Inside the principal's office of Coeron Arbora—the famed Seeds Academy of Coeron—Sir Anderson sat quietly behind his broad mahogany desk.
The man was as striking as ever: tall, well-built, and composed, his sharply sculpted face resting lightly on his palm as he leaned forward in thought, sky-blue iris.
His white long-sleeved shirt was worn simply—tucked neatly into black trousers, sleeves rolled to the elbow, the top buttons open just enough to reveal the defined lines of his chest.
Even in stillness, he carried the air of someone accustomed to command.
Across from him sat another man about his age, though entirely different in presence. He wore an ancient-looking scarlet robe woven with archaic inscriptions so faint they seemed to shift with the light.
His short hair and pupils glowed with the same ember-like color, marking him as someone deeply attuned to flame. The air around him held a subtle heat, as though his very breath simmered.
Moments earlier, the two had finalized and sent a detailed report to the capital of the Valoryn Kingdom—an account of the strange events that had recently unfolded in Coeron. Now the king's response lay open between them.
The message was brief, but its weight was undeniable.
Valoryn's king had personally acknowledged the alarming fluctuations around Coeron: the sudden increase in mana density, the irregular movement within the dead forest, and the abnormal behavior of the corrupted core. He assured them that he would dispatch an important figure from the capital—someone capable of guiding the academy's rising talents who were approaching the Bloomer Rank.
It was no trivial promise.
Coeron had once been the glorious capital of Valoryn—an immense, radiant city that dwarfed its surrounding territories. But everything changed with the birth of a catastrophic Rank Six Evil Core. The core's corruption spread rapidly, consuming mana veins and twisting its surroundings into lifeless wasteland. The final blow came with the appearance of an anchored-stage Rank Seven Behemoth... The Core Guardian, a creature strong enough to shatter the city's foundations. Even the smaller neighbouring cities fell to the calamity.
The destruction was irreversible. Coeron's population scattered. Its prestige vanished. Prosperity turned to dust.
But recently… something had begun to shift. The mana that had once been devoured was slowly returning—thickening, settling like a long-lost river finding its path again. With it, more and more seeds in the city were awakening; there are more world flows as well, responding as though Coeron itself were stirring from a deep slumber.
The two men exchanged final thoughts and nodded. The decision was made.
Sir Anderson rose and bowed slightly. The robed visitor returned the gesture, his figure shimmering with faint flames before vanishing in a light surge of heat that left a warm ripple in the air.
Alone once more, Sir Anderson exhaled and leaned back. He pressed a small green button embedded in his desk to summon his assistant, issued a few quiet instructions, then collected his coat. It was time to address the students—every seed, awakened talent, and blooming integrator of Coeron Arbora.
---
Elsewhere in the academy, in one of its private recovery rooms, Alex lay shirtless on the cold floor, his firm abs, strong arms and broad chest outlined—this was the transformation his body had undergone after awakening and years of additional daily exercises.
He was gasping as sweat dripped down his back. His muscles trembled violently as he pushed himself into a prone position, jaw clenched so tightly his teeth hurt. Each breath he drew came shallow and ragged.
His injuries went deeper than he had admitted to anyone—not even to himself. Even after being treated personally by the principal, and again by the academy's best healers, the pain remained. His ribs, shattered by the monstrous guardian's strike, protested every movement. The healing had stabilized them, but the ache lingered like a warning.
He gathered his strength, lifted himself an inch—
—and collapsed. His arms gave out entirely, slamming him back to the floor.
Before he could try again, a deep, resonant sound rolled through the air:
Ding… Dong… Ding…
The academy's great crafted bell sounded through the weaved holes in his ceiling. Rarely used. Never without reason.
Alex lay still, letting the echo settle through him. Only his breathing moved the air.
"I should really focus on reaching the Bloom Rank," he muttered to himself. I can feel it… the stored world flows. But something else internally is pulling at me. Almost like something's calling me closer.
He didn't understand it. But ever since that day in the dead forest—ever since he saw the guardian up close—something inside him had begun to shift.
