The black mist dispersed—and from the pale wasteland, a black altar rose abruptly.
It was small, barely five meters wide and two meters tall—yet in this colorless dreamscape, it was only the second thing that possessed true color.
Rod stared, stunned.
The altar's surface was smooth, undecorated—simple to the point of austerity.At its center lay an enormous hand, palm upward,and in its palm… a vast eye of black blood, identical to the one that had once marked the back of his own hand.
He looked down. His hand was clean now—no trace of that mark.
"So… that eye was a summoning sigil? For this?"
A heavy sense of foreboding stirred in his chest.
He climbed the altar and approached the stone hand carefully.It was carved, not flesh.That alone made him exhale in relief.
He extended a finger and touched it.
At once, information flooded his mind—
[Soul Eye]Pierce illusion. Part the fog. Behold the soul.Discern essence. Observe the flow of origin.To activate, focus your mind between your brows; gather Soul Energy; tap lightly upon the forehead.
Warning: Do not gaze directly upon beings whose Soul Energy vastly exceeds your own.
The words weren't alien symbols this time—they were written in Common, and even read in his own voice.
It was the first time a "manual" had felt like a divine revelation.
"Why can't the obelisk work like this?" Rod grumbled. "Would've saved me a lot of headaches."
He studied the message carefully. The activation method was simple enough.The only problem—he didn't yet know how to summon Soul Energy.
Soul Energy was the power of the spirit itself—the foundation of all traits and abilities.Training, strengthening, and controlling it was the essence of every Flamebearer's path.
He hadn't yet studied the subject, but the message contained rudimentary guidance.
So Rod tried. Again and again.Hours passed.
At last, faint light gathered at his fingertips—a thin wisp of fog, glimmering softly, tethered to his mind by some invisible thread.
"Beautiful," he whispered.
He moved the energy, feeling it flow like ghostly mist through his body.It could appear anywhere within him at will—but once it drifted beyond his flesh, the link severed and it dissipated instantly.
After several more experiments, Rod focused his will between his brows, guiding the glow to his forehead.Seconds later, warmth flared behind his eyes—
The Soul Eye opened.
His vision sharpened. Every contour of the altar stood in exquisite clarity.But beyond that… nothing changed.
The energy burned rapidly; he had to feed it continuously, and the strain made his mind ache.When his focus wavered, the Soul Eye winked out.
"Still not smooth enough," he muttered.It didn't seem particularly useful yet, but he could feel its potential—like a door waiting to open wider.
He sat in silence for a moment, thinking.
The altar had appeared to grant him power—along with detailed information.That proved he was the master of this dream.Every change, every phenomenon here… was tied to him.
Which also made him look very suspicious.
If that eye existed to summon this altar, and he was the sole beneficiary—then wasn't he the prime suspect behind everything?
"No, that can't be right," Rod rejected the thought at once.Even if all evidence pointed to him, he refused to believe he was the villain.
"I am a good person," he told himself firmly."Even if no one else believes it, I do."
He took a deep breath."I'll clear my name. There must be clues hidden in those obelisk runes. Once I wake, I'll head straight to the library."
That raised the next question—how did one wake from the dream?
He recalled last time: something had grabbed him, dragging him down with a crushing sense of falling. Then he'd woken.
He tried to recreate the sensation—no result.He tried falling backward, lying flat—still nothing.
After some thought, another idea came to him—the lightning-shaped symbol that had followed him from his previous world to this one.
Worth a try.
He crossed his thumbs, one index finger pointing up, the other down; curled the rest, twisting his hands 180 degrees until they formed a crooked lightning bolt.
Instantly, a powerful drop in his gut—like falling off a cliff—his spirit blurred—
And then—light.
The pale ceiling of his dormitory filled his vision, glowing in soft yellow.Warm orange light rippled across the air, as if a fire burned quietly somewhere nearby.
He was lying on his bed—hands still frozen in the lightning gesture.
Then came the pounding.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
A girl's voice shouted through the door.
"Open up! It's class time! Are you seriously going to be late on your first day?"
For an instant, Rod had the strangest déjà vu—like being back in school again, harassed by an overzealous class monitor he both hated and missed.
But the illusion passed quickly. His mind snapped back into focus.
"I'm coming!"
He leapt up, yanked open the rattling door—and blinked.
Half a dozen students stood outside in matching pale-blue academy robes, thick textbooks in their arms.The one who'd been hammering the door was, of course—Cassandra.
Her golden hair was tied back, two locks falling by her cheeks, swaying as she glared at him.Her light-blue eyes blazed; her brows arched like drawn bows.
"Rod! You've got the courage to sleep in but not to open the door? I nearly broke it down!"
Rod scratched his head. "Why you?"
"Why not me?" she shot back, full of class-monitor energy.
Wayne peeked from behind her, looking apologetic."She's our group leader. We're all from Third Academy, Tenth Department, Team Ten. You were asleep during the team assignments yesterday, so… I didn't wake you."
Cassandra folded her arms, voice sharp."Today's lecture is crucial—Professor Calaman's 'Extraordinary Souls.' We start Soul Energy studies today. You are not allowed to be late. Do you want to cost us points?"
A petite girl behind her whispered timidly, "Leader… maybe we should hurry, it's almost time…"
Cassandra shot Rod a glare."Grab Extraordinary Souls and Basic Combat Theory, right now! Those two! Can't you read?!"
Rod didn't argue. He snatched the books and joined the line.
Cassandra led them briskly through the corridors, lecturing as they went."As Starfire-class Flamebearers, we must work twice as hard. Rod, your first Soul Seed isn't ideal. You need to compensate through effort—ignite another seed by term's end if you want any chance at the Knight Order."
Her tone was sharp—stricter than yesterday.
Rod ignored her, mind already elsewhere, thinking of the library.
Wayne muttered under his breath, "Isn't the Knight Order your dream? Rod's lost his memory, remember?"
"Silence!" Cassandra snapped. "Losing memory doesn't mean losing ambition! Your first seed's useless too—'Guardian Crystal' is way too narrow! Without a second seed, you'll never score well in Combat Class!"
Wayne flushed. "I don't need high scores! Passing's enough!"
Cassandra's gaze turned icy. "That attitude is a cancer in humanity."
Wayne bristled. "Cancer? Knowing my limits is my contribution!"
They bickered all the way down the hall while the rest of the group—over twenty students—followed in weary silence.
They exited the dormitory, passed beneath shaded trees, and the view opened wide.
Hundreds of students in pale-blue robes hurried along cobbled paths.The distant lake shimmered beneath strings of lantern-light.Dozens of towers, turrets, and spired halls formed the Academy's central campus—windows gleaming in the glow of morning lamps.
Even the oppressive black mist above seemed less terrifying.
Cassandra and Wayne stopped arguing, both quietly awed by the sight.
Then, a booming voice echoed from the broadcast tower above the Academy:
"Good morning, students of Kinworth! Today is the twenty-sixth day of the month, at two hours and a quarter past dawn. This is your broadcaster, Kazarn!
I bring you joyous news—according to the Observatory, the fourth Fireday of February and the first Moonday have arrived together! A perfect day!
So, dear students, make the most of it—attend your lessons, burn bright for the Sacred Flame of the Capital!"
"You have fifteen minutes before classes begin. Don't be late!"
The voice faded.
Rod's group merged into the river of blue-robed students—one small stream among thousands of young Flamebearers,all running toward their own uncertain, burning futures.