?"
Ren finally picked up his cup.
"To be free."
In ancient times, such a choice would have been seen as madness.
The top of the academy—born of a clan known for summoning divine beasts—should never have offered allegiance to a forgotten prince with no faction.
But Ren didn't believe in tradition.
He believed in balance.
Jinsung would have tried to leash him. Kyungho would have dissected him. Daehyun would've paraded him like a trophy, then crushed him when it suited him.
But Hyunsu?
Hyunsu had no reason to control him. No power to force him.
And yet, Ren knew—power didn't always come from strength.
Sometimes it came from silence.
From the ability to wait until the storm passed… and then strike from the eye of it.
Ren set his cup down.
"I won't kneel again."
Hyunsu nodded.
"Then don't.
—————————-
By nightfall, the Mi Clan's High Council had already met twice in secret.
Three facts disturbed them:
1. Naku Ren had accepted no bribe, no coercion, no blackmail. The elders of the Naku Clan were as confused as anyone.
2. Ren's beasts, Aenor and Baelgor, had stirred during the ceremony in sync—a sign of deep-rooted loyalty not seen in decades.
3. Hyunsu had done nothing to earn this loyalty.
That made him dangerous.
Because someone without ambition, suddenly given power, was harder to predict than a tyrant or a schemer.
——————————-
The days that followed were slow.
Ren trained in the empty courtyards alone. He didn't need instructors anymore. His beasts manifested with ease now—Aenor crackling with pale blue lightning as it paced beside him like a wolf, Baelgor lurching behind like a walking thunderclap coiled in shadowed flesh.
Servants avoided him.
Couriers whispered.
Some called him a fool.
Others, a weapon misplaced.
A few began to wonder—if he had chosen the Fourth Prince, perhaps the Fourth Prince was not so weak after all.
And so, rumors began to turn.
Slowly.
Carefully
Like knives being turned to new angles
——————
Hyunsu had few allies. Three, to be exact.
• Jin Soryeon, a seal mage with a face like a bored doll and a temper like a broken blade. She wore blood-red lipstick and carried fifty curses in her sleeves.
• Nam Yewon, a spy who had defected from the Second Prince's faction. She never spoke above a whisper and never walked in front of anyone.
• Lee Taesan, an ancient retainer who claimed to be a healer but smelled like dust and old poison.
They were not a council. Not a war cabinet. Just fragments. Misfits. Forgotten pieces that didn't belong in any of the other puzzles.
Ren did not speak to them often.
But he watched them.
And he understood something simple, chilling, and important.
They were waiting for Hyunsu to die.
Not because they wanted him to.
Because they expected it
Ren found the prince in the garden again on the sixth day.
Feeding crows.
Not with bread. With salted chestnuts and pickled radish—things crows shouldn't eat but seemed to love in his hands.
Ren stepped closer.
"You know they're watching you now."
Hyunsu didn't look up. "They always were."
"You should speak. Make a move."
"And say what? That I matter now because someone dangerous likes me?"
Ren paused.
"You think I like you?"
Hyunsu smiled for the first time.
"No. I think you chose me. Which is worse."
————————
It began with silence.
Then the wind died.
That was the first sign.
Ren stood alone on the moss-ringed bridge outside the Fourth Prince's estate, watching leaves float in the koi pond. It was late evening—dusk sinking in like a blade under silk. The wind should have stirred the surface of the water, but it lay still. Unbroken. Trapped.
Subspace.
It folded around him without a sound, a dome of shimmering distortion falling from the air like a glass curtain.
He didn't need to turn around.
Whoever had come—they wanted him to know
The world twisted.
Stone bled shadow. Light fractured like glass. The pond behind him stretched and coiled into a mirrored ribbon, and the sky above tore into streaks of violet and red, as if the heavens themselves were smeared with war paint.
Subspace—this one was brutal. Cold. Designed not for ceremony, but slaughter.
A voice echoed through the warped air.
"You should've chosen better, Ren."
Three figures stepped through the mist. Black masks. Silver sashes. Their magic flickered in hungry waves. Seal mages—Second Prince's dogs.
One held up a paper talisman.
The kanji on it gleamed.
Ren moved before it finished burning
The air cracked open.
A wall of blood-red lines split toward him—like blades drawn from the seams of the world, sharp enough to sever mana itself. A sealing net designed to lock his beasts away.