After resting a moment longer, he pushed himself up with a wince, reached for a towel, and wiped the sweat from his face. His uniform waited neatly folded nearby: a fitted dark-blue coat with silver lines tracing the seams, the academy's crest stitched over the heart.
He slipped it on, adjusted the collar, and stepped into the hallway.
---
The academy field of Coeron Arbora stretched wide and alive with motion. Thousands of students gathered across the vast open space, their voices blending into a rising wave of excitement and concern. Every corner buzzed with whispers of the same topic:
The deadly incident during the last expedition.
Rumors spread like wildfire.
Some said the city Lord's daughter and the principal's own son barely escaped death. Others whispered that the guardian had experienced an abnormal surge in strength. A few claimed a student had fainted solely from the creature's aura.
The noise grew… until it fell silent.
An amplified clearing of the throat echoed over the entire field—not through a device, nor through a technique, but carried naturally by the wind itself.
On the raised platform stood Sir Anderson.
His very presence commanded attention. Behind him lined hundreds of elders, teachers, and instructors, their expressions solemn.
He cleared his throat again, and even the breeze seemed to still.
"As you all know," he said, voice smooth and steady, "the incident during the recent expedition was… unprecedented."
His words drifted through the field like weight.
"Preventive measures were in place. We deployed evolved-rank elders. Teachers capable of handling unexpected threats were stationed. The core itself showed no signs of instability. Even after birthing its monsters and guardian, its readings remained normal."
The students listened, breath held.
"But," he continued, "we are grateful—deeply grateful—that every one of you survived."
Relief washed through the crowd in a visible wave.
"This event affected some among you more than others," Sir Anderson said. "Connor Doryel, for instance—our sharpest awakened scout—collapsed from pure fear when the guardian revealed its true aura. He still blames himself for not sensing the danger earlier."
A few students lowered their heads, uncomfortable.
"But this," Sir Anderson said softly, "should not become your chain. Let it be your fuel."
His voice rose, not loud, but carried by wind—reaching every ear with calm power.
"The world of integrators is changing. It grows more dangerous with each season. Growth cannot be forced—never. But effort can be chosen. Depth can be cultivated. Strength is not built through haste… but through harmonious integration."
Then he gave the true announcement.
"The king has sent word. An important figure from the capital will soon arrive to assist Coeron Arbora's Bloomer Rank students in special training."
The crowd erupted—gasps, whispers, excitement, dread, all at once.
Sir Anderson lifted a hand.
"He is expected sometime next week. Every student who has reached the Bloomer Rank will participate—regardless of stage or background. The training methods are undisclosed, but I advise all of you: continue working, but do not force your advancement. Losing control can cost far more than your progress."
Applause thundered across the field.
As it settled, Sir Anderson stepped off the platform. His hands slipped calmly into his pockets. As he walked, he spoke low—so low the wind carried the words to only one person.
"Your mother and sister will be visiting today," he murmured. "I sensed them earlier."
In the dispersing crowd, Alex looked toward his father's retreating figure.
"Okay, Dad," he whispered.
His lips curved faintly. Being recognized by the wind really was a gift. So many uses… so many possibilities.
"I wonder what element I'll attune to when I reach Bloom Rank," he muttered. "And what abilities I'll gain."
He wove through the dispersing students toward the dormitory wing.
---
Coeron Arbora was enormous—spanning nearly two square kilometers, sustained entirely by a massive mana orb extracted from a destroyed Rank Six evil core.
Class blocks, club buildings, combat arenas, research halls, and dormitories all thrummed faintly with mana.
The combat structures in particular possessed self-repair functions, their walls and floors regenerating slowly after damage.
Even the academy's basic architecture contained alloy-mana reinforcements that repaired stress and erosion over time.
Alex reached his dormitory door at last. He placed his hand on the handle.
A faint glow traveled up his palm, scanning… confirming… accepting.
A soft click sounded. The door creaked open.
Alex stepped inside.