Awakening in Greenhold
Divine Era Calendar, Autumn of Year 9999, Moonshore, City of Greenhold
Greenhold Academy was not so much an establishment as a hallowed cradle of promise, a sanctuary where the city's most brilliant scions of aristocratic clans and affluent houses developed their prowess and intelligence. To be accepted was a privilege few could aspire to, and once admitted, one would commit oneself with unrelenting application. To succeed there was to acquire prestige, authority, and the guarantee of a destiny that even emperors may covet.
But not everyone held this awe.
In a bright classroom, lines of gleaming desks mirrored the morning light, and the smell of ink and parchment very faintly hung in the air. Amongst the focused outer sect disciples, one young man sat unperturbed, leaning forward in his chair in a heavy, almost unnatural sleep.
In front of the room was a young woman, whose presence filled the room without work. Her black hair tumbled down her back like a waterfall of silk, eyes gleaming and green as the rain-soaked woods, curves a subtle pronouncement of both strength and grace. This was Amaya Green, seventeen years old, an official disciple of the academy and lecturer to the outer sect disciples. But today a fleeting glimpse of anger creased her perfection.
She looked down at the sleeping form. A whisper passed through the room, all eyes helplessly turning to hers. Even in rage, her movements were fluid, exact—each step as considered as if choreographed by some unconscious poise.
"Here's this guy again! He had the audacity to sleep through Senior Sister Amaya's lecture!" whispered a student, shattering the stony silence. A few of his classmates hadn't even seen him previously, but now embarrassment and annoyance mixed in the air.
Another grumbled under his breath, near jealousy, "Senior Sister Amaya is seriously eye candy… who falls asleep with her standing there?"
Popularity, as the students were well aware, had nothing to do with Amaya's personal beauty. Her lectures were interesting, her knowledge vast, and her presence alone demanded undivided attention. Sleeping in her class was an act of temerity not many dared to risk.
Amaya walked quietly to him, her shadow extending across his desk. She stood over the young man, her green eyes drawing together in a tight gaze as she drank in his easy, unaware posture.
"Kai Dawnsworn," a gentle voice spoke—not Amaya's, but from over the sleeping youth's shoulder.
The noise poked at his awareness. Kai Dawnsworn slowly raised his head, wincing, eyes half-closed. Hazy morning sleep clouded his mind. and his eyes drifted. and found themselves on two separate peaks hidden beneath the folds of Amaya's long teal gown.
So huge." he breathed involuntarily, hand extending before his brain had time to catch up with his mouth. Soft, near-reverent words cut through the quiet room like a lash. All the students stood still, mouths agape, before indignation burst like a flame.
"What the—how dare he—?!" one student spat.
"This shameless bastard!" another cursed, their angry gaze falling on Kai Dawnsworn like shuriken. A cold shiver ran down his spine as he understood the seriousness of his mistake. He raised his eyes hesitantly, abandoning the. distracting indulgence, to be met with something much worse: a set of eyes, green as poisoned jade, fixed on him.
"Uh…" Kai Dawnsworn's lips parted, but the words stuck. That was not Amaya Green talking—at least, not from where he'd been expecting. The voice was that of a girl no more than fifteen, her dark eyes serene, her face uniformly peaceful.
Cursing softly to himself, Kai Dawnsworn realized he'd been duped. No wonder his first impressions had been. false.
"Senior Sister Amaya, I…" he hesitated, striving for a poor excuse.
"Kai Dawnsworn," Amaya cut in, her voice cold, ending any hope of excuse. "What is the background to the founding of Greenhold Academy?"
It was more than a scholarly question. Its gravity was loaded with her unvoiced anger. He could sense it now—the intangible cutting edge of her Will of Sword, cutting through the air, nicking at his skin as if he stood naked before a sword.
Three centuries ago," Kai Dawnsworn started, tapping the history texts warehoused in his brain, "when the ancient empires collapsed into disarray, a commoner ascended the imperial throne. After withstanding untold challenges, he became the Grey Emperor. Having secured power, he gave decrees throughout all lands, ordering every duke to create martial arts academies to develop strength and wisdom. That is the beginning of Greenhold Academy.
The government histories were precise. But in the personal, clan-transmitted versions taught to Kai Dawnsworn, there was one name that might never be voiced—taboo, forbidden. He deliberately left it out.
Amaya's eyes did not blink. "And what kind of jobs are linked to development?"
Kai Dawnsworn straightened, recalling his lessons. "Development is divided into martial arts and Spell Craft arts. Martial arts cultivate warriors, knights, swordsmen, and similar paths. Spell Craft arts involve mages, alchemists, armorers… and those who can manipulate mana in any form. Naturally gifted individuals often pursue both, bridging the disciplines."
Amaya's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "It seems you've overlooked one type."
"I simply could not have overlooked anything," Kai Dawnsworn answered, his voice firm, a gleam of pride dancing in the gold of his eyes. "The Divine Era sees Blade-Seers as the ultimate in power. Those who are blessed with extraordinary abilities—the conjurers, the beastmasters, the astrologers—all belong to this group. No matter which path they may choose, they exceed everyone else."
Silence descended on the room. His words were heavy. "A Blade-Seer is mythical. Even in royal forces, one Blade-Seer inspires reverence. Theirs is no brute power, but the will of the stars itself, blessed by heaven. Even the most mundane among them is capable at both martial art and Spell Craft, united in strength and magic."
Amaya Green watched him intently, a flash of respect piercing her still-simmering anger. Nevertheless, the chill in her tone persisted.
"I didn't…" She started, though her words were interrupted, burdened by the maelstrom of feeling beneath her controlled demeanor.