Grand Arcanum Academy.
More than three months had passed since the unfortunate incident.
Spring had begun just a few days prior, painting the campus in soft new greens, and students walked the paths with the familiar, daily worries of classes and camaraderie.
For most students, the tragic incident of three months prior was a fading memory, a ghost story overshadowed by the immediate concerns of classes and cliques.
But for a select few, the ghost had a name: Amaniel.
Among them was Leroy von Albrecht.
On a sun-dappled training ground, he was a whirlwind of motion. A bow sang in his hands, and arrows streaked across the field with sharp thwips . His blonde hair was tied back neatly, a practical change from his previously ostentatious style.
His target was not a stationary dummy, but a living, moving opponent.
Swoosh!
A dark-haired boy moved with a swordsman’s fluid grace. A long practice sword was a blur in his hands, deflecting Leroy’s arrows with sharp, precise cracks. The air around him was a defensive cage of controlled motion.
Thwip!
Leroy loosed another arrow, then immediately broke into a sprint, not away, but laterally, already drawing another. He fired again mid-stride, forcing the swordsman to adjust his guard. It was obvious that the previous arrogant noble who stood still and expected his opponents to fall was long gone. The current Leroy was a changed man.
"..."
The arrow grazed past the dark-haired boy’s shoulder, close enough to rustle his training tunic.
The boy’s golden eyes, usually indifferent, flickered with a hint of assessment. He saw an opening as Leroy’s foot landed on an uneven patch of ground, disrupting his rhythm for a split second.
That was all he needed.
The boy exploded forward. He weaved, his form becoming a low, unpredictable shadow. An arrow meant for his chest whistled through empty air as he closed the distance in three powerful strides.
’Shoot!’
Leroy’s eyes widened, but he didn’t panic.
He lowered his bow in a guarded stance as the swordsman entered his space. He managed to block the first sweeping strike aimed at his ribs, the impact jarring up his arms and making the bow fall out of his hand.
’Urgh!’ Leroy pivoted immediately, attempting to create space for a counter, but the black-haired boy was a storm of controlled pressure.
The practice sword became a relentless instrument in his hands.
’A feint high, a real strike low.’
A disarm maneuver that Leroy barely countered by twisting his wrist, leaving his side exposed.
The black-haired boy didn’t waste the chance. The blunt tip of his sword tapped firmly against Leroy’s side, a clear and decisive hit.
"..."
The fight was over.
"Huf... Huf..."
Both boys stood panting in the sudden silence.
Leroy straightened, rubbing his side where the blow had landed. There was no anger in his eyes, only a calculating look as he replayed the engagement in his head. ’Tsk, fell for it again.’
"You’re leaving your right flank open when you pivot counter-clockwise," the dark-haired boy stated, his voice flat. However, it wasn’t a taunt; it was simply a statement of fact, a friendly piece of advice.
"I know." Leroy gave a short nod. He walked over to retrieve his bow. "My footwork is still too slow to create a clean disengage."
He looked at the bow in his hands, then back to his training partner. "Let’s do it again."
"..." The dark-haired boy stared at Leroy for a few seconds, sheathed his practice sword, and gave an agreement nod.
But just then, a voice called from the edge of the training ground. "Aeron!"
It was a girl with hair the color of cherry blossoms who was waving at them, her smile bright against the serene backdrop.
’...Livia.’ Leroy looked over and immediately recognized the newcomer.
The dark-haired boy, Aeron, glanced toward the voice briefly before turning to Leroy.
"Let’s continue tomorrow," he said, his tone still even, and turned to leave.
"Tomorrow it is." Leroy watched them go for a moment, then turned back to the empty training ground.
He eyed the target and let go.
Thwip!
The arrow hit the middle - a perfect score. But Leroy wasn’t satisfied. Because.... He knew it well.
He knew that he was still weak.
Thwip!
Far too weak.
Thwip!
The memory of his own helplessness, the times he’d needed to be saved, was a brand on his soul.
He nocked another arrow, his focus absolute as he drew the string back.
The only sound was the steady and continuous thwip of his arrows finding their mark, again and again.
_____ ___ _
Aeron walked in silence, Livia’s arm linked with his.
From the corner of her eye, she glanced back at the lone figure of Leroy already firing another arrow. It was strange, she thought. To this day, she didn’t know how those two had become ’training buddies’. Still, at least Leroy wasn’t as bad as he used to be.
Shaking off the distracting thoughts, she turned her attention back to Aeron.
"A letter came for you," she said. "The messenger is waiting at the gate. They insisted on handing it to you personally."
Aeron continued walking, his expression unchanging. "Who is it?"
Livia shrugged. "I don’t know. They wouldn’t give a name. But they said they have information related to ’her’."
Aeron’s steps faltered for a single, almost imperceptible moment. His head turned, his golden eyes finally focusing on her fully. "Her?"
Livia met his gaze, her smile gone, replaced by a somber understanding. "That’s what they said."
"I see..." Aeron muttered, his gaze growing distant, the path ahead of him blurring as another memory surfaced.
A month ago, Emilia had vanished.
One day, she was there, her faint laughter echoing in the library, her presence a constant support in his life. The next day, she was gone.
No note, no struggle, no goodbyes.
The only thing left in her room, placed neatly on her pillow, was the simple blue ribbon he had given her when they were children.
The academy had been alerted. Her family had been notified. There had been a flurry of quiet, urgent activity for about a week. And then... nothing.
The investigation was closed.
The official story was that it was a private family matter requiring her immediate and indefinite withdrawal.
However, Aeron was certain there had been discussions behind closed doors, a transaction of influence and silence between the academy directors and her family. But the truth of it was locked away from him. He could never determine if it was a genuine tragedy, a bizarre family decision, or something far more sinister — a deliberate scheme that had spirited her away.
The memory was a cold stone in his gut, a familiar weight he knew all too well.
First, his mother, taken by an illness no healer could cure. Then Aman, swallowed by a catastrophe that felt anything but natural. And Emilia, erased from the world as if she had never existed.
The pattern was a relentless, silent predator, hunting everyone he dared to care for.
"..." He glanced at Livia, her arm still linked with his.
She was the last one left, the only light in his life that hadn’t been abruptly snuffed out. And yet... A quiet, constant fear lived in him now... The fear of finding her room empty one morning, of discovering another single, poignant token left behind.
It was this fear that made him hyper-aware of her whereabouts, that had him subtly ensuring her safety even as he allowed her this closeness. He would not lose her. He could not.
"Let’s go," he said, his voice low and edged with a resolve that hadn’t been there moments before. "Let’s see what this messenger knows."
Perhaps, they could find out something, anything .
Because if they couldn’t...
He would be left with only one last option.
With...
Vespera.