At dawn, Eleanor was settled in a secluded stone chamber on the main peak of the academy. Morning light filtered through stained glass windows, casting colored patterns across her pale face.
She slowly opened her eyes—and the first thing she saw was Raynor, seated at her bedside, worry etched into every line of his face.
"You're awake," he said softly, his voice gentle as a spring breeze.
Eleanor sighed inwardly. Is this the fate of the "pure light" he cherishes? As long as she lives, he will never leave her side…
But she was not that Elena. She was Eleanor.
"Sir Raynor…" she feigned confusion, her voice hesitant. "Are we… well acquainted?"
Raynor froze, his expression faltering.
"You don't recognize me?" His voice trembled.
Eleanor shook her head, her tone calm. "I'm sorry. I can't seem to remember you."
The light in Raynor's eyes dimmed at once. He took her hand in his, his own hand cold and trembling. "Perhaps… the wounds have clouded your memory. Don't be afraid. I'll help you remember everything."
Eleanor tried to pull her hand away, but before she could, Raynor had already called softly for a priestess dressed in flowing azure robes.
"Priestess Serena, please examine her once more."
Serena offered a gentle smile and placed her hand lightly on Eleanor's forehead, sensing the flow of magical energy. After a moment, she shook her head. "Her mind shows no signs of damage. Likely just a shock. With a few days of rest, she'll recover."
Relief softened Raynor's expression—but in his eyes, his attachment deepened into obsession.
Eleanor sighed inwardly. He seems so gentle, but beneath that, his stubbornness is terrifying.
Night fell.
The academy's disciples gathered in the Celestial Plaza. At the summit of the main tower, the elders and enforcers stood in solemn silence, their cold gazes sweeping over the assembled students.
The day before, a fire had consumed the Scripture Hall—the academy's oldest repository of magical tomes. Two monks had perished in the blaze.
A bloody incident that had shaken the academy to its core.
"The investigation is complete," declared Elder Theodore, his voice like ice. "There is no doubt that demonic forces have infiltrated our midst! We suspect the taint of the demons still hides among the students."
A gasp rippled through the crowd.
At that moment, a white figure strode forward—Ronquis, the aloof and unfeeling magic swordsman, known for his cold pride. His gaze swept across the disciples, lingering at last on Eleanor. His eyes darkened, deep and unreadable.
"Honored Elder," Ronquis said, voice calm, "I have seen traces of demonic taint. It clings to her."
Eleanor's heart jolted. She lifted her eyes and met Ronquis's cold gray-blue gaze, a chill creeping into her bones.
"You lie, Ronquis!" Raynor stepped forward at once, shielding Eleanor behind him. His voice was sharp as steel. "Elena could never be one of the demon's spawn!"
Ronquis's expression barely shifted. "Let the truth be tested by magic itself."
Elder Theodore descended the platform, forming a complex seal with his hands. A pale blue light bloomed from his palms, reaching toward Eleanor. The light touched her body—and faint wisps of black mist surfaced, only to dissipate an instant later.
Another wave of shock swept through the gathered students.
"How… how can this be…?"
Raynor clenched his fists, cold fury blazing in his eyes. "The taint was left from last night's ambush in the valley!" His voice shook with barely restrained rage. "Elena was the victim, not the villain!"
Ronquis's gaze narrowed, a faint smile touching his lips—half mockery, half challenge.
The night wind turned colder. Eleanor quietly lowered her gaze. In her palm, the branded mark of the Fate Stone grew warm, as if in silent answer to the demonic aura still lingering in the night.