one spoke to Lio anymore.
Not directly. Not with words.
The looks had shifted — not cruel, not mocking — just… distant. A quiet sort of exile. Easier to pretend he wasn't there than risk choosing a side.
He'd expected it. Ever since the training hall incident, whispers had spread like wildfire. One moment, he was the accused — a cheat, a leaker of glyph patterns. The next, a stranger had stood between him and his accusers.
Seren Vael.
He walked the halls like a ghost now — changed, unreadable.
So when the folded parchment slid under his door that morning, it didn't surprise Lio.
It felt… inevitable.
No name. No seal. No enchantment.
Just a single word inked in jagged strokes:
Forest.
And below it, barely legible:
Come alone. Don't be late.
Lio stared at the message, reading it again. Then again.
There was no mistaking the handwriting.
A shallow breath left him.
"So this is where I'm supposed to go… right?"
The door creaked open. Stale air greeted him — dust curling through broken shafts of morning light.
No welcome. No fanfare. Just silence.
He stepped through without looking back.
Thistleveil Reach — Near the Waterfall
The forest breathed around him.
Crunch of leaves beneath his steps. Mist clung low to the roots, stirred by the morning breeze. Sunlight lanced through the high canopy, scattering across damp stone and dew-laced branches like broken glass.
The sound of rushing water echoed ahead — not loud, but constant. Calming. Unmoving.
Lio kept walking.
A waterfall poured down the cliffside, fed by the mountain spring above the academy. At its base, a quiet clearing opened up. Flat stone ringed with moss, faded carvings, and forgotten training markers long since overgrown.
The place felt untouched. Sacred in a way the Academy's manicured yards never could.
He hesitated. Alone. No sign of Seren.
Then—
A breeze stirred. Not from the waterfall.
Lio turned his head—
—and saw him.
Just watching.
Lio opened his mouth to speak—
But the world cracked.
Not visibly. Internally.
Seren's head jerked slightly, like someone had just struck a nerve beneath his skin. He blinked once—slow—and his stance shifted. Slight tension in his frame. Shoulders rigid.
Then his breath hitched.
And—
Snap.
Lio stepped back. "Seren?"
No response.
A soundless scream erupted somewhere inside Seren's mind.
No pain. Just detachment. Like his soul had been snagged mid-thought and wrenched sideways through existence.
His body collapsed, falling softly to one knee.
But his consciousness—
—was gone.
FEW SECONDS EARLIER
It hit Seren before he could react.
One breath, he stood beneath the trees.
The next—
A crack, like a frozen mirror shattering inward.
Not pain. Not panic. Just a sudden unreality.
His vision didn't blur. It folded.
The world compressed like parchment soaked in ink, and his knees buckled.
Then—
White fractured into black.
His body slumped to the ground in the clearing, eyes open but vacant.
And his soul began to fall.
—
❖
There was no sky. No floor. No gravity.
Just infinite dark, shifting like a sea of black glass. Stars pulsed in reverse — flickering not light, but memory. And through it, a shape rose.
Vast. Ancient. Unknowable.
He was not humanoid.
He was a cathedral of motion. A silhouette woven from coiled limbs and smoke, as though shadow had grown sentient and decided to become divine. From his core burned a violet-white flame — not fire, but memory. Echoes arced like lightning, illuminating ribs that weren't ribs and a face that wasn't truly there.
Tendrils spiraled outward, some wings, some arms, all endless.
The Void trembled when he spoke.
"You still resist the shape of this place."
Seren floated, weightless, arms clenched at his sides. His voice was low.
"…It's not the first time. But I still hate it."
His form pulsed with a slow, impossible breath.
"Ithrian Solmir," he intoned, as if reminding the realm itself.
Seren muttered, "Not exactly a name that rolls off the tongue."
"Would you prefer 'Bob'?"
The shadows rippled. Not amusement. Something colder.
"Names are burdens, Seren Vael. Yours. Mine. Even the one I now feel… whispering from the cracks of stone and time."
Seren's eyes narrowed.
"You dragged me here again. Why?"
A pause stretched. Long. Intentional.
Then—
"The boy."
"…Lio?"
"The one who hears what no one else can."
Seren blinked. "You mean his Analyze?"
"You're mistaken. That arcane trace isn't designed to analyze. It replicates. Mirrors. Stores. Not just what you are — but what you've hidden."
