The stone gates of Astralis Academy loomed into view, haloed by morning mist. Soren walked past them without pause.
Though his left eye could now see—clearer, sharper than any mortal sight—he kept it closed beneath facade.
He had his reasons.
First: the eye hummed.
A low, constant vibration, like distant thunder buried in his skull. The moment he opened it, it began draining mana from his body—slowly but relentlessly. Even when unused, it demanded fuel. Keeping it open too long left him dizzy, breathless.
Second—and far more dangerous—was what it was.
A demon's eye.
He didn't know how many would recognize it. But if anyone did… it wouldn't end with questions. He'd be branded. Investigated. Possibly executed. This was, after all, Astralis—where power was revered, but tainted power feared.
Still, it didn't matter.
He had lived his entire life blind. And through that blindness, learned to see better than most. Mana sense guided his steps. He didn't need eyes to feel the shapes of walls, the rhythm of footfalls, the pulse of spellwork echoing through stone.
In truth, he had become efficient—measuring out the smallest bursts of mana to navigate and perceive without wasting energy. Without that edge, he would've never lasted as a teacher here.
He rounded a corner, heading toward the lecture wing.
"Teaching?" came a voice, sharp and mocking. "Still pretending to lead the blind, Noctis?"
Soren stopped.
The voice belonged to Instructor Vellian. A cruel man with sharper robes than wit, who had taken issue with Soren's presence from the very start.
Years ago, those jabs might've stung.
But now… Soren remembered last night.
The darkness. The pull. That howling void that erupted from his left eye—uncontrolled, unstoppable. Like a black hole tearing at the seams of reality. He hadn't meant to unleash it, but it had answered nonetheless.
The memory chilled him. Awed him.
And oddly… steadied him.
Vellian's words felt small now. Childish.
Soren didn't answer. He didn't slow. He simply walked past—head high, expression unreadable.
Let the man bark.
There were deeper voices he'd begun to hear.
And darker truths waiting to be seen.
---
Coming early wasn't Soren's habit.
But when the headmaster issued an academy-wide summons—students and staff alike—no one dared ignore it.
Something big was coming. No one knew what. Not yet.
The Astralis Academy Grand Hall stretched wide like a cathedral, its vaulted ceiling supported by enchanted pillars that shimmered faintly with runes. It was large enough to hold every soul in the academy.
And this morning, it did.
Students stood in neat rows beneath the central podium, their uniforms lined in gold and black—ranked by year, from fresh-faced Firstcomers to the stoic Seniors in their final term.
Instructors lined the flanks, just beside the raised platform. Soren stood among them, hands behind his back, his covered eyes unmoving.
Atop the podium, the high seats were reserved for the academy's elite—elders, senior instructors, and a few council members from the Mage Tower. Most were ancient, their robes heavy with enchantments and their eyes dull with the weight of centuries. Even the younger ones wore streaks of silver in their hair like war medals.
Except her.
She stood out like fire in a room of dying coals.
Young. Striking. Composed. Her glasses framed sharp eyes, and her robes were cut with a scholar's precision. Intelligent, poised—dangerous, in her own way.
That was Mirelle Thalrune, one of the academy's youngest instructors. And daughter of the headmaster himself.
Her voice rang out over the hall.
"Silence. The Headmaster will now speak."
Chatter ceased instantly. Even the students who had whispered in nervous excitement now stood frozen.
A sudden ripple of mana filled the air. Then, without sound, a portal bloomed into existence behind the podium—brilliant, arcing with pale-blue threads.
From its depths stepped a man clad in the ceremonial robes of the Mage Tower—white trimmed with celestial gold. His beard flowed down his chest, and his staff crackled faintly with restrained power.
Archmage Eryndor Thalrune, Headmaster of Astralis Academy.
And he smiled.
It was a gentle, unhurried smile—one that held no arrogance, only the calm reassurance of someone who had seen many lifetimes and carried the weight of them with grace. Eryndor Thalrune, Headmaster of Astralis Academy and Archmage of the Mage Tower, looked every bit the amicable grandfather. The faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the relaxed composure in his stance—he had the kind of presence that put people at ease, even when standing before a crowd of hundreds.
Yet behind that warm exterior, there was no mistaking the authority he carried.
Raising one hand, he conjured a rune from the air—a translucent glyph hovering just above his palm, glowing faintly with soft blue light. It was a Soundcasting Sigil, used to project his voice across the entire hall without the need to shout.
The murmurs and idle chatter among students and faculty alike faded as the rune activated.
Then, he spoke.
"Students. Instructors. Members of Astralis," he began, his voice calm, deep, and unwavering.
"You have all been summoned here earlier than usual at my behest. And I thank you for your cooperation. This is no ordinary announcement, nor is it one I take lightly. The information I'm about to share was, until this very moment, classified at the highest level."
A hush fell across the crowd—every pair of eyes, from the youngest firstcomer to the oldest instructor, was locked onto him.
Eryndor's gaze swept across the assembly, then he continued.
"As of two nights ago, the Demon Lord of this era has been slain."
Silence. The words seemed to hang in the air, disbelieved.
"It was a coordinated assault," Eryndor went on. "An alliance forged in secret between the Hero Orders of multiple nations. A plan that required months—years—of quiet preparation, hidden even from the public eye, to prevent leaks reaching the Demon King's forces."
He paused, letting the weight of the revelation sink in.
"Against all odds, the plan succeeded. The Demon Lord is dead."
The hall exploded into chaos.
Gasps. Shouts. Murmurs overlapping like crashing waves.
A group of senior students exchanged bewildered glances. Some of the instructors, even the older ones, looked visibly stunned. The name Demon Lord was not tossed around lightly—it was one of the Five Apex Beings of this world. An entity whose power dwarfed that of kingdoms. For such a being to fall… it was unthinkable.
And yet, it had happened.
The noise grew louder, students whispering with each other in disbelief, speculation, and awe. Even the stoic instructors couldn't help but talk among themselves.
None of them had seen it coming.
No rumors. No hints. Nothing.
The operation had been executed with complete secrecy—so much so that even Astralis Academy, one of the most connected magical institutions in the continent, had been left in the dark.
Soren stood silently among the instructors, his expression unreadable. But within him, something stirred.
He knew more than they did.
Far more.