The council room of Eclipse Ascension Academy was vast, circular, and carved from obsidian-like stone, its walls embedded with faintly glowing runes that monitored and measured every pulse of magic and aura within the chamber. Tonight, it served a different purpose: interrogation.
Cael Ardyn was escorted through heavy doors by two Silver-ranked instructors. Despite his injuries, his posture remained erect, his calm composure unshaken. The Bronze uniform hung loosely on his frame, but even in this ordinary garb, he radiated presence—quiet, immovable, like a mountain no wind could sway.
At the center of the chamber sat seven elders. Their robes bore the sigils of the academy's ancient lineages, each symbol representing centuries of authority and influence. Elder Marron, Elder Tirsis, and four others regarded Cael with a mixture of curiosity, suspicion, and barely restrained apprehension.
"Cael Ardyn," Elder Marron began, his voice cold and measured, "the events earlier today were… unprecedented. A Bronze initiate defeating multiple Silver-ranked students is already a serious violation. But your methods—whatever they were—resulted in the death of one. Explain yourself."
Cael inclined his head slightly, his voice calm, carrying the weight of someone older than the academy itself. "I acted in self-defense and to prevent greater loss of life. The creature was attacking without warning, and I had no other choice."
Elder Tirsis leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "Choice? A Bronze initiate should not have access to such… control. Whatever technique you used, it defies all known records. How did you do it?"
Cael's lips curved faintly. "I used what the world refuses to remember. Blood obeys those who respect it. I did not take life lightly. The rest… is irrelevant."
A murmur ran through the elders. Elder Marron slammed a gnarled fist on the table. "You are young, but you speak like an immortal. What nonsense is this?"
Cael's gaze didn't waver. "I have lived far longer than this academy. And a thousand years ago, the world learned to fear me. The blood remembers, even if the world does not."
The words hung in the air. A heavy silence fell. Even the younger instructors present shivered subtly under the weight of the statement. There was authority in those words—ancient authority.
Behind the chamber walls, intelligence networks of the Top Ten Families had already taken notice. Reports of a Bronze initiate killing a Silver heir reached their ears within hours. Whispers of "unnatural power" and "forbidden technique" circulated, feeding both fear and curiosity.
The Valerius family, outraged and humiliated, demanded answers. Yet the academy had not expelled Cael, nor punished him beyond observation.
The Noctis family, intrigued, began tracking his movements through subtle shadow surveillance. Lyra's eyes, already keen, reported anomalies unseen by ordinary means.
The rest of the top families—Silvercrest, Draven, Mordis, and others—quietly debated whether this boy could be manipulated, controlled, or eliminated. Each deliberation was tainted by fear.
Cael's return had not gone unnoticed.
Back in the council room, Elder Tirsis' voice broke through the silence. "We must consider the implications. A Bronze initiate capable of killing a Silver-ranked student using unknown methods… this is a threat to the academy, and by extension, the world order of mana and aura control. Are we prepared to let him continue unmonitored?"
Elder Marron responded with a slow, deliberate nod. "He is not unmonitored. We will place him under direct observation and assign mentors from Silver and Gold ranks. But make no mistake—this child is dangerous. The kind of danger that history marks."
Cael listened carefully. He understood immediately. Observation was not protection—it was containment. Every move would be recorded, analyzed, and potentially weaponized against him. The game had begun.
He leaned slightly forward. "If you fear me," he said softly, "then do not waste time. Do not pretend control. The world punishes hesitation. Those who wait… die."
The elders froze. No child—no Bronze initiate—had ever spoken to them this way. The council was silent again, murmurs reduced to uncomfortable, wary breathing.
That night, Cael returned to his dormitory, alone. The events of the day had left him exhausted, but exhilarated. He had survived the council, survived the attack, and survived the scrutiny of those who would see him erased. Yet one thing was clear:
The world was already plotting against me.
He knelt beside his bed and closed his eyes, drawing a single drop of his own blood to the surface of his palm. It shimmered faintly, resisting, restrained by the suppression magic of the academy. He could feel it trembling—alive, waiting, hungry.
He whispered the truth of his centuries-old knowledge to it. Grow. Obey. Prepare.
The drop of blood quivered, responding faintly. Not fully—too much suppression—but enough to remind him that even here, even in this strange new world of mana and aura, blood still remembered him.
He allowed himself a faint smile.
They don't understand what they are facing.
Far above the academy, in the floating towers where the Silver and Gold elders convened, reports were sent immediately to the Top Ten Families. Analysts debated whether Cael's techniques were natural, evolved, or… dangerous.
Far below, in the shadowed abyss, the Demon King stirred again, crimson eyes glowing in the darkness.
"The Blood Immortal has returned," he murmured. "After a millennium, and the first seed has already sprouted. Let the world remember why his name was feared."
The Demon King's laugh echoed softly, not in sound, but in instinct—an awareness that spread through creatures, humans, and spirits alike.
Back in his dormitory, Cael opened his eyes once more.
The faint moonlight illuminated his blood-streaked hands. He flexed his fingers, testing the suppressed power lingering in his veins.
A thousand years… and the world has changed. But it does not yet know me.
Cael pressed a palm to his chest. His pulse surged faintly, an echo of ancient power reminding him of his true nature.
Then I will teach them again.
And in the silent night, one thought reverberated louder than any heartbeat:
Blood will remember.