The Void quivered.
"The longer he sees a technique, the more it settles inside him. Not spellform, but motion. Rhythm. Thought."
Seren stiffened.
"…You're saying… he copies?"
"No."
"He becomes."
That hit harder than it should have.
"Not a mimic. Not a thief. A mirror built from ancient resonance, drawn from the time before these factions forgot their origin."
Seren recalled the moment Lio had looked at him in the ring.
That pause. That recognition.
"…That's why you're interested in him."
"Give him your fire, if you must. Just don't forget—"
"Fire doesn't choose sides."
"What you teach him today… might be turned on you tomorrow."
Seren exhaled. "…That's dramatic, even for you."
"Then allow me to escalate."
The shadows shifted. Symbols began to pulse in the void — sharp, ancient glyphs twisting into shape.
"There is something else here."
"Beneath your academy. Beneath memory."
Seren's gaze sharpened. "What?"
"They once called it… Varn'thulak."
The name echoed like a bad decision in a quiet room.
"A seed of resonance not born of vein or pact. Not tied to any faction."
Seren's voice turned dry.
"Varn'thulak? Sounds like someone coughed mid-spell and just went with it."
"Mock it if you like. But do not ignore it."
The void began to twist again — light leaking in like water through a cracked dome.
Seren flinched. "Wait, what does it do?"
Solmir's form began to fade.
"You don't need to know…"
His voice dropped lower — almost a whisper inside bone.
"…yet."
Seren's body lurched—
—
He gasped awake with a jolt.
Back in the clearing. Wind rustled leaves. The waterfall roared like nothing had happened.
Seren sat up slowly, palm pressed to his ribs.
"…Varn'thulak," he muttered. "Still sounds like a fungal infection."
The training ground by the waterfall was damp, the rocks slick, the air cool with morning mist. Lio stood barefoot on moss, arms aching, frustration mounting.
Lio glanced up, eyes still wide. "What happened back there? Why did the—"
Seren cut him off with a quiet shake of his head.
"Don't worry about it."
The tone left no room for questions — not cold, but final.
He turned, stepping into the clearing. The waterfall roared in the distance, steady and rhythmic, like a second heartbeat beneath the forest's hush.
"We start here," Seren said, his voice flat.
"No theory. No lectures." He looked over his shoulder. "Just you, me… and how much you're willing to break."
Lio blinked. "…Break?"
Seren's faint smirk didn't reach his eyes.
"Muscle, habit, pride. All of it."
Lio exhaled, then stepped forward — steady, centered.
His voice didn't shake this time.
"Just don't hold back."
He lowered into a stance. "Let's begin."
FEW MINUTES LATER
He rubbed his elbow for the third time that morning and muttered, "This isn't training, it's punishment."
Seren didn't look up from where he stood sharpening a stick against stone.
"Then learn faster."
Lio flinched as a branch whistled past his face—Seren had thrown it without warning. Again.
"That's the third one today!"
"And yet you're still standing. Progress."
Lio groaned, dragging himself back into stance. "You could at least explain something. Anything."
"I am," Seren said, walking a slow circle around him. "You just haven't figured out how to listen yet."
No further instruction. Just movement. Pressure. Eyes that watched too closely and said too little. The waterfall roared behind them, uncaring.
By dusk, Lio collapsed on a flat stone, chest heaving. His clothes were damp with sweat, mud streaked along one cheek.
He looked up, eyes narrowed.
"This is insane."
Seren glanced at him, deadpan. "Good. You'll fit right in when the Trials come."
Lio blinked. "You mean the Faction Trials? The Faction Trials?"
Seren didn't nod—he simply tossed a wrapped cloth onto the ground beside him. Inside, a small emblem shimmered faintly: the Academy crest, ringed with seven sigils.
"Three months. Representatives from every faction."
"Thousands watching. Staff, students, the Outer Wings. Even the Warded Cities tune in."
"The Ledgerhall press will dissect every move. Old factions send agents in plainclothes."
"By the time the last spell hits the ground…"
"…contracts are already signed."
He crouched beside the fire they'd built earlier, and for once, his voice dropped into something colder.
"If you freeze in front of them, they won't see you again."
Lio stared at the emblem, quiet.
"I want in," he said.
Seren didn't turn. "Then you know what that means."
Another silence. This one sharp.
