The Grand Hall buzzed with a chaotic energy, the stunned silence shattered into a thousand murmurs and whispers. Students and instructors alike clustered in small groups, voices rising in pitch as the shocking news spread like wildfire.
The Demon Lord was dead.
For many, it was hard to comprehend. For Soren, the revelation hit like a blow to the chest.
He had always known the eye he bore was no ordinary demon's. But a Demon Lord—the supreme leader among demons? One of the legendary Five Apex Beings? The truth staggered him, twisting his mind in ways he wasn't ready to face.
Though his face remained calm, carefully guarded, a silent storm raged within.
Nearby, a female instructor named Elara Kinsley—a sharp-eyed mage known for her keen intuition and no-nonsense demeanor—noticed the flicker of something unusual in Soren's expression. She stepped closer, her voice low but laced with genuine concern.
"Instructor Noctis, are you alright?" she asked, eyes searching his face.
Soren blinked, forcing a small smile. "I'm fine, thank you. Just… thinking."
Elara nodded but didn't press further. She gave him a reassuring pat to his arm before turning back to the crowd.
Only then did Soren realize the Headmaster was no longer on the podium. Eryndor Thalrune's presence had vanished as quietly as it had appeared, leaving the hall still buzzing with whispers and speculative chatter.
Soren's gaze swept the room, catching fragments of conversations — incredulous students, worried instructors, a mixture of fear and hope tangled together.
Before he could gather his thoughts, another instructor approached him—a stern man with a cold edge to his voice, Master Caelin Draven.
"Soren," Caelin said briskly, "the Headmaster requests your presence in his chambers. Immediately."
A chill ran down Soren's spine.
Called to the Headmaster's chambers? He had never been summoned before—not once.
His mind raced with possibilities. Had someone discovered his secret? Did the Headmaster know about the demon eye? Was this the moment where everything he'd hidden would come crashing down?
He swallowed hard, heart pounding, as the murmurs around him faded into a distant hum.
The weight of the unknown pressed down harder than ever.
---
Soren moved through the corridors of Astralis Academy with quiet purpose, each step deliberate. The weight of the summons clung to him like fog, but he held his expression firm.
From the far side of the hall, Inquisitor Vellian stood partially hidden behind a column. His sharp eyes followed Soren's movements, a slow, sinister smile curling across his lips. It was the look of a man who had set something in motion—and was now waiting for it to unfold.
Soren soon reached the heavy oaken doors of the Headmaster's office, a towering pair engraved with silver runes that shimmered faintly in the morning light. Taking a steadying breath, he raised a hand and knocked.
"Enter," came the calm voice from within.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The Headmaster's office was large but not ostentatious. Unlike the velvet-draped studies of other senior mages, this room was more akin to a scholar's sanctum. Stacks of tomes were piled high across mismatched tables. Scrolls and ancient maps cluttered the corners. The tall bookshelves lining the walls groaned under the weight of forgotten knowledge. Magical instruments blinked softly on a nearby workbench, and a faint smell of parchment, ink, and burned mana hung in the air.
At the center of it all sat Headmaster Eryndor, calmly sifting through a stack of parchment on his desk. His long fingers moved with practiced ease, eyes scanning lines of script while his staff rested against the nearby wall.
Sitting on a low, leather-backed sofa to one side was Mirelle Thalrune. She sat with one leg crossed over the other, her posture elegant and composed, fingers steepled beneath her chin. She gave no greeting, only studied Soren intently as he entered.
Soren bowed slightly. "Greetings, Headmaster."
Eryndor glanced up. "Ah, Instructor Soren. Yes." His voice was thoughtful, as if calling up a memory. "The blind one who teaches spellcraft by mana sense. Quite the unusual case."
Soren gave a polite smile, though he could feel Mirelle's gaze on him—measured, analytical. He kept his posture straight, both eyes closed as usual, but her scrutiny was palpable.
Then Eryndor leaned back slightly and fixed his eyes on Soren's face.
"I called you here," he began, "because there have been complaints."
Soren's breath caught—just for a moment.
"Complaints?" he echoed.
"Yes. From several instructors. They've raised concerns that, due to your... unique condition, you've been excused from one of the mandatory requisites for Academy instructors—completion of at least one on-field mission, level A or higher."
Ah.
Relief washed through him. So this wasn't about the eye. Not about the Demon Lord.
"I'm aware of the requirement," Soren said carefully. "And of the exemption I was granted. It was approved when I was first hired, on the grounds of my condition."
"Indeed," Eryndor said with a nod. "And I approved it myself. However… when multiple instructors raise the same issue, it becomes difficult to ignore."
Soren didn't need to guess who orchestrated it.
Vellian. Of course. And likely others of his ilk—small-minded, status-clinging sycophants who used policy as a weapon.
"I see," Soren said, jaw tightening slightly. "Might I ask who—?"
But Eryndor raised a hand, smiling with faint amusement. "You might. But I won't answer. Let's simply say it's enough voices to warrant attention."
Soren's fists clenched inside his sleeves. He knew the game. Vellian wasn't acting alone—he was gathering allies, building a case, cornering him with paper and procedure.
Still…
Soren's thoughts drifted, unbidden, to the power now residing in his left eye. The howling void. The hunger. The raw, terrible potential.
Perhaps it was time.
Time to test what this eye could do. Time to measure his worth not just as a teacher—but as a mage in the field.
Maybe he could fight now.
Maybe he could do more than just survive.
He looked up, steadying his voice.
"I understand. If it's required of me now, I will accept an A-rank field mission."
Eryndor gave a small nod, almost impressed. "Good. I'll have the mission board send you options by tomorrow. Choose one that suits you."
From the sofa, Mirelle finally spoke—her voice quiet, but sharp.
"I'll be watching your performance, Instructor Soren. Closely."
Soren turned his head slightly toward her, his eyes still closed—but the angle of his face made it clear he was addressing her directly. A faint, knowing smile ghosted across his lips.
"Of course, Lady Thalrune," he replied, his voice even. "I'd expect nothing less from someone so… thorough."
Mirelle didn't react outwardly, but there was a pause—just long enough to suggest she'd taken note of his choice of words. Her fingers tapped once against her knee before stilling.
Eryndor glanced between them, his expression unreadable, then folded his hands over the parchment on his desk.
"That will be all for now. You'll receive mission details by morning. Dismissed."
Soren bowed his head slightly. "Understood."
With a calm stride, he turned and exited the Headmaster's office, the heavy door closing quietly behind him.
But as he walked away down the long corridor, his smile faded.
Inside, his thoughts raced.
An A-rank mission.Field deployment.Testing the eye.
And somewhere deep within, in the part of himself he'd been trying to ignore since that night, the Eye pulsed.
Humming.
Hungry.