Dawn broke with a pale hush, dew scattered across the expanse like shattered glass, and a thin white mist curled over the academy grounds. The ten special-ability students stood in line for early morning drills, supervised by Lupin.

  Among them stood Fenrir Lockewood, a turquoise stickman from the western colony, champion of the Celestial of Veiled Dead & Silent Inevitability.

  Aurelia Vance, a pink female stickman from the southern colony, champion of the Celestial of High Firmament & Cosmic Order.

  Camila Yaretzi, a magenta female stickman from the northern colony, champion of the Celestial of Smoking Mirror & Nightborn Conflict.

  Jin Seung-min, a cloudy-white stickman from the eastern colony, champion of the Celestial of Wandering Winds & Unseen Motion.

  Lysandra Runevale, an orange female stickman from the western colony, champion of the Celestial of Crossroads & Liminal Magic.

  Edric Heights, a cyan stickman from the southern colony, champion of the Celestial of Bloodwater Strength & Predatory Dominion.

  Saeyeon Park, a dark-gray female stickman from the eastern colony, champion of an unknown Celestial.

  Wolfton McLaren, a purple stickman from the southern colony, champion of the Celestial of Wrath & Purification.

  Raven Stoneheart, a black stickman from the western colony, champion of the Celestial of Eternal Darkness & Concealment.

  And finally, James Elizondo, a brown stickman from the northern colony. A Being of Old.

  They ran half the academy twenty times without using abilities, the sun slowly rising and washing them in a soft, warming glow. By the time they reached the end of the route, most students collapsed onto the grass, panting and exhausted.

  James, as usual, barely broke a sweat. Not a tremor, not a labored breath. He simply turned and began walking back toward the dormitory, with Saeyeon silently falling into step beside him.

  Wolfton, resting beside Raven, caught sight of James, and something inside him snapped cold.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  His body shuddered violently. A primal fear crawled up his spine, warning him to get as far away from James as possible.

  Raven noticed the shift.

  “Wolfton, what’s wrong?”

  “N-nothing,” Wolfton stammered, sweat dripping down his face. His eyes were unfocused, his breathing uneven. Raven could only watch him with growing concern.

  After a few minutes, the group dispersed. Raven called to Wolfton out of habit, but Wolfton shook his head.

  “Sorry, Raven… I’ll sit today out. I’m not myself. I’m under the weather.”

  “Oh, alright. See you tomorrow, then.”

  Wolfton dragged his feet toward the dormitory. Raven veered toward one of the training halls.

  Since he didn’t have Wolfton with him this time, he chose to work on his swordsmanship, it had been a while since he focused on improving his mastery.

  Mana cultivation had two main professions and six major stages, each subdivided into three sub-stages (Novice, Expert, Savant), except for Divinity.

  A Novice was someone who had just broken into a stage, with unstable control and fluctuating output.

  An Expert had stabilized their foundation, their energy flow smooth, precise, and reliable under pressure.

  A Savant achieved near-perfect mastery, pushing the limits of the stage to supernatural precision.

  Raven sat cross-legged in the center of the training hall, meditating. He visualized his Mana Vessel — the shell around the heart that held stored mana.

  Crimson aura seeped from his body, swirling like smoke and wrapping him in a violent, pulsing glow. After several minutes, he rose, gripped the sword Lupin had given him (after James shattered the first), and stepped forward.

  Crimson arcs shot out in rapid succession, slicing through the stationary training dummies as if they were air.

  He froze.

  He wasn’t a Novice in the Aura Stage after all. He was an Expert. His mana flowed seamlessly, his movements instinctive and refined. The progress he gained from reaching the Soul Stage in weapon cultivation in his last life had pushed him far beyond what he expected.

  At the entrance, Edric leaned against the frame, watching Raven with a twisted smile.

  ...

  Later that evening, when the sun finally slid below the horizon, Raven made his way back to his room. He had trained all afternoon: swordsmanship, ability mastery, shadow essence absorption. His abilities were always strongest at night, but he planned to rest for an hour first.

  At his doorway, he glanced toward Wolfton’s room.

  “Should I check on him? He really didn’t look well…

  No. I’ll give him space today. I’ll visit tomorrow.”

  He scoffed softly.

  “That’s what Zelest always told me… Huh. Why did I suddenly think of him? Because he was my only friend? My mission partner…?”

  He wondered what Zelest might be doing at this moment. Then he lay down on his bed and closed his eyes.

  ...

  Flames.

  A world drowned in flames.

  War beasts, soldiers, trees, the very ground , all burning, melting, collapsing into molten ruin.

  Raven watched himself burn alive, skin dissolving like wax.

  His breath hitched in terror as he felt the heat swallowing him.

  He jolted awake, drenched in sweat, heart racing.

  Why now?

  Why did that memory return after so long?

  Was it because he remembered Zelest?

  “Trauma has a cute way of clawing back when you least expect it.”

  The voice came from the shadows.

  Raven sprang from his bed, blade drawn, aura exploding outward.

  He couldn’t sense the intruder at all, an impossibility for someone with shadow affinity. Worse, the man had bypassed every academy defense without triggering a single alarm.

  The situation reminded Raven of the cloaked man at Silverware.

  “Who are you?” Raven demanded. “Why are you here?”

  The man stepped into the faint moonlight. Grey hair, tousled. Brown eyes like sharpened blades. Clothes as dark as the room itself.

  Raven recognized him instantly.

  The man who started the global conquest.

  The man responsible for that horrible memory.

  The catalyst for Raven’s regression.

  The man standing in front of him with a smug, mocking grin.

  “Archmage Iode…” Raven whispered, stunned.

  “You’re five years too early, Raven Stoneheart,” Iode said, smirking.