The morning breeze gently swept through the main courtyard of the Mariness Academy, carrying the scent of dew and the petals of lateiris flowers beginning to bloom. Students bustled about, some having just finished their defensive magic training, others rushing to the library to catch up on their assignments. No one noticed when a silver raven streaked across the sky—a rare symbol of the Valtheon Imperial Palace, the ruler of this land.
The raven flew straight toward the western watchtower, then flapped its wings and released a small scroll sealed with the symbol of the winged sun—the official symbol of the Altherion Empire.
The scroll landed precisely on Verchiel.
In the dormitory, Verchiel unrolled the scroll. It contained only one short sentence, but it felt like a giant hammer striking his heart:
"Come to the Capital. I wish to meet you. - J."
The signature wasn't just an initial. "J" was a name known throughout the land. Jasper Cael Alemmanus, Holy Emperor of Altherion, Ruler of the Five Continents, First Blood of Heaven, Father of a Thousand Decrees, and... Verchiel's biological father.
Verchiel stared at the writing for a long time.
Not out of longing.
Not out of fear.
But because there had been too much silence between them all this time
The Emperor was not a gentle father. He is a god of war who lives behind a curtain of gold and emotionless judgment. Since childhood, Verchiel was never called by a name—he was simply called "The spoiled youngest" or sometimes, "The Failed Heir."
He was raised by palace servants and teachers. Only once did he meet his father in person, and that was at the ceremony to select the heir to the throne, which was then given to his ambitious older brother, Kaelthorn.
However, this letter is not an invitation. This is an order.
And Verchiel knew: the Emperor never summoned without reason.
Verchiel stood at the window, gazing out at the Academy he had begun to call home. It was here that he began to experience "humanity": friendships, minor conflicts, even youthful angst. It was here that he redefined his identity as not a god, but a weak student from the upper classes.
But beneath it all, his blood still flowed with an ancient light. And now, that light had been summoned back by its source—by someone who stood above all else.
"Is this just a coincidence... or does he already know about the Fragments?"
Verchiel couldn't be sure.
But he knew one thing: to find Lux Anima, he had to leave the academy walls. Whether it was the lake calling, or the letter—his path remained the same: leaving comfort behind
he packed her things as the sun was just touching the top of the tower. It wasn't much: just a dark robe with an unknown symbol on the collar, a small book of magic notes, and a crystal pendant—an heirloom from her mother.
he wrote a small note, which she left under the bed:
"Don't look for me. This is a path I must take alone. - V"
But before he truly left, he met one last person—Rector Karthes Maelinor, head of the Mariness Academy, a great wizard whose eyes seemed to pierce the soul.
The rector's office was dark and filled with magical scrolls suspended in the air.
"So... the letter arrived?" Karthes asked without looking.
Verchiel nodded. He didn't need to ask how the rector knew. Karthes was one of the few people who knew Verchiel's true identity—and he kept it to himself without ever using it.
"Are you sure you want to go now?"
"You're already starting to form as a human being here, Verchiel. Out there... they won't give you time. Even your father won't give you a choice."
Verchiel answered slowly, but firmly.
"I'm not looking for a choice. I'm looking for... the missing piece of myself."
"And she's out there."
The rector paused for a moment, then handed him something—a ring with a white crystal in the center.
"Then... take this. You'll need it to enter the ruins of Debir. But be careful—your father isn't the only one watching you now."
No ceremony, no farewell.
Verchiel walked down the cobblestone path toward the eastern gate of the Mariness Academy. The morning sun hung low, casting a solitary silhouette on the black-robed boy—a lesson for the world—yes. Leaving the world is more dangerous