NERO VERYNN
"People from Mythra are coming." Nyssa's voice was calm.
She always seemed to know things before I did. I'd barely sensed anything, yet she could already tell the mages approaching were from Mythra. Her perception was sharper than mine could ever hope to be.
"Should we run?" I asked, though I already knew her answer would probably be no.
"Who are you talking to?"
The voice was familiar—masculine, old—and it came from behind me. But there was no aura. How had Nyssa detected him before I could?
I turned slowly, half hoping I was wrong.
Standing before me was Draven Sykes—his white hair, short beard, wrinkled face, and slightly bent posture unmistakable.
"You must be Nero Verynn," he said with a warm smile, as if greeting a long-lost friend.
My mind raced. How did he find me? Why was he here alone? Did he know about Nyssa?
"Sir— I mean, Lord Draven." I bowed quickly, trying not to let the panic show in my voice.
"Save the formalities. I'm alone," he said, and I straightened up, though my nerves didn't settle.
I was terrified he'd found out. Taking Nyssa from the academy had been against every regulation in the book. Depending on who was asking questions, that kind of offense could cost me my life.
"We need to talk." Draven's tone shifted, and then he paused, his eyes narrowing.
"There's a strange aura here. It's faint… but powerful."
My heart skipped. Nyssa. There was no use hiding her anymore.
"Are you talking about my bond?" I asked.
Nyssa emerged from her cover and leapt onto my shoulder, fixing her eyes boldly on Draven.
"Fenrir's cub?" Draven exclaimed, surprisingly agile for his age.
But his amazement turned into something else—disappointment, maybe? He rested a hand on my shoulder, studying me with an expression I couldn't quite read. I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could utter a word, the world blurred.
Draven had teleported us. When I blinked, the forest was gone.
We appeared again; Draven, Nyssa, and me then I finally let out the scream that had been trapped in my throat since the teleport.
Nyssa chuckled on my shoulder. "I expected it," she said, her tone dripping with pride.
I clenched my fists, trying not to throw up. We were back at the academy—in Draven's cubicle.
The Grandmasters' Lobby. A place forbidden to anyone without an invitation or high approval. It was supposed to be a sanctuary from bullies and corruption. But everyone knew the truth. The sons and daughters of nobles ruled Mythra, untouchable.
People still clung to the old legend—that Goddess Elsa had created this world and the academy to prove humans could live in peace within a perfect hierarchy. Maybe that had been true six hundred years ago. But now, everything was rotten at the top.
If the goddess really existed, I thought bitterly, wouldn't she have come to fix this mess?
"Tch. What a joke," I muttered under my breath.
I turned to admire the view from Draven's balcony. The architecture was stunning—walls coated in fine essence stones, polished smooth beneath my fingertips. Nyssa purred softly, perched on my shoulder.
I couldn't tell whether Draven was one of the corrupted elites or just an old man playing by their rules.
"He's coming," Nyssa warned.
I turned sharply as Draven approached, stopping a few feet away. I expected him to continue the conversation he'd cut off in the woods. I needed answers.
"Let's go in," he said quietly.
The interior was just as impressive—furnished elegantly, every detail perfectly placed. I had to admit, the old man had good taste.
On the table lay a communication orb, made of a very rare artifact, mana crystals. Draven tapped it twice, and an audio recording began to play.
"Young Nero. If you're listening to this, it means I'm dead. I would start by apologizing to you and your mother for the way I treated you both…"
My breath caught. That voice—I knew it. Dad!
"I'm not the man you think I am. I'm not noble… not even worthy of being called a father. Nero, there are secrets. When you find this recording, I want you to know that…"
Static filled the air.
"They're coming! You must prepare!"
Cold sweat ran down my neck, my forehead, my chest. Who were they? What did he mean by 'prepare'?
"The Asuras will come!…"
The recording broke into pure static. Draven slammed the orb against the table, trying to fix it, but the noise didn't stop. My thoughts spun out of control.
He finally sighed, placing the orb down. "That was the only thing we could salvage from the wreckage," he said. "Your father anticipated his early demise."
Nyssa crawled down from my shoulder onto my lap, curling herself comfortably as if the tension didn't affect her at all.
Before I could speak, Draven continued, "Your father had secrets, but one thing was clear—preparation."
He paused, then asked, "Do you know what that means?"
I shook my head, still trying to process everything.
"You have to become stronger. Mythra will have to admit you, though you'll undergo a second reevaluation. We don't know what these Asuras are. That's why we must prepare—and you, Nero, are the first clue."
I stared at him, silent, my focus narrowing to his every word.
Draven rubbed his chin, studying me. "When you were assessed, your core was dormant," he said slowly. "So tell me, Nero…"
His eyes sharpened.
"How did you bond with a spirit beast?"
Cold chills crawled down my spine.