The corridor leading there is long and majestic. Luxurious tapestries hang from the walls, while paintings depict the four powers: Dark Throne, Tower of Wisdom, Golden Dawn, and the Kingdom itself. Ancient faces watch us from within the frames—kings, elders, and magi whose legacies shaped Elveron. Some had never reached the highest rank, yet their importance was so great that their images rest here, eternalized.
At the end of the corridor rises a colossal door, ten meters tall, carved from noble wood and reinforced by enchantments that seem to hum beneath the surface.
Before it stand the guards of the Council. They belong neither to the Kingdom nor to any order. Their loyalty lies solely with this institution, and even Elder Marduk—with all his authority—has no sway over them.
As we approach, they extend their hands, demanding identification. Without hesitation, Elder Marduk, Iolanda, and Akame retrieve their Dark Throne seals and present them.
"Elian, where is your seal?" Iolanda asks.
My heart nearly stops. I had completely forgotten that I'd already been given an identification seal of the order. I dig through my bag in a rush, but find nothing. Panic grips me. To lose such an item—especially after being warned never to let it slip from my hands—would be unforgivable.
Then my eyes fall on the ring around my finger. Of course! I had stored it there.
I close my eyes, breathe deeply, and channel mana into the ring, picturing the seal manifesting in my hand. A faint light runs along the jewel, spreading through my fingers until the seal emerges before me.
Relief floods me, as if a crushing weight has been lifted from my shoulders.
I extend the seal to one of the guards. He inspects it closely, then looks from me to Elder Marduk. The Elder merely nods—a silent confirmation that I, though not yet official, am recognized as part of the order.
That is enough. The guards step aside, and we pass through the immense door into the Council chamber.
The hall before me is extravagant, almost suffocating in its grandeur. It soars fifteen meters high, its curved walls covered with ancient runes glowing faintly, as if the chamber itself is breathing. Magical artifacts hover at intervals, casting soft light across the polished floor. The vaulted, oval ceiling amplifies every sound—our footsteps echo like distant thunder.
Mana circulates in overwhelming density, so thick it feels like it seeps into my lungs as heavy mist. For a moment, I fear my mana gate might shatter under the pressure. It is suffocating, yet mesmerizing.
Now, looking more closely, I understand why this part of the building is the tallest, as I had noticed from outside. This structure is not merely stone and magic; it is a sanctuary built to house something beyond human logic.
And there it stands: the portal.
Five meters tall, two meters wide, immense and commanding. Its frame is made entirely of mana stones—but not ordinary ones. Each glows in shifting hues, flickering between elements—the deep blue of water, the blazing red of fire, the vivid green of earth, the radiant gold of light. Together, they form a color beyond reality, like a rainbow carved into stone.
At its center stretches a curtain of lilac light, undulating like living fabric, pulsing as though it breathes. It is not merely a door; it is a boundary between worlds.
Beside the portal, men operate mechanisms that at first look like buttons, but I quickly realize they are numbered magic stones. They fit each into carved slots, and with every click the portal vibrates, a deep sound rolling like a drumbeat through the bones.
My heart races. The sight of the portal is not only majestic—it is also a cruel reminder that I am about to cross into a new chapter of my life.
Magus Akame hands a set of numbers to one of the operators before returning to us.
The man slides the stones into their slots, each one gliding into place as if drawn by an unseen force. With every fitting, the portal reverberates, a deep tone shaking the chamber. I watch closely, and a question gnaws at me: if they can do this, how is it that they do not know how to create new portals?
"Elder Marduk," I call before we take the next step.
"Speak," his voice answers—calm, authoritative.
"Do you know gravity? Or rather… is there gravity magic?"
He studies me for a moment, as though I had spoken in a foreign tongue.
"I've never heard of such a thing," he replies simply.
It makes sense, I think. This world is still bound to a medieval age. No telescopes, no machines, no science like Earth. And yet, it is strange—they wield dimensional pouches, they master teleportation… but they know nothing of the force that holds us to the ground. Perhaps that is where I should look in the future. Perhaps there lies a way to set myself apart.
My thoughts burn with ideas as the lilac curtain begins to pulse more fiercely, as if anticipating us. With every beat, chills run down my skin.
"Let's go," Iolanda says firmly, after receiving the signal of approval.
The air grows heavier. The portal waits.
Akame goes first. She steps boldly into the lilac curtain, and the moment her body touches the light, it is swallowed whole in a flash, vanishing at the speed of light. My heart pounds, my hands shake, anxiety thundering in my chest.
Then Iolanda follows. The same scene unfolds—her figure swallowed into the living veil without trace.
Marduk, seeing the terror etched on my face, turns to me.
"Come with me," he says, extending his hand. His voice is as deep as always, yet it carries an unexpected calm. For the first time, the Elder seems less like an immovable mountain and more… human.
I stretch out my small arm, and he clasps it firmly, like a father guiding his child for the first time. In that moment, it doesn't matter that my mind is that of an adult. I am only a frightened child, about to plunge into the unknown.
Together, we cross the portal.
The sensation defies words: my body stretches in every direction, as though reduced to fragile strands of thread. Before my eyes, colors and non-colors collide in impossible patterns—a lilac tunnel that at times fills with green and blue, then dissolves into pure void. A place that both exists and doesn't, where form itself shatters.
It lasts less than a second. Yet for me, it stretches into endless minutes.
On the other side, I collapse to my knees and vomit everything I had eaten at breakfast. The acid burns my mouth and throat. Akame is already there, waiting. With a swift gesture, she conjures a spell that cleans not only the mess but the stench lingering in the air. Then she grips my shoulder and helps me to my feet.
I lift my eyes and see what awaits me.
The hall is colossal, fifty meters high, over a hundred wide. Runes and Dark Throne sigils drift across the space like stars in a sealed sky. Statues of gold and silver rise in reverence to the order's power, reflecting the magical glow suffusing the chamber.
And before all this, what strikes me most is the sight of the multitude. More than five hundred magi kneel, heads bowed, awaiting Elder Marduk's arrival.
In that instant, reality slams into me like a blow.
My new beginning has truly begun.