Aenor was faster.
The wolf's lightning-clad body surged from Ren's shadow with a feral snarl, leaping through the lines as they ignited. Sparks collided with sigils. The air screamed as the net shattered mid-formation.
Ren didn't speak. Didn't command. He only lifted a finger—and Baelgor crashed down behind him, a monstrous wall of horned shadow and black stormlight, stomping into the battlefield like a living apocalypse.
The subspace trembled.
And then the true duel began
The first assassin vanished into air, reappearing behind Ren with twin blades drawn. Each blade was carved with dozens of sigils—dancing with silver-blue light. A strike aimed not at his body, but at his binding circle—the tattooed link between summoner and beast.
Too slow.
Ren ducked low, his hand sliding across the ground. Wind caught his coat, lifting it behind him like wings as he whispered a phrase older than language:
"Split the sky."
Aenor responded instantly. The wolf snarled, and its lightning horn exploded with radiant arcs. Bolts forked across the subspace dome like sacred veins. The assassin screamed as his blades disintegrated, consumed by pure celestial discharge.
He died beautifully.
Twisting midair, body glowing from the inside out, shattering into motes of burnt mana.
The second enemy was a glyph weaver
He floated on threads of spirit silk—an ornate caster, robes flaring, hair bound in golden wire. Hundreds of glowing kanji surrounded him, orbiting like blades of light. His fingers danced, commanding a barrage of spells in a breath.
Each glyph exploded in sequence:
• Silence
• Shatter
• Contain
• Seal
They were meant to overwhelm.
They never landed.
Baelgor roared once.
And the glyphs wilted.
The beast's maw opened—not with fire, but a black storm, lightning howling with shadow as it devoured the weaver whole. His spells collapsed, his voice lost in the gale. One moment, there was light.
The next—just ash
The last enemy stepped forward calmly.
A girl in white with no eyes—only silver mirrors where her pupils should be.
Ren recognized her.
Mi Haeun.
One of the Second Prince's private enforcers.
She spoke gently. "You're good."
Ren stayed silent.
She tilted her head. "You won't survive him."
Ren blinked once. "You're not him."
Her mirrors shattered.
Each shard fell upward—into the sky—then twisted into knives. Not aimed at him. Aimed at his summons.
A clever choice.
But not clever enough
Ren whispered, "Bloom."
His binding circle flared beneath his sleeves, bright as starlight.
And suddenly, he wasn't summoning Aenor or Baelgor.
He was becoming one with them.
Lightning coiled into his veins. His breath glowed with stormlight. Eyes like silver suns.
When the mirror knives struck, they never reached flesh.
They struck a god made of storm and shadow.
He moved once.
And Mi Haeun was gone.
No scream.
No final spell.
Just a bloom of silver and black where she had stood
The subspace cracked.
Reality fell inward. Sound returned. The pond's surface rippled again. Ren stood alone—his coat smoldering, blood splattered across his sleeves. His summons had vanished. No bodies remained. Only burnt leaves.
And watching from the shadow of the bridge—
A crow.
Feeding on something small and silver
Ren returned to the estate at dawn.
His sleeves were clean. His hair combed. The only trace of violence was the faint hum of mana still clinging to his skin—like the memory of thunder that won't quite leave the air.
Hyunsu was waiting.
He sat under the crooked cherry tree in the courtyard, a half-read scroll resting across his knees, tea beside him gone cold.
The crows gathered in the branches above, unusually quiet.
Ren stepped into the gravel path, then stopped.
"You knew they'd come," he said.
Hyunsu didn't look up.
"I suspected."
"You said nothing."
Hyunsu folded the scroll with care.
"What would you have done differently?"
Ren thought about that. "Nothing."
"Then I saved my breath."
The wind stirred, brushing fallen petals across the courtyard. A crow hopped down beside Hyunsu and pecked at the rim of his tea bowl. He didn't stop it.
"Three assassins," Ren said. "Two dead. One erased."
Hyunsu finally looked up. "And you?"
Ren blinked. "What about me?"
"Are you hurt?"
Silence.
Then, slowly, Ren sat across from him.
For once, there were no spells between them. No beasts. No fear. Just two boys who should've never had power—yet had it anyway.
"I don't bleed easy," Ren said at last.
Hyunsu smiled faintly.
"Good."
They said nothing more