Lio stood. Bruised. Angry. Focused.
"I'm not backing down."
Seren finally met his gaze—and for a heartbeat, there was approval there.
Then he stepped forward, reached into the embers with his bare hand, and dragged a burnt branch across the dirt between them.
"This version of you—" he said quietly, gesturing at Lio's slumped posture, ragged stance, and hesitant hands, "—will not make it."
He turned and walked back toward the shadowed trees.
"I won't train that version."
The embers flickered behind him as he left one final line behind like a challenge carved into stone:
"So I'll break it. And forge whatever's left into something worth surviving."
Lio stood alone in the clearing, staring at the embers still smoldering in the dirt. The crackling firelight cast long shadows across his face — not just from the flames, but from something deeper.
Fear flickered in his eyes.
Not of Seren.
Of what he'd just agreed to become.
And still… he didn't walk away.
"I'm ready."
He said it softly — not to impress, but to accept.
"Good. Then get ready to be broken."
"Because what walks out of this… won't be the same as what walked in."
✦ Some Weeks Later — 2 weeks to faction selection tournament ✦
The city of Myrosen pulsed with anticipation — a crescent-shaped sprawl wrapped around the cliffs and rivers that bordered the continent's central highlands. At its heart stood Veylor Academy, the ancient seat of Arcane Concord, founded across six factional eras and rebuilt thrice from ruin.
Now, it prepared for spectacle.
The Faction Trials.
A biannual rite — part competition, part selection — where students from every corner of the known world converged to fight, impress, and survive.
Floating projections hovered above the campus like drifting banners, displaying match times, combat rankings, and sponsor glyphs in fluid arcs of light. Spectators flooded in by skyships and tether-beasts. Merchant camps circled the academy's outer walls. Rumors swirled through student halls like wildfire — who was fighting, who had fallen, and who might be chosen.
Tens of thousands would be watching.
Only a few would be remembered.
And far from the noise, tucked behind the Academy's forgotten edge — steam curled between trees. Sunlight streamed through the canopy in fractured shafts, hitting the waterfall that poured quietly into a crescent pool.
The sound of boots against moss. Slow. Unhurried.
Lio Fen stepped through the mist.
The clearing held its breath.
His frame had changed — not unnaturally, but unmistakably. Lean muscle now coiled beneath his uniform, veins glowing faintly with synced resonance. His hair had been trimmed, his arms wrapped tight in burn-cloth. Every step left vapor rising from his body — not from effort, but internal control.
He didn't glance around.
Didn't speak.
Because Seren was already there.
Standing at the far edge of the pool, arms folded, eyes half-lidded, backlit by silver light through trees.
"You walk cleaner," Seren said. "Posture's tighter. Pulse is steadier."
A pause.
"Still dragging your back heel."
Lio didn't argue. Just stopped beside him, eyes locked forward.
"Thousands of eyes are about to watch this place burn."
"You think what you've become will be enough?"
The question wasn't mocking.
It was… measuring.
"Let's disappoint a few expectations," Lio said, his breath shallow but voice steady — like defiance wrapped in exhaustion.
Lio exhaled slowly, steam trailing from his shoulders. He didn't smile. Didn't boast. Just waited, still and unreadable, as if ready for whatever came next.
Seren's thoughts didn't show on his face.
But they were there.
"Strange thing, talent…"
"When you spend your whole life clawing uphill, it's hard not to resent the ones who fly."
…he might outpace me before the year turns.
Not just match. Surpass.
A slow breath left Seren's lips, cold against the warmth of the clearing.
Terrific thing, talent.
And with that, he turned away—
That night, the forest beyond the East Wing was silent. Distant winds stirred leaves, but Seren didn't sleep.
He couldn't.
He hadn't dreamt of the void since the last time Solmir pulled him in.
But this time, he didn't feel the pull—he felt the absence of it.
Stillness. Then a flicker.
The moment his eyes shut—
A single image slammed into him.
The black realm, distorted and splintered. As if something had cracked inside it. No words. No grandeur.
Only a blurred glimpse of a seal breaking—a pattern he didn't recognize, unraveling in impossible directions.
And then, Solmir's voice, colder than before. Clipped. Urgent.
"You were too late."
Sweat on his brow. Breath stuck in his throat.
The room was dark.
But the feeling wasn't fear.
It was knowing something had already begun… without him knowing anything.